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  “Would you play ‘judge’ during our lesson?” Lexa asked. Honor swiveled her ears at the sound of her owner’s voice. “Pretend we’re two teams—boys versus girls. At the end of the lesson, whatever team you think did the best wins.”

  Mr. Conner smiled. “Usually I’d say no, because I want you to focus on working together and as a team. Plus, this is practice, not a competition. That said, I like that you’re in the competitive mood.” He nodded. “Do your best, ladies and gentlemen. I’ll reveal my decision at the end of class.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Conner!” Cole said. The rest of us chimed in our thanks. My earlier nerves melted a little when I looked at my teammates. I was happy to play along with everyone else, and I didn’t want to leave Whisper out of anything.

  “Let’s head out to the main field to warm up, and then we’ll discuss the jumps,” Mr. Conner said.

  We walked our horses down the side drive and to the large field. Our group gathered on one of the many hills of campus. I had the perfect view of campus from atop Whisper’s back. I tried to pay attention to Mr. Conner, but my eyes darted to different places on campus.

  The tennis court.

  The outdoor pool.

  The dorms—from Winchester to Orchard to Blackwell.

  The tops of school buildings.

  And the long, winding driveway, lined with dark fences and dotted with street lanterns, that led to the tree-lined entrance and exit of campus. Sometimes it was overwhelming that I was here.

  “Lauren?”

  I looked up, blinking at Mr. Conner.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Please pay attention,” he said.

  I nodded. I was glad Riley wasn’t here to have witnessed that.

  “Take about fifteen minutes to warm up,” Mr. Conner said. “You don’t need me to tell you how to warm up. Go ahead and get started—feel free to spread out, but stay within eyesight.”

  I squeezed my boots against Whisper’s sides, and we staked out a section of the plain. Drew, Cole, Lexa, and Clare did the same. I put Whisper through a normal warm-up, enjoying the change of scenery. Whisper listened to every cue, and I was almost sorry when Mr. Conner raised his hand, signaling that time was up.

  He explained the course—ten obstacles that were clearly marked with the usual red-and-white flags.

  I looked over at Lexa on my right. Okay? she mouthed.

  I nodded. I was.

  Mostly.

  “We’re going to move to the middle of the course so you can watch each of your teammates,” Mr. Conner said. “I’d like Clare to go first, then Drew, Lauren, Lexa, and Cole.”

  Clare smiled and settled into her saddle.

  “Clare, head toward the first jump and begin when we’ve gathered out of the way. The rest of you, please follow me.”

  Fuego swished his cinnamon-colored tail as he and Clare separated from our group. We headed in the opposite direction, and Mr. Conner stopped us in the center of the short course. From here, we could see almost every jump.

  Clare circled Fuego in a large circle at a trot, then a canter. When they reached a solid canter, Clare pointed her gelding in a straight line at the first obstacle—a row of brush. The horse and rider, looking small from here, cleared the brush and cantered toward the second jump. It was another row of brush, but wider than the first.

  Fuego took the jump and the pair moved closer, becoming easier to see by the second as they approached our waiting group. Clare was a focused rider. She didn’t let anything get her attention away from her horse or their ride. Fuego was just as in tune with her—they tackled one jump after the other. Along with everyone else, I clapped when Clare finished and eased Fuego to a halt next to Polo.

  “That was a great ride, Clare,” Mr. Conner said. “There was a visible unity between horse and rider. Fuego took this course so well because of his deep trust in you. Continue working as a pair as you’ve been. I’m impressed.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Clare said. Her smile was contagious.

  Drew and Polo went next. I found myself gripping the reins, holding my breath, and standing in my stirrups during his ride. It was almost as if I was on course—I wanted him to do well. He guided his lanky blood bay over the course and made it look so easy. I tried not to clap like an overly caffeinated fan girl when he and Polo finished.

  Drew stopped Polo, then pushed up his white helmet and patted the horse’s shoulder. He flicked his eyes to me and I grinned, dropping the reins and giving him a thumbs-up. Drew’s light skin was flushed from the exercise. He smiled back at me in a way that wasn’t just merci, Lauren! but reached his eyes, too.

