Take the Reins (6 page)

THE CANTERWOOD MEDIA CENTER WAS JUST
across campus from Winchester. I'd never been there before, but Paige told me it had a massive movie theater, a TV lounge, computers, and video games.

I was going to my first film class—we were supposed to meet in the theater, listen to a brief lecture from the teacher, and watch a movie.

Inside the brightly lit theater, three rows of seats were roped off and a paper sign had been posted that read “seventh-grade film class—please sit in your assigned seat.” I scanned the rows until I spotted a piece of paper with my name taped to the back of a chair. Sinking into the deeply cushioned red chair, I opened my purple notebook and wrote
film class.
It looked like a small class, only
about fifteen seats had papers on them. A couple of girls found their seats in front of me.

“Excuse me,” one of my classmates said as he stepped in front of me and took a seat on my left.

I looked out of the corner of my eye, and when I saw who was sitting there, I could have
died
!

Jacob.

When he pulled his notebook out of his bag, our arms almost touched and I looked away from him. Okay, I could do this. Just ignore the pounding heart and be cool. But I knew I wouldn't be able to be cool. Those eyes, that gorgeous hair—he even
smelled
good—like peppermint. This called for a lip gloss action plan! Digging into my jacket pocket for a tube, I found one of my favorites—s' mores. I applied a thick coat.

Jacob looked at me. “Hey, you're the new girl from Utz's office—Sasha, right?”

O.M.G.

I nodded and gave him what I hoped was a cute smile.

He shifted in his seat. “What's that smell?” he asked.

Oh
no
. Did I smell like horse? Or worse…manure? I glanced to the other side and took a quick whiff of my shirt. Secret Vanilla with a hint of caramel body wash. Maybe I didn't smell the horse scent because I was too
used to it! Too many years at the stable. Too many years of muck. And horses. And hay. Dear God, I was immune! I could smack myself for not taking Paige's offer to make me cinnamon sachets for my sock drawer.

“What smell?” I asked, my cheeks pink.

He sniffed the air. “It's chocolate. I can't figure out where it's coming from.”

Phew! Chocolate definitely wasn't horsey. I jammed my hand into my jean pocket and produced the lip gloss. “It's this,” I explained, holding it up.

He peered at the label with gray green eyes and laughed. “It's making me hungry. You don't have a cheeseburger-scented one, do you?”

“Nope, sorry.” I said, shaking my head. New mission: find cheeseburger-scented lip gloss. I'd have to hit Sephora.com the second I got back to the dorm.

I hadn't even noticed that people had filled the seats around us.

A gangly man with a pale face stood in front of the class. He was dorky in a Peter Parker pre-spider-bite sort of way. He took a deep bow. “I'm Mr. Ramirez,” he said. “Welcome to your first film class. In this class, I'll be taking you on a journey through the world of film. We'll be covering classics like
E.T.
, cartoon blockbusters
like
Toy Story,
and love stories such as
Titanic.
”

The theater was quiet. Mr. Ramirez continued. “You've probably heard this is an easy class.” Several girls in front of me nodded. “Well, that's not
exactly
true. You'll write papers, learn film terminology, and memorize many film quotes.”

The guy on my right shifted over and put his arm on the armrest.

“Let's start with a little comedy to lighten the mood,” Mr. Ramirez said. “We'll be screening the 1959 classic,
Some Like it Hot,
with Marilyn Monroe.” He turned down the lights.

“I've seen this movie a couple of times,” Jacob whispered. Hopefully, he couldn't hear my pounding heart. I didn't have the nerves for this boy thing!

The enormous movie screen crackled as the film started. Jacob and I sat in silence for a few minutes, but soon we were laughing at the movie at all the same parts. He caught my eye a couple of times and my earlier embarrassment started to fade. I forgot about my English paper due next week and the fact that Charm and I had knocked a rail during practice yesterday. All too soon, the movie ended. The lights came on, with an annoyingly bright glare, and Jacob shot me a smile.

Mr. Ramirez stood in front of the screen and clapped his hands. “We have so much time, and so little to do! Strike that, reverse it.”

“
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
!” Jacob called out.

“Correct, sir! And you are?” Mr. Ramirez asked.

“Jacob Schwartz.”

Mr. Ramirez stepped into the row in front of us and sat on the back of a chair. “What did you think of the film, Jacob?”

Jacob didn't hesitate. “I think that any guy who wants to understand girls should watch the film.” His comment sent Mr. Ramirez and the entire class into laughter.

“Anyone else?”

I raised my hand and he nodded to me.

“The movie seemed like it may have been ahead of its time,” I said.

“Good, good. Your name, please?” Mr. Ramirez asked, a smile on his face as he rubbed his clean-shaven chin with his hand.

“Sasha Silver.”

“That was a good observation, Sasha. So, if the movie was ahead of its time, why do you think the studio took a risk on it?”

“Probably because it's so funny. People come to the movies to escape.”

“That's very good. Quite true.” Mr. Ramirez moved off to another row.

