City Secrets (13 page)

“Yeah, so happy that all they wanted to do was talk about themselves,” Heather said. “They didn't ask me
anything
about what was going on at school or if
I
was dating anybody.”

Heather looked over at me. “Honestly, it was annoying, but I really don't care,” she said. “Julia and Alison have been my best friends for a long time and I'm not part of Emma and Blake's crowd anymore. They could have at least pretended to care what I was doing. But why, I guess? We're all going to go back to our own schools and stables and not talk anymore, anyway. I just wish I could have said . . .” Heather shook her head and pulled Cora a step in front of Limitless.

“Said what?” I asked.

I caught up with her.

“I don't know. I guess I just wish I could have said that
I was dating someone too. Not so they could go back to school and be like, ‘Omigod, Heather's dating this guy from Canterwood,' but just because I want to be, you know, dating.”

“Let's get specific,” I said. We guided the horses down a gentle incline and reached a shallow creek. “You want to be dating Troy.”

Heather paused, then nodded. “Duh, I told you I liked him at the Homecoming dance.”

We gave our horses rein to take tiny sips of water from the creek.

“So what are you going to do about it?” I asked.

Heather whipped her head around to look at me. “I don't know! Nothing right now. If he's interested, he'll come talk to me.”

“Please,” I said. “That's so yesterday. If you want to go out with Troy, talk to him. You could text him or e-mail him over break just to say hi. Be totally casual. Or write on his FaceSpace wall or something.”

Heather pulled Cora's head up from the creek, and water dribbled from the mare's muzzle. Limitless raised his head, and the two sniffed muzzles.

“No. Way,” Heather said. “And we're done talking about this now. Let's get them groomed so we can go.”

“Okay,” I said, deciding not to argue.

We led the horses away from the sandy creek bed and back down the dirt path. But I wasn't going to give up. Heather deserved to have something in her life besides riding, and if she wanted to date Troy, she had to at least try to make it happen. She'd encouraged me the night of the dance to go after Jacob—even though I wasn't ready and had refused. Interesting that confident, I-always-get-what-I-want Heather Fox was at a surprising loss at how to handle boys. Even though my track record wasn't that great, I was sure I could help her at least start talking to Troy.

We led the horses back toward the stable in silence. Limitless kept his head close to my shoulder as we walked and I liked him more every minute I spent time with him. I reached up and rubbed his star.

On the way back to our cross-ties, Heather grabbed a bottle of kiwi-strawberry Snapple out of the fridge and took a long sip. She offered the bottle to me. I took a drink and handed it back to her.

“Thanks,” I said.

We untacked the horses, and the grooms came and took the tack from us.

I brushed dried sweat off Limitless's coat with the
dandy brush and took extra care to make sure he was totally cool and clean. I ran my hand down his left foreleg and he immediately lifted his leg. He didn't lean against me like some horses did while I picked his hooves. I ran a dry cloth across his bay coat and made sure he had the same sheen as when I'd found him in his stall. I ran a comb through his mane and tail and stepped back to look at him.

“You're such a gorgeous guy,” I said to him. He bobbed his head and it made me laugh—that was something Charm would do. He always knew when I complimented him. I hugged Limitless and took in the scent of hay and the sweet horse smell. “Thanks for being so good today, boy.”

“Are you
still
talking to your horse?” Heather asked. She raised an eyebrow. “It's definitely time to leave. Put Limitless away and let's go. Paul should be here any second, if he's not already outside.”

I unclipped him from the cross-ties and led him to his stall. I rubbed his neck again. “See you soon,” I whispered.

I left him munching hay and I slid the bolt closed on his stall door.

Heather and I washed our hands and brushed our hair in the bathroom, then we left the stable and walked out to
the gravel driveway. Paul was indeed already waiting for us, and he got out of the car as soon as he saw us approaching.

“Hi, girls,” he said. He opened the door and Heather got inside. I walked around to the other side of the car and stopped for Paul, still feeling awkward at waiting for someone to let me into the car. I could open the door myself! But I knew it would just irritate Heather if I didn't let Paul do his job, so I stood until he let me into the car.

