The dean pursed her lips before saying, “Ms. Prescott didn’t coerce you into this, did she?”
“Nope,” Emmie said casually. “Actually, I offered.”
The dean gave her a curt nod. “And how are the plans coming for the dance next week? You’ve been working with your Westwood counterpart, as I understand it.”
Emmie smiled. “The plans are going very well, thank you.”
“Fine. You will see that project through to completion at the dance next Friday, and then the following week, you may switch. Until that time,” the dean paused, looking at me. “You will continue your assignment in the laundry, Ms. Prescott.”
I can’t say I wasn’t slightly disappointed about having to do more laundry, but it seemed fair, especially when Emmie was going to be doing it for the rest of the year. Another week and a day of laundry probably wouldn’t kill me.
The First Practice
By Sunday morning, I was starting to get used to waking up at stupid o’clock, so I was at the stables well before seven, even having stopped at the dining hall to grab an apple and yogurt to eat on the way. Truth be told, I wasn’t exactly hungry. I was nervous to be joining today’s practice. Really nervous.
Not only was the pressure on to perform, since Brady had exempted me from tryouts, sight unseen, but I was seeing him for the first time since that night I’d signed up. And today, I wouldn’t be seeing him as Brady, the friendly stable boy; I’d be seeing him as Coach Fleming, instructor and Olympian.
My five blue ribbons felt really lame and insignificant next to what must have been a whole case full of trophies and ribbons. Maybe two trophy cases. And then I thought of what Emmie had said about him being delicious, which made me even more nervous. Because he was, and that he was an Olympian made him just a tiny bit more attractive.
I made my way over to the stables, hearing voices as I approached, wishing I’d come earlier. I’d always enjoyed helping getting the horses ready; it always seemed to secure the bond between horse and rider. Or at least feel each other's mood out before getting into the arena. Being in sync was so important in riding, especially dressage.
The big doors were open, exposing the center aisle of the stable on both ends.
That’s when I first saw Coach Fleming. He stood, helping another student saddle Poppy who was secured in the crossties. And as though he heard me taking him in from his long boots to his tight breeches, navy polo shirt and up to his ruffled black hair, he lifted his head and those amber eyes focused on me.
I had to force myself to breathe and continue toward him, my heart pounding hard in my chest.
He said something to the girl that I couldn’t hear and then broke away from her to approach me. “Good morning, Ms. Prescott.”
My last name sounded weird coming from his lips.
I nodded. “Coach Fleming.”
His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he worked at hiding a mischievous smile.
“I’m not amused,” I said, sounding to my own ears like someone’s disappointed grandmother. When had I gotten so stodgy? Oh yeah, when he made a fool out of me. “You could have told me who you were,” I hissed.
He turned his head and looked over his shoulder. The girl had stopped tacking Poppy to watch us. “Later,” he said softly and then continued in a louder voice. “You’ll be riding Charlie today. He’s second from the end on the left. Why don’t you head down and get to know each other. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
I took a breath and nodded, walking past him, my arms crossed. “You should have told me,” I breathed, just loud enough for him to hear me.
“Oh and Ms. Prescott?”
Stopping in my tracks, I turned back toward him.
All traces of humor were gone from his eyes. “I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you before today, but you’re to be here a half hour before practice to tack your horse. Keep that in mind for future.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I will. Anything else, sir?”
“Yes. You’re welcome.”
You’re welcome? Ugh. And he looked so smug when he said it. But the truth was, I did have him to thank for being on the team and, indirectly, for the reassignment that was going to get me out of doing laundry in Sub-basement B. Only five more days in that hellhole. Thank God, although I did feel a pang of guilt for Emmie. Though, she did offer.
But I didn’t have the time to think about that now; I had a horse to saddle.
Saying nothing more, I turned back toward the barn and walked away.
~♥~
It turned out I had every reason to be nervous about my first day on the equestrian team.
There were five of us, which was a lot less than were signed up on the form in the stables. That was my first clue that I was going to be among really skilled riders; the cream of the crop hand-picked by the coach. These girls had probably been on horses their whole lives and even took private lessons in the summers.
I, on the other hand, hadn’t been on a horse in over two years. To say I was rusty was an understatement. And now I was on a team with an Olympian for an instructor who only put me on the team because he assumed I was good.
I was not good. In fact, I was terrible. And everyone in the arena knew it.
Especially the coach. I could feel his disappointment every time he called out a direction across the arena. And I now understood why Emmie called him broody; he didn’t smile once the entire time, he was all business as he took us through warm-ups and basic drills for this, our first official practice.
Thanks to it being the first one and him going easy on us (a fact I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for Coach Fleming helpfully informing us) I managed to get through the practice without falling off or dying, but I knew there would be much suffering later from almost five hours of riding. What was worse than the impending physical pain was the humiliation over being nowhere near the caliber of the other riders.
Despite my exhaustion and the tightening of my muscles, I was brushing Charlie in the barn when the steady scrape of boots against the concrete told me the coach was approaching.
Awesome.
