Initiation (9 page)

“Come meet Honor,” Lexa said.

A strawberry roan with a blaze stuck her head over the door and nudged Lexa's shoulder. Lexa laughed and stroked the horse's muzzle.

“I guess she wants to introduce herself,” Lexa said, laughing. “This is Honor. She's just a
little
outgoing.”

“A tiny bit,” I said, laughing.

I reached my hand up for the mare to smell. Her nostrils widened as she took in my scent, then stuck her head in my direction. “She's beautiful,” I said, truthfully.

Lexa leaned against the stall door, rubbing Honor's cheek. “Thank you. I got her a couple of years ago. She'd just turned five.”

“What breed?” I asked.

“Saddlebred and Thoroughbred mix. She's got the smooth gait and long strides of a Saddlebred and the speed of a Thoroughbred.”

The mare bumped Lexa's shoulder with her cheek. “And the energy of a yearling!” Lexa added.

Whisper, likely hearing my voice, put her head over the stall door. I stepped over to her and Lexa followed me.

“This is my girl, Whisper,” I said. The mare reached her cashmere-soft muzzle toward me. I ran my finger over the pink and white snip on her muzzle. Her coat, the lightest shade of gray, almost shimmered.

“I love grays!” Lexa said. “She's tall, too. What breed?”

“It took a while for me to find out,” I explained. “My riding instructor helped me purchase her from a reputable breeder, but Whisper was a special case. She was originally bought at auction from people who didn't give the breeder much information about her past. Finally, I learned that Whisper is a double registered Hanoverian and Thoroughbred.”

“What a great mix,” Lexa said. “I love her delicate face and the contrast with her strong body.”

“Strong body
and
strong will,” I added.

Strong will
was definitely the right description, without a doubt. Whisper was sweet and she listened to every single command I gave her. But there were still a few kinks to work out. Every time I got frustrated, I reminded myself that we were still new to each other. Not to mention that I hadn't been able to spend as much time at the stable as I'd wanted.

Maybe because my to-do list had looked something like this:

· CARPET FOR END OF BED

· NIGHTSTAND

· LAMP/SHADE

·
I
P
OD DOCK

· DESK

· STORAGE CONTAINERS

. . . That part of the to-buy list had gone on and on
and on
. The rest of the list?

· D
O
C
ANTERWOOD SUMMER
HOMEWORK.

· R
EGISTER FOR CLASSES
.

· B
UY NEW CLOTHES
.

· P
ACK OLD CLOTHES
.

· P
ACK ACCESSORIES
.

· S
TUDY
C
ANTERWOOD CAMPUS MAP

. . . . and the list kept going.

When I'd finally found Whisper—my perfect horse match—I thought I'd spend all summer getting to ride. But prepping for school had taken more time than I'd thought.

Lexa shifted, pulling me out of my thoughts. “I wouldn't be too nervous about having a new horse here. No one better than Mr. Conner to train you both.”

“I hope so,” I said, hoping I wasn't showing the nervousness I felt. “Because I'm testing for the intermediate team tomorrow.”

“I'm sure you'll do great! I hope we're on the same team. I tested into intermediate at the end of last year. There are five riders on the team this year, so there's one open seat.”

One
spot?

“Do you know how many new students are trying out?”

“Well, it won't just be new students,” Lexa said. “Seventh graders who were on the beginner team and want to move up will test, too. So, if I had to guess, I'd say . . . fifteen or so?”

“Fifteen?”
I could only manage one word. “Wait, what happens to the students who don't make the intermediate team?”

“Canterwood accepts anyone into the riding program,” Lexa said. “Some students just pleasure ride and aren't on a team to compete. The school takes any student who wants to try out for the beginner team. And there's not just one. There are two beginner teams for seventh grade, so the classes aren't too big—that's where students who don't make the intermediate team go.”

“Mr. Conner teaches
all
of those classes?”

“There are two other instructors who teach sixth grade teams and beginner seventh graders,” Lexa said. “They're both nice and good instructors.”

I wilted a little. I was sure they
were
nice, but I wanted Mr. Conner. Especially after everything I'd heard about him.

“Hey,” Lexa said, stroking Whisper's forehead, seeming to address us both. “Try not to even think about that. The best advice I can think of is this: when you ride, ride as if you're already a rider for the intermediate team. Then, when you're in front of Mr. Conner for the first time, ride like you're trying to keep the spot you
already have.
If you got into Canterwood's riding program, you already made it farther than most.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

“Don't mention it,” said Lexa. “Hey, have you ridden since you got here?”

I shook my head.

“Want me to show you my favorite trail? It'll be fun! I can tell you what testing will be like and catch you up about the riders who are already on the intermediate team.”

“I'd love to go! Just knowing what testing will be like will help my nerves a ton.”

That and many, many cups of chamomile tea.

“Great. I've got to groom Honor and tack up, but I'll meet you right outside in, say, half an hour?”

“Perfect.”

I SLIPPED INTO WHISPER'S STALL, CLOSING
the door and wrapping my arms around her neck. She felt like my piece of home.

“I missed you, pretty girl,” I said. “What do you think of Canterwood?”

I let go of her neck so I could look into her big brown eyes. I loved when she blinked. She almost looked like she was flirting, with her curly gray eyelashes. I peered over to look at her pink hay net. Empty. The matching water bucket was half full.