I slid into the comfy seat, letting out a sigh.

Heather looked over at me with a coy smile. “Too much for you, Silver?”

“No way,” I said. “That was a happy sigh. We had a great practice. I can't wait to do it again.”

“Uh-huh,” Heather said, not sounding at all as if she believed me.

“How was your lesson?” Paul asked as he buckled his seat belt.

“Great,” Heather said. “We actually kind of challenged each other, and we definitely got a lot done.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Paul said. “Now where can I take you ladies?”

“Luxe Nail Salon,” Heather said. “But we were never there, okay? We've been at the stable this entire time.”

Paul smiled at us in the rearview mirror. “Of course you were.” He didn't question us at all as he drove down Chesterfield's driveway and back toward Manhattan.

I looked down at my ragged nails, which were gross and had dirt under them from spending the day at the stable.

Heather and I were quiet on the ride back to Manhattan. There wasn't much traffic and it took just under an hour to reach the city. Paul must have taken Heather or Mrs. Fox to the Luxe Nail Salon a lot because he knew exactly where to go—no GPS directions needed.

We pulled up to the curb and Paul turned around to face us. “I'll be back in about an hour and a half,” he said. “Okay?”

“Totally,” Heather said. “Thanks, Paul.”

I smiled at him and got out of the car behind Heather. The nail salon was adorable. The overhang was bright pink, and the entire place was done up in pink and white. Heather walked up to the counter, and the woman behind it looked up, smiling at her.

“I'm Heather Fox,” she said. “We need two mani/pedis. My mother has a credit card on file here, so please charge it to her account.”

“Of course, Miss Fox,” said the woman. “We have two open chairs, so if you both would choose your
colors and go to the last two seats at the end, we'll get started.”

“Won't your mom see the credit card bill and know we were here?” I asked.

“She never checks that stuff,” Heather said. “And even if she did, we'd be back at school by the time she noticed.”

If Heather wasn't going to worry about it, I wouldn't either.

Heather and I walked over to shelves of nail polishes. I'd never seen so many.

“I have nooo idea what color to get,” I said. “They're all so pretty!”

Heather's gaze was locked on the red section. “I need a power color,” she said. She picked up two different reds. “Which one?”

One was slightly pink, so I point to the cherry-colored one. “Definitely that one.”

“Agreed,” she said.

“You should get something chic,” she said. “You're in the city. Get your nails cut supershort and do a dark brown or a black. If you did black, you could coat it with a light glitter.”

“Oooh, that sounds fun,” I said.

I selected OPI's Black Onyx and a sheer, glittery
shade to go over it. We passed women relaxing in the pedicure massage chairs, reading
US Weekly
or
The New Yorker
. Heather and I sat down in our chairs, pulled off our boots and socks then rolled our breeches up to our knees.

I looked at my stubbly legs and wished I'd shaved last night. Ooops.

Two manicurists slid into the rolling stools in front of us and ran water in the basins in front of us. They added an emerald green liquid that smelled
so
good—like eucalyptus.

“Test the water to see if it's too hot,” my manicurist said. I dipped my foot in the water, then stuck both feet in.

“It's perfect, thank you,” I said.

She turned on jet bubbles and pulled down my armrests. “Here's your massage controller.”

While my feet soaked, I played with my massage controller. It was like an oversize TV remote with buttons that lit up in orange when I pushed them. I could have my lower back kneaded, pounded, or rolled. There was even a button to slide the massager up and down my back, neck, and shoulders depending on where I wanted it. Another button to turned the heat on and off. I closed my eyes as it
eased the tension from my neck and worked its way down to my lower back.

I peeked over at Heather and saw that her head was tilted back as the massage chair worked its magic on her.

A few minutes later our manicurists reappeared, and mine lifted my right foot out of the water and removed my old nail polish.

“Cut or just file?” she asked.

“File, please,” I said.