  “Drew, that was a strong ride,” Mr. Conner said. He glanced up from his clipboard. “You’re a consistent rider. I can’t stress enough how important that is both for you, as an individual rider, and for your team. When I prepare to watch you ride, I know what kind of ride to expect.” Drew smiled. “You also continue to grow, and there are subtle, but notable, degrees of improvement in almost every cross-country ride of yours that I witness.”

  Drew tipped his head, then looked up. “Thank you, Mr. Conner. I really appreciate your comments, and I’ll keep working hard.”

  Mr. Conner gave Drew a quick smile before turning to me. “Lauren, are you ready?”

  I nodded. I was too afraid to speak in case my voice came out squeaky. Mr. Conner’s brown eyes seemed to be trying to send a silent message of reassurance. Like he knew Whisper and I could do this. We had, too, in the time I’d been at Canterwood. But only a couple of jumps and not a full course.

  Stop thinking! Go!

  I tapped my boot heels against Whisper’s sides, and raising her head high, she moved into a trot. If I wasn’t ready, she definitely was. Her hoofbeats, muffled by the grass, were rhythmic and even.

  We trotted away from our group, and I fought to find the place in my brain where Competition Lauren still existed. Competition Lauren could block out anything—from trash talkers on opposite teams to nerves over people having higher scores—and I needed to tap into her now.

  I took a quick breath, settled my tailbone into the saddle, and asked Whisper for a canter. The ground was firm, but there were soft patches from the overnight rain. I crossed my fingers that no one before me had hit the same areas, churning up the grass and making a muddy mess.

  Whisper switched gaits and had an ear back to me and an ear pointed forward. I took her through two large circles to warm up before pulling on the right rein and aligning her with the first jump. Brush was one of my favorites. When I was little, I had pretended that I was a steeplechaser and had raced ponies over any brush fences I could find. I’d even convinced Mom to sew me a pair of blue-and-white jockey silks.

  The jump rushed at us, and I rose into the two-point position. Unlike me, Whisper hadn’t been daydreaming. She propelled herself into the air at the right moment, and we easily cleared the brush.

  One down! I couldn’t help but smile.

  Six strides later, I lifted my seat out of the saddle and Whisper jumped over the second hedge. She landed, hooves far away from touching the greenery, and snorted. She tossed her head, gray mane flying. Whisper deserved to feel good, but I had to keep her focused. As a young, green horse, she needed a rider who paid attention and kept her on track.

  We’d settled into a rhythm by the time the third, fourth, and fifth jumps were behind us. Whisper hadn’t batted a curly eyelash at the two red-and-white verticals or the oxer made out of logs.

  I kept my hands steady as we reached thin fence boards. Mr. Conner had made the course safe—all the jumps were designed with material that would break or be knocked down if a horse didn’t clear the obstacle. I rose into the air, and Whisper tucked her forelegs beneath her and propelled us over the jump with her strong hindquarters. Every muscle in her body was engaged—it made our ride feel electric.

  I turned Whisper in a half circle and we started to canter up a slight incline. Oops. I started sliding backward in the saddle. The “sligh
t incline” was a little steeper than I’d thought. Tightening my abs, I leaned forward and wrapped my fingers through Whisper’s mane for extra support. She huffed, working hard. Her canter slowed a touch from earlier, and I let her so she didn’t overexert herself. Only a few more strides, girl! I wanted to tell her. We reached the hilltop, and the field leveled out with the final jumps ahead of us.

  We weren’t that high up, but Mr. Conner and the other riders and horses looked small. It felt like a private session with Whisper, where we could focus on the final jumps without anyone watching us so closely.

  Whisper took a vertical with bright yellow flowers in between the first and second pole. The ground turned a little soggier, and I slowed her before the next jump. Whisper snorted, tugging against the reins. She’d been having fun cantering at her own pace, but we had to be more careful on the potentially slippery terrain. One jump to go!

  I sat deep in the saddle until the final seconds before the oxer and then lifted out of the saddle. Whisper’s takeoff was clean and she lifted into the air, her hooves making a slight suction-y sound against the grass.