All the other girls were gone, but I was lingering behind and moving slowly as I finished up with Charlie and the tack. Mostly because I wasn’t sure if my wobbly legs would take me all the way back to the dorm.
I felt him beside me and didn’t turn away from the horse, making wide circles with the currycomb.
I took a breath but couldn’t face him, knowing what was coming. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“For what?” He actually sounded like he had no idea what I might be apologizing for. I turned to look at him.
And almost bumped into his chest, he was so close. I backed up, landing against Charlie’s flank. Brady’s hand reached out to steady my arm, his grip gentle but firm through my sweater.
I swallowed. “For making you think I was better than I am.”
He let go of my arm and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I went out on a limb for you.”
I looked down at my hands, and rubbed the base of my right thumb, working at the ache that was settling in after the hard practice. “I know you did. I was bragging about those stupid ribbons. I don’t know why. I should have been at the tryouts and you would have seen that I wasn’t any good.”
“You’re right; I should have made you try out. But that’s on me.”
“So I guess I’m off the team.”
“I didn’t say that.”
I laughed. “No, but you were going to. I’ll save you the trouble. I quit. I had no business being in that arena today.”
“That’s not true.”
With a snort, I looked up at him. “You would have put me on the team if I’d tried out?”
He hesitated.
“That’s what I thought,” I said, returning to brushing Charlie. “Well you’re off the hook—like I said, I’m quitting and you won’t have to see me again until our equestrian unit in P.E.”
“I
never said you were off the team,” he said, an edge to his voice, making me turn back toward him.
“Why?”
“You’re not horrible, Brooklyn…Ms. Prescott,” he corrected.
“Yes I am.”
The corner of his mouth twisted up just a tiny bit. “Okay, you’re slightly horrible. But here’s the thing. I told the dean you were awesome and if you’re suddenly off the team, I’m screwed.”
I’d never thought about that; how he’d put himself on the line because of my stupid bragging.
“So now what?”
“You stay on the team.”
I exhaled. “I don’t know.”
He cocked his head. “Come on, training for dressage, even if you’re not going to make the Olympic team, has to be better than doing laundry, isn’t it?”
He had a point. But… “That’s another thing,” I said, crossing my arms, dangling the currycomb in my fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me you were the coach? I thought you were just a stable boy. You made me feel like an idiot.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, making his biceps bulge under his polo shirt. “I apologize for that. It wasn’t my intention; I didn’t set out to deceive you.”
“So why?” His eyes were on me and he was still standing close, too close, maybe, but I had nowhere to go since I was already backed up against a horse.
He looked away, down the aisle of the barn before he blew out a breath and said, “All the other girls know me. They know I’m the coach and am going to the Olympics. They don’t see me: Brady. You looked at me differently.”
I thought back to that first night, trying to remember how I’d looked at him, what I’d seen. Just a regular guy, I guess. Would I have seen him differently if I’d known he was the coach?
Definitely.
“Still,” I said. “You should have told me before I left here that second time. That could have been really embarrassing.”
“What’s embarrassing is that you flirted with me to keep me from finding out about your friend making out with her boyfriend out back.”
I did a double-take. “You knew about that?”
He gave me a guilty grin. “I saw them outside when I came in.”
I gave his shoulder a push. “You knew the whole time?”
“Yeah. But I didn’t know you were in on it until you were so desperate to get me away from the office, you used your feminine wiles.”
My face heated up. “Um, as I remember it, you flirted with me first,” I said cursing that my brain had let the word ‘first’ fall out of my mouth. But it was too late now. “You were the one talking about billiard balls in my pockets.”
Now he was blushing. Which about made me melt into a pile of teenage hormones right there.
“I suppose I’m guilty of that. But you can’t blame me. I thought you were here to see me, but I guess it was Charlie who had turned your head.”
My mouth went instantly dry as I looked at him, his eyes unwavering on mine. My heart thudded in my chest and all I could think was delicious, delicious, delicious.
“I should finish up with Charlie,” I croaked after an awkwardly long moment stretched between us.
He pursed his lips. “We still have a problem.”
What now?
“If you’re going to stay on the team, you need to get better. Fast.”
“I didn’t say I was going to stay on the team.”
His eyes flared. “I put my ass on the line for you. You’re staying on the team.”
Defiant, I crossed my arms. “And if I don’t?”
He shrugged, exasperated. “I can’t stop you from quitting, but I don’t just want you to stay so my ass is spared.”
“Why then?” I asked, pushing away the guilt.
“Because I think you have potential,” he said, and then looked away.
I tapped my foot, bringing his attention back to me. “And?”
He paused, but then looked into my eyes again, his like liquid honey. “Because I want you to.”
My breath caught, but I faked a cough to cover it up. “Fine. I’ll stay on the team. And I’ll work hard to get better, but I won’t even be at practice this week; I have to do the laundry assignment. I don’t suppose you can get me out of that.”
He exhaled and shook his head. “Not a chance. Can you be here in the evenings?”
I nodded before I even thought about what that would mean.