She got to work on my toenails, and once they were shaped, she rubbed my feet and lower legs with a scrub that smelled like vanilla. Lotion was next and I could feel how soft my feet were without even touching them. She slipped my feet into cozy flip-flops and wound cotton between my toes. Nail polish remover wiped any lotion off my nails, and then she applied two coats of the black polish.

“Nice,” Heather said, looking over.

“Thanks.” I glanced over at her toes. They were a gorgeous red. “Yours look so pretty. The color looks great.”

Heather glanced at her own toes and nodded. “Good choice, Silver.”

Once a coat of shimmer was applied to my toenails, the manicurist helped me out of the massage chair and
took Heather and me to two side-by-side, pretty pink tables for our manicures.

The manicurist repeated on my nails the process she'd just done on my toes. She knew just how short to make them to make the black polish look cool instead of scary.

After our nails were painted, the manicurists led Heather and me to the dryers. They turned them on, and our toes and fingers were blasted with heat and a UV light. While our nails dried, the manicurists massaged our backs and necks.

I wanted to live here. Or at least get a mani/pedi here every day.

“Thank you, girls,” they said as they finished our massages. “Please come again.”

“Thank you,” Heather and I said.

“I always dry for two cycles,” Heather said. “Otherwise, your nails might smudge.”

I nodded, not wanting mine to smudge. Any chips or smudges would be especially visible with the black polish.

We sat through two drying cycles and then tested our nails.

“Mine are dry,” I said.

“Mine too,” Heather said.

We put our boots back on and waved at the manicurists on the way out.

“Thanks!” I said.

They smiled at us and we went to the curb to wait for Paul.

“Um, I just thought of this, but won't your mom notice that we got our nails done?” I asked.

“No way,” Heather said. “She only talks to me when she has to, and even then she's not really looking at me. There's no way she'll notice our nails. Trust me. I'll tell her we just got back from riding, which we really kind of did, and that'll be it.”

“Okay,” I said. But I couldn't help worrying just a little. I didn't want either of us to get in trouble.

I glanced around, not sure what part of the city we were in.

“We're just a few blocks away from my apartment,” Heather said, answering my unspoken question. “Stop glancing around like you're lost.”

I kept my head still, but my eyes roamed over the street. Traffic flowed up and down—a never-ending stream of cars. People moved at a steady pace along the sidewalks, able to somehow text or talk on a BlackBerry and carry a giant Starbucks cup while not running into anyone. I
definitely wasn't a New Yorker yet—if I tried that, I'd spill coffee all over myself and whomever I bumped into.

“There's Paul,” Heather said. She looked down the street and we watched as he pulled up to the curb. We got into the car, and the ride to the penthouse seemed to take seconds instead of minutes.

We took the elevator, walked down the hallway, and Heather let us into the apartment. We tugged off our boots and I stretched my arms.

“I'm going to take a shower,” I said. I was gross from the stable.

“Me too,” Heather said.

We headed toward the hallway and almost smacked into Mr. Fox.

“Dad,” Heather said. There was surprise in her voice. “You're home early.”

She said the second sentence much more calmly. I wanted to jam my newly manicured hands into my pockets, but my breeches didn't have any.
Calm down,
I told myself.
It's not likely that Mr. Fox is looking at your nails.

“I left paperwork here,” Mr. Fox said. “I'm going back to work in a few minutes.” He looked so intimidating in his black suit, stark white shirt, and red tie.

“Okay. See you later,” Heather said.

Yes! Made it!
I thought.

“Wait a minute,” Mr. Fox said. “I want to hear about your practice session. Pam was supposed to have the indoor arena reserved, and two of her best horses were to be available.”

“We had the arena to ourselves, and Sasha and I got perfect horses,” Heather said. “We worked through a solid warm-up, and then ran through flatwork and jumping. We coached each other and neither of us held back on our critiques.”

Mr. Fox glanced at me. “Is it enough for you, Heather, to have another competitor critiquing you? Or do you need Pam or another instructor to oversee lessons for the rest of the week?”