  We landed, and as I guided her away from the jump, readying to start our descent down, something felt off. One of her back hooves was striking the ground, but not making a sound like the others. Whisper’s ears flicked back and forth; she was losing concentration because of whatever was going on.

  Oh, no.

  I eased her to a halt as fast as possible and dismounted. Mr. Conner was already making his way up the hill, while everyone else waited below.

  I walked to Whisper’s hindquarters and ran my hand down her left leg, squeezing above her fetlock. She offered me her hoof: bare.

  “Lauren,” Mr. Conner said. “What happened?”

  I gently put down Whisper’s hoof and turned to Mr. Conner, who was standing at her head and holding the reins.

  “She threw a shoe,” I said, trying to keep calm. “It’s my fault. I looked at her hooves this afternoon and knew she was overdue for shoes. I should have asked to sit out when I realized we’d be riding over soft ground. I didn’t even think about it.”

  Mr. Conner put a hand on my shoulder. “Lots of horses, though it’s not healthy for their hooves, go a long, long time without having their shoes replaced. I checked all the charts for horses who needed shoes, and I already had Whisper down for this week.”

  “Thank you,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “But she’s always used to being shod. What if she bruised her hoof when she cantered without a shoe?”

  “Let me take a look,” Mr. Conner said. “I’m betting, though, that the softer ground played to your advantage today.”

  I took the reins from Mr. Conner and stood by Whisper’s head. She was breathy from finishing the course, and I rubbed her cheek. Looking up into her amber eyes, I offered a silent apology.

  It felt like an eternity had passed before Mr. Conner released Whisper’s leg and faced me. I flicked my tongue over my permanent bottom retainer—nervous habit.

  “I don’t see any hint of bruising or trauma to the hoof,” he said, smiling. “You pulled her up the second you felt something was wrong. Had you kept going . . . well, we could be having a very different conversation.”

  I let out a giant breath. “I’m so glad she’s okay.”

  Mr. Conner patted Whisper’s neck and the gray, closing her eyes, leaned into his touch. “I’ll make a note for the farrier to take an extra-close look at Whisper, but I don’t foresee any different news.”

  I nodded. “Thank you again, Mr. Conner.”

  “Of course. Now, your lesson is over for today. Walk Whisper back to the stable and get her groomed. Go find one of the stable hands if you need help with anything until I’m finished here.”

  Mr. Conner started back to the awaiting group, and I led Whisper downhill. I’d been on horses who’d thrown shoes before, and I’d never gotten that worried.

  I glanced at Whisper. “That’s what happens when it’s your horse, huh?”

  I stayed with Whisper until the rest of the group was ready to head to The Sweet Shoppe. It had become clear the girls had won when Khloe and Lexa, all smiles, found me and told me to keep my wallet in my bag.

  BLOGGER CONFESSIONS

  Lauren Towers’s Blog

  *locked post for approved friends only*

  6:23 p.m.: TGIF, amis! (K said I had to translate any French words I wrote because “not everyone’s taking French, chica!”) She was right! Amis means “friends.” So . . .

  It’s finally Friday, and I had a free min to blog! KK and I are heading to C’s for a sleepover soon. I’ve never been in her room, so I’m excited to see how it’s decorated and what their tastes are. I could have asked Khloe, but I haven’t. It’s been more fun to try and guess. But I’ve been drawing a blank.

  Guessing R took control over how the room looks, and the only guess I have is très sophisticated and expensive. You know, one of those rooms where you’re afraid to touch anything because it’s worth a gazillion dollars and you don’t want to break it. Or a room where everything’s white from rugs to bedspreads and you sip soda in the doorway—too afraid to get an orange Slice stain on the rug.

  I’m glad it’ll be just our little group.

  This week has been so crazy! Lessons, classes—busy every second! Sometimes I miss the pace of Yates, and I always feel the absence of my friends. It’s been hard to keep in touch as much as I wish we could. We’re all busy with our own stuff, but I never wanted that to get in the way of our friendships. They’re so much more important than sports or debate team. More important than boys, too.

  I’m rambling. Sorry! I didn’t make this post public because I wanted to use my blog kind of like a journal for a minute.

  There’s this guy, D, who’s on the riding team with me. (I know! I just wrote about friends being more important than guys, but . . .) T and I broke up almost six months ago and I still love him. As a friend.

