Chosen (4 page)

I swallowed, not wanting to think about it.

Kim stared at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue her thought.

“I came to get away from being Lauren Towers,” I said. “The nationally ranked junior dressage champion. I came
to learn what loving riding meant again. And I have.” I smiled. “You gave me that back.”

Kim's happy expression matched mine, but I knew she wanted me to continue. To voice the one thing I'd purposefully left unsaid.

I took a breath. “And . . . I came to get my confidence back after my jumping accident.”

Just saying the words was as far as my brain would let me go. I wasn't ready to think about it yet. To relive any of it. Any of the sounds, or smells, or worse than anything, the
feeling
. The total loss of control—the helplessness.

“Confidence that was there all along,” Kim said. “Since your family moved to Union, you've done nothing but move forward. You're incredibly talented for most riders—let alone a twelve-year-old.”

“Thank you,” I said. “But when I think about my application to Canterwood, I get scared all over again.”

Kim's smile was gentle. “You know who else was
terrified
when she applied to Canterwood?”

I shook my head. “Who?”

“Sasha,” Kim said. “She talked to me almost every day about how scared she was.”

“Sasha Silver? Really?” I couldn't believe the superstar rider, only a year older than me, had been nervous about
going to Canterwood. I'd watched dozens of DVDs of her shows—Kim had always used her as an example whenever she wanted to encourage my riding class.

“Really. She almost didn't go to Canterwood because she was worried that she wouldn't measure up to the other riders,” Kim said.

She glanced up at a picture of Sasha and her horse on the wall. “But she couldn't stay here,” Kim continued. “Briar Creek was her home for a little while. But it was really just a bridge to Canterwood. That's what I hope it will be for you. You're ready to compete again, Lauren. The only way to quiet your fears is to face them.”

I was still for a moment before I responded. “I guess I'll know in a few weeks if I'm ready or not, huh?”

“Either way,” Kim said. “It's time for you to stop worrying and go enjoy the rest of your weekend! Who knows—you may not have many more of them left here.”

“You sound so confident, like you're sure I'll get in.”

“Your application was strong,” Kim said. “Especially your DVD.”

“This might be completely out of line,” I said. “But did you tell them about my jumping problem?”

Kim nodded. “I did.”

Those two words had sealed Canterwood's decision. There was no way I was getting in now.

I held back tears, refusing to cry in Kim's office.

“Lauren,” Kim's voice was soft. “I told them you're working past your accident and that you're getting stronger with every jump you take. An experience like you had will make you a stronger applicant in their eyes. You've overcome so much to get where you are.”

But I barely heard what Kim said. My application to Canterwood had gone right in the trash—I knew it. And my DVD? The one Kim had said was “strong”? That was a giant fake. I'd practiced and practiced and
practiced
on camera, then had taken the footage home to watch it. I'd chosen the segment of tape where I'd done my absolute best and erased the rest of the footage. There weren't any outtakes to erase at Canterwood.

“ . . . so don't think that what you're working through is going to prevent you from being accepted,” Kim said when I finally tuned in again. “The instructor will see a talented all-around rider who needs practice—like you're doing every day—to do well at your sport.”

I nodded, forcing myself to smile. I didn't want Kim to think I was ungrateful—she was busy enough and she'd taken time to write me a recommendation.

“Thanks, Kim,” I said. “You're right. And I better go—my dad's probably waiting.”

Kim's lips parted, like she wanted to say something, but she let me go.

Outside the stable, an odd sense of relief came over me. At least I knew for sure what Canterwood's answer was going to be. The only thing I'd be checking the mailbox for now was an official rejection.

In the distance, I watched a chestnut graze. He made me think of Sasha's horse, Charm.
Sasha's going to remain the only Union girl at Canterwood
, I thought. She had left some giant Ariat boots to fill, but I was definitely not going to be doing that at Canterwood.

DAD AND I TALKED NONSTOP THE ENTIRE
drive home from Briar Creek. I'd kept up the chatter and steered clear of anything Canterwood related. I'd always known in my gut that I wouldn't get in, so the confirmation hadn't been too disappointing. I was glad, even. Right . . . ?

As we pulled into our driveway, Dad reached over and squeezed my hand. His cool blue eyes, the same shade as mine, were steady. I loved that our eyes matched even though he was my stepdad. My real dad had died when I was a just baby and Gregg was the only—and best—dad I'd ever known.

“I know you better than you think, Laur-Bell,” Dad said. He put his sunglasses on top of his head. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Totally fine.”

Dad glanced at me before putting our black SUV in park and turning off the ignition. “Totally fine, huh? You're sure
nothing's
wrong?” Dad prompted, his tone gentle.

“I was just . . . talking to Kim about Canterwood. I really don't think I'm going to get in, but I knew that already.”

Before Dad could continue the conversation, I opened the door, hauled my riding bag out with me, and hopped out. The more I said the school's name, the more I realized I was a little more upset than I'd told myself I was.
But you never counted on being accepted in the first place, so stop it,
I scolded myself.
Focus on something else
.

I looked at our new house as we approached it. We'd moved a few hours north to Union from Brooklyn, and having a house felt massive compared to our old apartment. On the outside, the five-bedroom home was light with dark gray stones all the way from the bottom of the doorway to the white peak of the roof. Near the peak, a window in the attic stared over the lawn. The rest of the house had eggshell-colored siding, and a three-car garage sat off to the right. Along the landing, shrubs flourished in the dark soil that our gardener had just churned up and the leafy greens added a pop of color in front of the gray
house. The grass, trimmed low from our lawn service, made the house look tidy and perfect. I followed Dad along our sidewalk, past the small black lampposts that lined either side and up two white-brick stairs to the front door.

