How My Summer Went Up in Flames (16 page)

“Yes. I just don’t have running shoes. And what’s up with the glasses?”
Thick
glasses, at that. They make his eyes
look itty bitty. “I never saw you wear them before.”

“Wouldn’t you opt for contacts if your glasses looked like that?” Spencer says. “You should have seen him when he was fat and wore glasses. Attractive. Very attractive.”

“I’d kick your ass, little bro, but we don’t have time,” Logan jokes.

Discovering Logan was fat and wears glasses makes something click in my brain. Sure, Logan’s got a confident, borderline cocky attitude, but it’s more about being smart, and right, than about being hot. Meanwhile, Joey knows exactly how good he looks and works it—flirting with the world is Joey’s modus operandi. Logan, on the other hand, knows he’s smart, but he doesn’t necessarily know how good looking he is. “It explains a lot,” I blurt out.

“What?” Logan asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “Gotta get ready.”

Thankfully he does the guy thing and moves on.

“You’ve got a half hour, Catalano. Remember, jeans. No shorts.”

 • • •

Forty-five minutes later, we’re back in the Taurus. Yes, I took a little longer getting ready today. The round brush was working its magic as I blew my hair dry, and I did
not want to rush the process. For once, nobody complains. Logan even lets me ride shotgun.

“You look . . . nice,” Logan says softly as he opens the door for me.

I’m not sure whether I should return the compliment or check the back of his neck for probes.

“Thanks,” I say. Best to keep it simple.

I click my seat belt and stare out the window. Spencer fires up his tunes. It’s his turn to pick the music. I put my shades on, close my eyes, and listen to his first selection. Make that
try
to listen. Classic rock. Better than country, but with Spencer strumming along on the acoustic, it’s like being forced to watch someone play Guitar Hero.

“Can we listen to my songs next?” I ask. It’s worth a shot.

“That’s depends,” Matty says.

“On what?”

“If you have an appropriate playlist,” Logan says.

“My Bruce mix includes ‘Badlands,’ ” I offer.

“There are no badlands in New Mexico,” Spencer explains.

“There is no
Kansas
in New Mexico. And yet that’s what I find myself listening to,” I say. “‘Dust in the Wind’? Does it get any sadder?”

Spencer defends his choice. “I’m learning this guitar part.”

I know I’m difficult, I’m aware of that. But these three have no idea how utterly infuriating they can be in their collective passive-aggressive way. I sigh and accept my defeat.

 • • •

As we pull onto Route 40 west, I look out the window at the caramel-colored landscape. I swear we’ve passed that same mountain ten times already and we’ve only been in the car for eleven minutes. My impatience grows with every mile until I blurt out to no one in particular, “If you’re not going to tell me where we’re going, can you at least tell me how long it’s going to take to get there?”

“Three hours,” Matty says.

Why do I bother asking? Deflated, I sink down in my seat. Every time we get in this car, it seems like I always spend a minimum of three hours with my butt on these taupe fabric seats until our next destination. I’m getting tired of leaving Somewhere, driving through the Middle of Nowhere, and ending up Somewhere again. I click the heels of my Skechers together. Nothin’. Must only work with ruby slippers. Either that, or my heart knows I don’t really want to go home.

We’ve traveled nearly two hundred miles and for the past hour, no one has said a word. This would never happen in a car full of girls. We’d have endless topics of conversation: movies, boys, music, SATs, celebrity gossip, boys, split ends, gel manicures. Whatever. Girls can fill the silence.

“Why does it take so long to get anywhere?” I finally say.

“It’s a big country, Catalano,” Logan offers.

“That’s why my family sticks to the edges.”

“Quit your constant complaining,” Matty says. “We’re here.”

“Really? Where?” I perk up and look out the window.

“I think the sign says it all,” Logan says.

“Sandia Stables?” I’m smiling ’cause I know.

“We decided that the only thing better than seeing an alien in New Mexico would be seeing you on horseback,” Matty chimes in. “I told them how you’ve always wanted to ride a horse.”

“Seriously?” My eyes and nose burn with happy tears, and for few seconds, that’s all I can manage to say. Finally, I clear my throat and speak.

“Thank you, guys. This is awesome.”

If I had known, I would have worn the cowgirl tank I bought in Nashville. It seems like that was a month ago. We
drive down the long dirt road leading to the horse ranch. Logan parks near the barn and we all get out of the car.