  Now that I’ve been at CCA a little while, I let my two major rules about Canterwood go out my Hawthorne window: Stay focused on school and work extra hard on riding.

  I’m still doing both of those things! But I also said no boys. At least, not until I got used to everything here. I was keeping my promise until I met D. Then I met C.H. (not C.B.) at The SS, and he made me really consider that I could go out with D, but still hold up my end of the bargain about grades and riding.

  Besides, Canterwood is so . . . Canterwood. Would I ever know if I was “used” to things here? It changes by the minute, and I don’t think that’s going away. I have to keep up and have fun. I mean, I’m going to be thirteen (!!) on Halloween, and I don’t want to waste any time.

  Whoa, LOL. Thirteen sounds sooo cool. I’ve been wanting to be thirteen forever. I can’t go into that—it’s an entirely different post!

  So I confess, I really, really like D. I could go on and on about his tropical-water blue eyes and dark hair, but ahhh!

  No!

  K will be out of the shower and ready to go to C’s very soon.

  The big thing on my mind is my bday. It’s, like, six weeks away. I wonder if (a) D will come to my party and (b) if I’ll get kissed.

  Gotta run!! Just the thought of that will keep me online forever.

  Xoxo

  Posted by Lauren Towers

  RILEY’S ROOM REVEALED

  AN HOUR LATER KHLOE AND I HAD OVERNIGHT bags packed and headed up to the second floor of Hawthorne to Clare’s room. I’d never climbed the few stairs to the next level of dorm rooms. The second floor was laid out like the first, but it felt nice to be a story up. More like my room at home on the second floor.

  “We’re going to have so much fun,” Khloe said. She smiled, her lips extra shiny from the Laughing Lips Watermelon Glaze that had come in the mail today from Aerie (our new fave store). “OMG, if anyone deserves a sleepover—we all do! The only downer is that Cole can’t come.”

  “I know,” I said. “The ‘no guys allowed in girls’ rooms�
�� is kind of unfair. If Christina met Cole, she’d see how sweet he is.”

  Khloe pouted. “We’ll have to work on that. If not for a sleepover, at least getting him over to visit or do homework.”

  I nodded. Cole was always the perfect icebreaker to any situation. I was a teensy bit nervous about tonight, even though Riley was gone. I guess I wanted to make sure Khloe had fun and forgot where Riley was and what she was doing.

  Khloe did a little dance in the hallway. I giggled, snapping out of my thoughts. “It’s the best timing ever anyway!” she said. “You, Lexa, and I all get to have fun with Clare and not worry that it’s going to turn into some kind of Riley’s Evil Plot to Ruin the Night.”

  I grinned. “In my head, I capped the whole ‘Evil’ part. It felt that important.”

  Khloe shifted her leather faux-croc bag to the other shoulder. “Um, it is that important. No one’s going to wake up with their hair chopped off or a can of sticky grape soda poured into their bag.”

  I shook my head. “Riley’s done those things during a sleepover?”

  Khloe put up both hands, rolling her eyes. “Oh, no one could pin them on Riley. Apparently, Elisa’s hair was cut by her secretly jealous roommate, who denied it and started crying. Keep in mind that Elisa’s roomie had been intimidated by Riley since day one.”

  “Suspicious,” I said. “And the soda?”

  “Riley’s hypothesis was that it ended up in my bag after being knocked off the table in the middle of the night by accident. Someone did it when they got up to use the bathroom. And it couldn’t have been Riley, because she’s familiar with her own room’s layout and wouldn’t have run into anything.”

  I shook my head. “I’d be going back downstairs if Riley were here tonight.”

  Khloe skipped ahead, flashing a thousand-watt smile, and knocked on Clare’s door. “But she’s not!”

  I looked at Clare and Riley’s door. It was so different from the way Khloe and I had decorated ours. The whimsical style hadn’t been at all what I’d expected. A chalkboard with pastel chalk was at eye level. Pastel butterfly and flower decals were pressed onto the door. A vinyl banner ran along the top of the door, proudly proclaiming CANTERWOOD CREST ACADEMY EQUESTRIAN TEAM.