“Good. Be here right after dinner. I’ll have Charlie saddled and ready to go. We’ll get you there. Like I said, you have potential; you just need to work it.”
“Thank you,” I said, genuinely grateful for his faith in me and willingness to work with me to help me improve.
He nodded and gave Charlie a friendly stroke, slowly running his hand down the horse’s shoulder. I watched the graceful movement of his arm, mesmerized.
He finished with a final pat. “Make sure you take a hot bath tonight.”
For some reason, that made me blush again. “I will,” I said, returning to Charlie as he left.
But I couldn’t help myself; I turned my head to watch Brady walk away. And as I did, my heart lurched when I realized he’d also turned, to look at me.
Preparations
The five days that followed Sunday’s dressage practice passed in a blur of exhaustion such as I’d never known before. I was in a constant state of physical agony as I continually punished my body: in the morning at the laundry, hefting sheets and towels in bundles that outweighed me, and then in the evening at the private practices in the arena with Brady. The only respite was during classes, where I fought to stay awake and keep out of trouble. Thankfully, English and French were a breeze, so I only really had to worry about science and then literally not falling over in P.E.
By the time I got to Friday, all I wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep for a week, but that wasn’t on Emmie’s agenda.
“You’re going to the dance,” she declared that afternoon in our room after last period.
My laying face down on my bed should have been her tip off that I had other plans for the evening. “No,” I muttered into my pillow. “I’m dead. Leave me to decompose in peace.”
She was having no part of it. “You have twenty minutes to nap, then we’re going to dinner. Then back here to get ready.”
“No dinner,” I moaned, too tired to care about food.
She exhaled. “Fine. But when I get back, you’re getting ready for the dance. You don’t want to miss your opportunity to see your guy, do you?”
I didn’t. Not that Will was my guy, but still…
“Come on, Brooklyn, Brady’s going to be waiting for you. You can’t disappoint him by being a no-show.”
Brady, not Will. I wasn’t surprised that Emmie would mention my coach. I’d downplayed the Will thing, since the further I got from that first day, the more I realized it had probably been nothing. If he’d been flirting at all, it was just to be friendly. And even if it had been real interest, I kept telling myself that a few minutes of joking around wasn’t the real thing. I was not a believer in instalove. So said the rational part of my brain. Although when I closed my eyes, I could still see that smirk and his ocean-blue eyes looking back at me.
Get over it, Brooklyn, I told myself. At least three times a day.
The Brady thing, though, well, that had gotten a bit weird. When we were in the arena, he was all business: Coach Fleming. But back in the barn? He was all Brady; flirty Brady who was starting to make my insides tremble when he got close and his voice dropped to that low murmur he used when it was just us.
Emmie knew I had been with him every night and figured something was going on besides the hard-core training. I’d assured her nothing had happened, but she’d waved me off and said it was just a matter of time. She was probably right, though it felt weird and sordid—although he was still a high school student, he was technically off limits. All my new friends thought I was nuts. Maybe I was.
But it
was a moot point, for tonight, anyway. Brady had told me he wasn’t going to the dance. I didn’t ask why, but I had a feeling he needed to catch up on some of his own training, since he’d been working with me so much. I felt a bit guilty about that, but he kept promising me he wasn’t falling behind, so I tried to take him at his word.
“Brooklyn!” Emmie barked.
Rolling to my side and pulling my comforter over me, I said, “I’ll get up, I promise. I just really need a little rest first.”
“I’ll be back in one hour,” Emmie said just before I heard the door close softly behind her.
What felt like no more than one minute later (but was probably closer to the hour, as promised), she was back, waking me up from the sleep of the dead.
“Brooklyn!” she said, plunking down on my bed. “Get up. It’s time to get ready.”
I exhaled and forced myself to get out of bed and stumble toward the bathroom for a shower. Five minutes later, I was leaning against the tile, eyes closed and enjoying the soothing hot water in a near trance, when the spray turned ice cold. I screamed and opened my eyes to see my roommate standing beside the shower stall, a determined look on her face and a hand on the hot tap.
“Let’s go!” she said.
It appeared my roommate, the save-the-world poster child for altruism, had a take no prisoners attitude when it came to getting her roommate ready for a dance.
I both loved and hated her for it.
“I’m coming. I’ll be out in a few.”
“No sleeping in the shower.”
I shivered, turning the cold water off. “Yeah, not much chance of that happening now. I need to dry my hair and do my face.”
She was finishing her makeup, leaning close to the mirror to do her mascara, her mouth agape as she concentrated on covering each lash. “It’ll be dark in the gym, so make sure you wear a bit more makeup than usual to be dramatic.”
“How long do I have?”
She glanced down at the phone on the counter. “Bus leaves for Westwood in a half-hour.”
I cursed. That was barely enough time. I hadn’t even picked out anything to wear yet—not that I had a lot of outfits to choose from. We wore uniforms to classes and then most of the rest of my wardrobe was jeans and pajamas. I had exactly two dresses that my mother had sent me with, just in case. We hadn’t really thought about dances; who figures they need anything nice to wear at an all-girls school?