“This one is on me,” Logan says, and reaches for his wallet.

 • • •

I am positively giddy and have to restrain myself from jumping up and down when I see my horse emerge from the barn with the rancher. She is beautiful, just like the copper-colored pair I saw on the ridge in Virginia. She has a diamond-shaped white spot between her deep brown eyes and her mane hangs between her ears like horsey bangs; how adorable.

“Okay now, miss. Why don’t you step on over here and I’ll show you how to git up on Penny?”

Aw, her name is Penny. It reminds me of Pony. Wait until I tell him about this. As I walk toward Penny and the ranch man, I’m suddenly anxious. Does Penny know I’m nervous? Aren’t horses supposed to be really good at sensing human emotion? I’ve seen
The Horse Whisperer
on AMC. I want her to like me.

“Take a deep breath and relax,” the rancher says. “That’s my first rule.”

In through the nose, out through the mouth. “I’m good.”

“Okay now. You’re
going to stand on the left side of the horse. Take the reins in your left hand, and put that hand up here by the horse’s mane.”

I follow his directions.

“Good. Now, without letting go of the reins, grab on to her mane.”

I’m worried about hurting Penny, but I listen. He’s the expert.

“Okay, now you’re going to use your right hand to turn the stirrup toward you. Good. That’s it. Now put your left foot in there.”

Right hand. Left foot.
Okay, pardner, I’m still with you.

“There ya go. Now grab the back of the saddle, give a little bounce on the ball of your right foot, and pull on her mane and the saddle until you get yourself up in the stirrup on your left.”

I never turn around to look at the boys. I just concentrate, bounce, pull, and whoa! Here I am, almost on the horse.

“That a girl. Now swing that right foot over and you’re there.”

Plop. Houston, I am in the saddle. The stirrups are higher than I expected. I thought my legs would hang down more.

“Whatever you do. Do not let go of the reins. Got it?” Mr. Sandia Stables says.

I give him a toothy smile. I’m quivering inside. “Got it.”

Could it be that I’m a natural? That wasn’t hard at all. Ha! Look at me. Giddyap. I’m grinning proud. And here’s the better part: Logan, Matty, and Spencer all make complete asses of themselves trying to mount their horses. It’s beyond me how Matty, who’s almost as tall as his horse, can’t seem to pull himself up smoothly.

“Grab the back of the saddle, not the horn,” the rancher yells. “This isn’t a carousel.”

I think Matty’s horse doesn’t like him. It keeps shaking its head and razzing him. It takes Matty at least three tries before his long, skinny leg finally swings up and over. Spencer gets up on the first try but collapses on the horse’s neck before getting his right leg in the proper position. Logan’s horse keeps taking one step away every time he goes to put his foot in the stirrup. Finally, the ranch guy holds the reins and stirrup for him. I’m surprised he didn’t boost Logan up and over too. Now, that would have been priceless.

“All right,” says the rancher. “Now that we’ve got you all in the saddle, I’ll teach you basic starting and stopping,
and then my son, Lucca, over there is going to take you out on the trail.”

I follow the rancher’s finger to where he’s pointing. Well, would you look at Lucca. That tush was made for Wrangler’s. I’m itching to fluff my hair, but it’s like the ranch man reads my inner monologue.

“I said it before, but this bears repeating. Never drop the reins,” says the father of Lucca. Lucca the god. “Keep your backs straight and your heels down. Eyes up. Don’t look at the ground. You look at the ground, you’ll be on the ground.”

We snap into our best posture and follow directions as the rancher continues.

“Now for some horseback riding one-zero-one. Keep the reins in the center of the saddle, by the horn. Move the reins to the left, and your horse will go left; move them to the right, and the horse will go right. Pull back, slowly, not with a quick jerk, and the horse will stop. To get the horse walking, squeeze with your calves and the horse will go. As you feel more comfortable, I’d like you to try to guide the horse by using that same technique. To move left, apply pressure with your calf to the horse’s right side and vice versa.”

“Do we have to say giddyap?” Why’d I ask that?

“Only if you think that’s going to give you a fuller experience, miss.” Rancher sarcasm.

“You’ll have to excuse her,” Matty says. “She’s from New Jersey.”

“So are you guys!”

“Yes, but we don’t try quite as hard to make it obvious.” Logan laughs.

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t think it’s something to be ashamed of,” I snipe.