After a few more questions, he brought up the dreaded topic of homework.

“Each of you will need to choose a film and write a three-page paper about it. The topic is up to you. You may use a film from the library or from your own collection. To ensure you read the syllabus, I'm not going to tell you the paper's due date.”

The rest of the class began packing up their books. I tried to think of something else to say to Jacob. “Good movie,” I said finally.

L.A.M.E.

“Yeah, it was.” He grinned and, with that, headed out of the theater, disappearing into the crowd.

 

“He did what?” Paige asked.

“He smelled my lip gloss.” I crashed onto my bed with a sigh. “Paige, we've been talking about this for twenty minutes! There's not much left to tell.”

She ignored me and flopped onto my bed. “How many times have you seen him? He definitely likes you.”

Rolling my eyes, I got up off the bed and switched on my laptop. “I don't know. And anyway, all he said when we left was ‘see you around.'”

“That could mean anything. Like, ‘maybe I'll see you around' or ‘see you for sure at the next class.' What a typical guy. Totally murky response.”

“I'm shopping for lip gloss. How about bubble gum?” I waved an arm at Paige. Mom and Dad had given me a credit card for emergencies—this definitely counted!

Paige wrinkled her nose. “Sasha, you've got to get scents
he
would like. Bubble gum is a
girl
smell.” She stared at my computer screen and scrolled through the massive lip gloss collection.

“Is there anyone at Canterwood you like?” I asked her.

“I do like someone at home,” she confessed. “Do you remember that picture I showed you of me dancing?”

I nodded, remembering the picture—Paige arm in arm with her tall, gorgeous dance partner.

She smiled. “His name is Derek. But my mom doesn't approve. She thinks he's a good dance partner, but he's the instructor's son. He sends me e-mails sometimes.” Paige pointed to the screen. “What about this one?”

“Tangerine? Fruit is better than bubble gum?”

“It's very aromatic—guys have a nose for citrus scents,”
Paige explained. “And here's one—cinnamon. And mint!”

We scanned the screen and kept an eye out for the elusive and nonexistent cheeseburger flavor.

“How about vanilla bean?” I asked, adding it to the cart. I'd be going home next Friday while the teachers had their staff development day. Hopefully, Mom and Dad wouldn't see their credit card bill before then.

“IF YOU GET MANURE NEAR MY FOOT AGAIN,
I'm going to scream!” Heather threatened.

After three hours of this, on a Saturday no less, it was a miracle that her squealing hadn't deafened me by now. Her hair was pulled into a flawless ponytail, not a single glossy tendril daring to escape. My hair, on the other hand, was matted with sweat. I wiped my filthy hands on ancient gray sweatpants that sagged in the butt and had holes in the knees.

The scent of manure filled the stall. Breathing through my mouth, I stuck my pitchfork in the sawdust and spread it around the stall. At least next weekend, I'd be home for three days. Not seeing Heather for seventy-two hours sounded
so
good.

Mike led Charm and Aristocrat side by side down the aisle. The horses eyed each other warily. They pulled on the lead lines, tugging Mike forward to the turnout pasture. I watched out the window as Mike put Charm in one paddock and Aristocrat in another. They regarded each other over the dark wooden fence line and Aristocrat let out a challenging neigh. Great, now Charm and Aristocrat were fighting. Dark gray thunderclouds gathered in the distance. Mike would probably bring the horses back inside soon.

My arms, back, and neck burned. My boots were filled with sawdust. Dirt stuck under my fingernails and sawdust clumped in my hair.

Heather's cell phone rang from her pocket—some typical pop song I'd heard a thousand times over the summer. Surprise, surprise. She threw her pitchfork down and jammed her hand into her tiny pocket.

“We're supposed to be working,” I reminded her.

She waved her hand at me dismissively and walked outside the stall to talk, but her voice carried enough for me to hear.

“Dad, it's my math teacher, Ms. Utz. She hates me! She's going to fail me.” She paused and listened. I could hear gravel crunch beneath her feet as she paced back and forth. “Okay, okay. Bye.”

For a second, I almost felt bad for her. It sounded like her dad never stopped pressuring her. No wonder she was so cranky all the time.

Heather entered the stall. She avoided my eyes and started shoveling damp sawdust out of the stall. Reason told me to keep my big mouth shut, but my lips didn't listen. “You okay?” I asked.

Heather glared at me. “Like you care,” she said.

“Just asking,” I said.

“Why did you even come here?” Heather jabbed the pitchfork in the sawdust and crossed her arms over her chest. “
You
don't have a mother who was almost an Olympic equestrian.
You
haven't been bred for Canterwood since you were four.”

“I placed in every show in my district,” I said. “And I was first at Briar Creek.”

“
Briar Creek
?” Heather laughed. “You can't be serious. Oh God, you are. You think showing well for a third-rate stable on the bottom tier makes you a good rider? Silver, the advanced level at Briar Creek, is like beginner here. I drove past that little hole-in-the-wall on my way to the West Hartford spring show last year.”