Through the gold-etched glass, I could see Mom coming to open the door as Dad fumbled in his pocket for his keys.

“Hi, guys,” Mom said, pulling open the door. Her honey-colored hair was back in a skinny gray headband. She had a white V-neck T-shirt over Michael Kors black leggings and, guessing from the pen and papers in her hand, she'd just come out of her home office.

We greeted her as I took off my boots and put them in the coat closet. I pulled off my sweaty socks and dropped them in a laundry basket that was along the wall near the kitchen.

In the kitchen, I realized that Ellen, our housekeeper, must already be here.

“Any mail for me?” I asked, following Mom through the foyer. I wanted the letter, to get it over with.

“Sorry, sweetie. Nothing from Canterwood.” She put down the pile of manila folders she'd been carrying on a cherry-wood end table and took my hand. “It's going to
come, Lauren. Just have patience. Go shower and I'll make you and Becca a snack. I'll eat with you girls, then I've got to get back to my office to read a few legal briefs.”

Mom's office was off to the side of the library. It was filled with case files and documents I couldn't even try to understand. She was a partner at the biggest law firm outside of Union and that meant she was
always
working. Dad said I got my drive to work hard at riding from my mother.

I left the foyer and started up the spiral staircase, my hand gliding on the dark wooden rail. My bare feet sank into the plush beige carpet as I crept to Becca's room.

“Hey,” I said, pausing in her doorway. There was a red-and-white polka dot swimsuit on her bed.

“You have a good lesson?” she asked.

Beautiful, blond Becca was two years older than me and we had a relationship all of my friends envied—we were sisters and best friends.

“It wasn't the best.”

“Sorry,” Becca said. “I'm sure the next one will be better.”

Becca, sitting on her dark purple comforter, motioned for me to come into her room. She had a night table on either side of her bed, each of which held piles of brightly
colored books and clear lamps with plum shades. Her room was a fun mix of deep purple and white—from the cloud-white shag rug in front of her bed to the flowy, purple velvet curtains over the windows.

“You still look down,” Becca said. “I know what this is about, Laur.”

My sister knew me too well.

“I couldn't jump,” I said. “And Kim told Canterwood that.”

“What? No,” Becca said. “What are you talking about?”

I told Becca what Kim had told me.

“Laur, Kim did the right thing,” Becca said. “She told them that Lauren Towers is a rider who's working on overcoming her fears. A rider who didn't give up and one who wants to get into a school where she'll be challenged.”

Becca smiled, shaking her head at me. “You're
so
getting in. I should start helping you pack now.”

“There's no way,” I argued. “They'll see me as a failure. The girl who had an accident and is still afraid a year and a half later.”

“Okay, so they'll think you're scared. But you're scared
and
jumping anyway.”

I looked at Becca—the sister who'd never lied to me
and who always made me feel better. For some crazy reason, I almost believed her.

Almost.

“I mean, c'mon,” Becca said, her tone light. “When have
I
ever been wrong?”

Her Cheshire Cat grin made me smile—I couldn't help it. “Oh, please,” I said, rolling my eyes and laughing.

“When you get in, I'll be right—again. Like always. So I'd start hoping again that you see the acceptance letter soon,” Becca said.

I didn't know if I wanted to shake Becca or hug her. She'd just raised my hopes. A
teensy
bit. A microscopic bit.

“I guess this is the one time I really want you to be right,” I said. “So, I guess we'll have to wait and see.”

“Good. In the meantime, you've got
plenty
of things to do—starting with hanging out with me in the pool after we eat.”

I smiled, knowing what she was doing but letting her.

“I turned up the heater in the pool so it's not so chilly,” Becca said. “I know Mom's making snacks, so I'm going to eat and then work on my tan for a while. I so need someone out there or I'll be bored.”

“I guess I can help with that,” I teased. “And my muscles are sore from riding.”

Becca's cell phone rang and she reached over to answer it. I could tell just by the look on her face that it was her boyfriend, Grant.

I left her room and went into my own, tossing my riding clothes in the hamper and then shutting myself in my bathroom. My color scheme was very different from Becca's. I liked softer shades and things with a delicate, classic style. My bathroom matched my bedroom—light blue and white towels, alternating in color, hung clean and fluffy on the towel rack, and the blue shower curtain with white pinstripes pulled the entire look together. Style was important to me. My fashion icons were Audrey Hepburn and Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis—two beautiful women who embraced classic American style with clean lines and gorgeous, ornate accessories, such as a pair of oversized sunglasses or a single strand of pearls.

After my shower, I changed into a red bandeau top and bikini bottoms. I threw on a white oversized tissue T-shirt and headed down to eat.

Becca, already seated at the kitchen island, had a violet Pottery Barn pool towel wrapped around her shoulders. Mom put a plate in front of each of us.

“Thanks, Mom,” Becca and I said.

Mom had put out a side of applesauce and tiny
single-serving cartons of ice cream. That's where Becca and I differed—she was a chocolate freak and I wasn't. Phish Food for her and Dulce de Leche for me.

We ate our snacks together, and then headed through the living room and out the sliding glass doors to a maple-stained wooden deck. I tossed my towel on one of the five lawn chairs, the wooden planks warm under my feet. Off to the side, Dad's massive—like, ridiculously huge—grill was along the wall near the door to the sauna.