That’s it. I squeeze with my calves and Penny starts walking. All on her own, she moseys away from the barn toward the nearest trail and I don’t try to stop her. That’s my girl. Just get me away from these idiots. We understand each other, me and Penny.

“Hold up, little lady,” Father of Lucca calls after me. “Don’t head down the trail without Lucca.”

I wave over my shoulder and play dumb. Let Lucca catch me. Let them all catch me. I can’t wait until Penny is galloping. I hear a commotion behind me as the guys attempt to put their horsies in drive.

“Watch it,” I hear Logan yell.

“Uh, space, Matty. I need room to turn,” Spencer says.

I smile and let Penny take her time as we amble toward
the woods. Then comes the cloppity-clop of a horse coming up quickly behind me. I watch the butt of Lucca pass me on the left. His flexed thigh muscles sure look nice as he pulls in front of me and spins his horse around to face Penny. He nods and tips a straw cowboy hat at me. I glance behind me to see the boys have finally achieved forward motion and are closing the gap between us.

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t ya?” Lucca says.

“I’m just excited. This is my first time on a horse.”

“Well, I’d say you’re doing fine so far.”

“Thanks.” It feels nice to be spoken to this way by a boy. No taunting. No irony in his voice.

“You like horses?” Lucca asks.

“I do. And I really like Penny. I think she gets me.” I stroke her mane and pat her neck. I think I feel her smiling.

“Looks like it,” Lucca says.

Oh, man, I love his five o’clock shadow and the way the little indent at the base of his neck provides the perfect cradle for the turquoise and silver charm that hangs from his leather choker. I can’t say that I’ve ever had a cowboy fantasy, but that just changed. I’m mulling over a way to surreptitiously get a pic of Lucca’s Wrangler butt on horseback when the guys finally join us.

“We all here?” Lucca asks. “Let’s go, then. Why don’t you ride behind me, pretty lady? The rest of you follow in single file.”

Pretty lady. I know he probably says that to all the girls, but it’s something I don’t hear very often, and by “very often” I mean ever. I sit taller.

Our horses mosey up the trail a bit as we follow Lucca’s instructions and stay in single file. It’s already pretty hot—not steamy New Jersey hot, more like standing in an oven hot—and our rides don’t appear to be in any rush. Both Penny and I could use another application of deodorant. The view is nice, though, and I’m not just talking about Lucca’s gluteus maximus.

We ride in relative silence. I say “relative” because me and Lucca aren’t talking and Logan, who is immediately behind me, is not saying a word, but I can hear Matty and Spencer yapping away in the back. Words like “indigenous” and “vegetation” drift my way and I have to roll my eyes. Most of the trees on the trail look like run-of-the-mill evergreen. Nothing too unfamiliar except that I notice when I breathe in, and this is going to sound weird, I can smell them. The air smells so clean. I feel like one of those women in an air freshener commercial. Back home, I’d never give
trees or other plants or how they smelled a second thought. Lucca stops and lets me and Penny catch up. I stare beyond the tree line at the jagged tops of the gray mountains. Lucca follows my gaze.

“The Sandia Mountains,” he says. He looks older than all of us; around twenty, I’m guessing.

“Thus the name of your stables.”

“Correct.”

“What kind of trees are these?” For some reason, I care all of a sudden.

“Firs and spruce. A few ponderosa here and there; nothing too special,” he says. “You’ve probably got these in Jersey.”

“New Jersey,” I say. I can’t help it. He’s touched a sore spot. In my opinion, you can only call it “Jersey” if you live in Jersey.

“New Jersey,” Lucca corrects.

“You don’t hear me dropping the ‘new’ from your state, do you? Where would that get us, huh?”

“Cancún?” Lucca gives me a half smile. “Just like I thought. Feisty.”

I smile too. Partly because I’m picturing shirtless Lucca surrounded by sand and turquoise water, the scent of coconut
suntan lotion on his skin and . . . I’m going to fall off Penny if I go on. I shake my head to snap out of it. “Well, it’s just that I hate when people who aren’t from my state do that—especially Philly sports fans.”

“I stand corrected.”

“Except you’re sort of sitting right now,” I tease.

I don’t know why I’m being so sassy with this complete stranger, who I find wildly attractive. I guess I’m in I’ve-got-nothing-to-lose mode. He lives in New Mexico, he’s too old for me, and I’m never going to see him again.