My fingers gripped the wooden pitchfork handle and my heart thudded.

“Briar Creek may not have a big reputation, but the riders are good,” I said.

Heather rolled her eyes. “You may have won all of the shows at your level, but you haven't ridden at ours. All of our riders are great. Not
good
.”

All traces of sympathy I had for Heather while she was on the phone with her dad were gone now. “What did I ever do to you, Heather?” I asked, looking right at her. “What is your
problem
?”

Heather sighed like she was bored of me, but I could tell she wasn't expecting me to talk back to her. “The only reason Mr. Conner put you in intermediate, and not beginner, is so you'd fail faster and quit,” she said. “Better to realize now that you don't have what it takes than waste your time trying to move up the ranks later.”

I could feel my face getting warm. It took all of my restraint not to throw manure on her. I had to get out of here. Heather could muck by herself.

I left the stall to check on Charm. Charm and Aristocrat, in opposite ends of their pastures, ignored each other and snipped the grass with their teeth. My reflection in the mirror showed my hair sticking out in tangles and a tiny zit forming on my forehead. Paige had me on a new beauty regimen—nightly facials and something with a
weird, unpronounceable acid—to impress Jacob. But so far, all I'd done was break out.

Thunder rumbled overhead. Mike dashed by me with lead lines flapping in his hands. “I'll get Charm!” I yelled after him as we raced outside. Charm jerked his head up from the grass when he spotted me running toward his pasture.

“Thanks, Sasha,” Mike said, tossing me his extra lead line. He headed for Aristocrat's pasture.

Charm trotted over to the gate and waited for me to reach him. “Let's go before you get wet,” I said to him. One pasture over, Mike caught Aristocrat and led him toward the stables. Charm, not wanting to be the last one inside, stretched out into a trot.

By the time I got back, Mr. Conner had arrived.

“Stalls look good,” he said, surveying our work. “Consider your sentence served. You may go now—unless you want to continue.”

“No, we're good,” I said.

Mr. Conner smiled and headed back to his office.

“I'll start rinsing the buckets, if you put away the pitchforks,” I said to Heather.

“Do it, instead of talking about it.” She stalked off, dragging the pitchforks behind her.

I tossed the dirty rubber bucket inside the concrete wash stall, squirted a bit of cleanser into the bucket, and turned the hose on full blast. The green hose that snaked around the stall flooded the bucket with cold water. Suddenly, the water stopped. I shook the hose, but still—nothing. When I turned the corner, I found a kink in the hose. I crouched down, my tired fingers fumbling with the kink. Outside, rain began to fall and pounded the roof, almost drowning out the sound of the hose.

Just as I unkinked the hose, a scream rose from the stall. “Turn it off! Turn it off!”

I twisted off the valve and ran to the stall.

Heather stood near the muck bucket. She held the leaking hose and her clothes dripped water onto the floor. Mascara ran from her eyes and gave her an authentic raccoon look. Her hair was plastered to her face and her T-shirt clung to her body.

“You,” she sputtered, spitting water from her mouth. “Are so done.”

I tiptoed toward her, trying not to laugh. “Heather, I'm so sorry. It was an accident.”

She glared.

“If you want, you can wear my sweatshirt back to your
room,” I offered. I didn't know whether to laugh or run screaming!

“I don't want your stupid sweatshirt,” she said. Mascara drooled down her cheeks.

“You can hose me back if you want.”

Heather brushed her sopping hair out of her face and let out a quick laugh. “Hose you? Right. I am going to do so much worse than hose you.” Her eyes continued to glare back at me. For a second, I wished Mr. Conner would come back. A witness would be nice. But she just turned and headed out of the wash stall.

“It really was an accident,” I called after her.

I fumbled in my pocket for my phone and pressed three wrong buttons before dialing Kim. Her answering machine picked up. “Kim? Can you please call me as soon as you get this? I'm not hurt and neither is Charm, so don't worry about that. Just call me.”

I finished rinsing the buckets, put them away and headed for Charm's stall. Inside, I fed him an apple treat. He tickled my hands with his chin whiskers. At least Charm was happy to see me. “You need a trim, mister,” I told him. I stepped up to his shoulder and grasped his mane with my left hand. With a hard push off the ground, I thrust myself onto his bare back. No halter, no saddle.
Just us. Leaning backward until my spine pressed against his back, I rested my head on his croup. “Six more days and then I'm going home,” I told him.

Then I realized there was someone else I could call. She wasn't Kim, but she could listen. I dialed Callie.

“I hosed her,” I said when Callie answered.

“What?” she asked.

“Heather. I was rinsing out a bucket after we finished mucking stalls, and I accidentally hosed her.”

“Oh, my God, get over here and tell me in person! This sounds too good to tell over the phone.”

“I'll be over soon,” I promised.

“Don't forget a second of it,” Callie said. “I want details!”

I closed my phone and smiled to myself. True, I was at the top of Heather's hit list. But I had a good friend in Callie, and good friends trump bratty mean girls.