“I think someone's settling in just fine,” I said. “I'm going to grab your tack—then I'll get you all groomed and extra shiny.”

Whisper nudged my arm with her muzzle, her whiskers
tickling me. I patted her shoulder, then walked to the other end of the hallway to grab her tack. The feeling of being at a new stable—people and horses I'd never met milling around me—was something I was actually very used to. Before my accident, I'd competed almost every other weekend at different shows. My trainer and I had purposely set up my schedule so that I could show as often as humanly possible.

My
goal had been to rack up enough points to become the season's overall champion. To get a championship title, I had to compete as often as possible in classes with high difficulty and win at least second place. Most of the time, I needed first. If I showed and didn't do well, I didn't earn enough points and had to show more to make up for lost points.

But my goals had changed since then. Now, I was itching to get back to—and perfect—the basics. I knew it was the only way to compete and
sustain
and elevate my competition level.

Inside the tack room, I slid Whisper's saddle and plum-colored pad over my arm. I had a few saddle pads in different, fun colors for practicing and trail riding. The white ones for showing were stowed away, but I also had red, pink, blue, and yellow.

I unzipped the new saddle I'd done chores all summer to save for—an all-purpose Butet saddle from Beval Saddlery Ltd. So, when I finally unwrapped the saddle and touched the buttery soft leather, I was beyond proud that I'd worked hard for to pay for half of it—all on my own. It felt more like
mine
than anything I'd ever owned. When the saddle had arrived in the mail, I'd stared at the sealed box for a long time—almost afraid to open it. The Butet saddle was
not
inexpensive. My parents had only agreed that I could get it because (a) I was paying for half, and (b) it was
extremely
customizable (parent translation: practical.)

I never took for granted that I was lucky to have parents who could provide for me beyond the things I truly needed. My mom, a successful lawyer, had taught us all how to work hard for what we wanted. Same with my dad—a stay-at-home writer. Writing kept him busy most of the day and sometimes all night when he was on deadline. He led by example; he wasn't going to hand us money for a trip to the mall—we had to earn it. None of my sisters nor I had ever been handed anything.

At Yates Preparatory, my old school in Union, there were too many students whose parents gave them whatever they wanted—
whenever
they wanted it. I hadn't really
hung out with those kids in school—the rich guys who thought they could buy a girl expensive jewelry and she'd go out with him. And definitely not the wealthy girls who looked at every other girl as if she were speaking an alien language if she admitted to buying her clothes anywhere other than Barneys or Saks.

Ana and Brielle lived comfortable lives, too, but they never flaunted it. According to our parents, the three of us had bonded because of our “work ethics.”

Now, I touched my saddle's name plate—a gift from my sister Charlotte. The brass plate read:

WHISPER
Lauren Towers

The ornamental satin brass tag had been Char's good luck gift to me. I ran my hand over the saddle's seat again, giddy. I'd only used it once before Canterwood to make sure the tree fit Whisper's back just right.

The saddle matched the equally gorgeous bridle with padded nose and brow bands. Both of my helmets hung above Whisper's saddle on pegs. I had a black Troxel helmet with a detachable visor for practice that was scraped and scratched from
plenty
of falls and a new Charles Owen
micro-suede covered helmet for shows.
That
one was in its own protective cover.

I carried my tack and helmet to Whisper's stall, resting everything on her trunk.

The mare's purple halter was on a peg next to her stall. I took it into the stall with me and her ears pointed forward. She knew what the halter meant!

I slipped the noseband over her muzzle and buckled the halter. I didn't need a lead line just to take her from the stall to crossties. With a light grip on the halter, I led her forward to the pair of crossties directly in front of her stall.

Honor's stall door was open, but I didn't see Lexa.

Whisper's ears swiveled and she sniffed the air, taking in her new surroundings as I clipped on the crossties. I stood beside Whisper's shoulder for a moment, stroking her until I was sure she seemed comfortable before walking to her tack trunk. I closed her stall door, put her saddle and pad over it, and draped her bridle across them.

I pulled open the heavy trunk lid. Inside, Whisper's gear was still arranged the way I'd painstakingly put it together. I loved looking at it all. The sets of bell boots, a winter blanket, lead lines, two leather halters, a tack box, shampoo, conditioner, and hoof polish were among some of the items I'd packed.

Whisper's tack box was
parfait
! The pale blue plastic matched the brushes and combs inside. And if I didn't want to carry the whole tack box, I had a mini Ariat carryall.

I put the box near Whisper and reached for a body brush. Whisper's coat, already mostly clean, just needed a light going-over. She grunted softly as I started near her poll and ran the brush down her neck. She enjoyed every second of it.

“Is this your version of a spa?” I joked. “It's time to do your hair and then your nails.”

Whisper huffed at the sound of my voice. She was an excellent listener. All summer, I'd rambled to her about how nervous I was about Canterwood. One of her ears was always pointed in my direction and she'd make a different noise depending on what I told her. It was almost as if she'd been trying to assure me that she understood.

The wide-tooth comb slid easily through her mane. I'd thinned it the week before school started, so it took no time to comb. Whisper swished her tail playfully at me after I'd made it silky.

“Hey!” I patted her flank. “That's it for the hairstyling.”

After I picked her hooves, I prepared to tack up. I reached for her saddle and suddenly found myself face-to-face with Riley.