Divergent Paths (PG)

[yukitamashii]

It seems so bare in there so far...thought I'd add some of my fics to the new mb just to get it started. Sorry none of it's new--all of them are giving me such trouble with updates.

Divergent Paths (PG)
Main character: Samantha McLean
Universe: Slightly Alternate
Edited by: Aya Sora

Chapter One

I guess every state has its weird names—weird city names, weird street names, not to mention the unoriginal ones, like Main Street or Lane Place, which I actually saw once. But my cross-streets are pretty unexceptional ones, just conflicting. I live at the corner of Harmony Lane and Fracas Street. Fracas Street (I looked it up) was named after Henry Fracas (some pacifist) whose last name means “brawl”. What a funny little conflict that the meaning of the word totally differs from “harmony”.

Kind of like how my idea of where my life should go totally clashes with my dad’s.

If we were the streets we live on, he’d be Harmony Lane, a man who doesn’t like to make waves, who wants me to be safe and quaint like a young lady should be. I’d be Fracas Street; I’ve got a nasty temper like no one else in my family and I want to be involved in the “dangerous” world of horses. I mean, I’m too tall to be a jockey or anything. At sixteen, I’m five-feet, four-inches and blessed with the beginnings of my mom’s curves, which kept her weight, like mine, just a little over what it should be to jockey professionally, even with strict exercise and dieting. But that didn’t stop her from exercise riding some feisty horses.

One day one of them killed her. Oh, he didn’t go after her or anything like that. Gulfstream Waves was just being his usual temperamental self, fighting her every step up the track, and almost ran into me on Miracle Worker. Mom yanked his head to the side at the last minute and they went into the rail together, in perfect accord, like two dancers. That was earlier this year, when we lived in Florida.

My dad’s been running from mom’s memory ever since—even from me in a way, since I look so much like her, with my wavy red hair, jade green eyes and pale skin dotted with freckles on the nose. He’s done everything he can to get her out of his life except kick me out. He’s gone at work a lot.

He’s even forbidden me to ride horses anymore—the worst thing he could have done, since it’s the only thing that kept me sane. He made me get a totally un-horse-related job to earn school-clothes money while he struggles to pay the bills the only way he knows how—working as a temporary trainer with mostly mediocre horses, nowadays at Townsend Acres. He’s got one shot with a good horse, Townsend Fury, whose personality is so much like Gulfstream’s it probably makes him sick. He got the job when the assistant trainer quit (because, the rumors say, he hated the boss’s son).

Meanwhile, I’m cleaning houses like the pro I practically am (mom was fastidious about housework) for fifteen dollars an hour and trying to sneak away to the stables every chance I get. I heard Ashleigh’s Wonder, famous TA horse, had her first foal a little while ago.

I don’t know if dad will relent before I turn eighteen and can take my life into my own hands, but I do know I won’t last two years without a friend I can trust. And who’s more trustworthy than a horse? They never lie, they don’t gossip, and the really good ones let you talk to them all you want without once biting or sniffing you for treats. I bet Wonder is a good horse.

I intend to find out. Sorry, dad, but I’m not running from my memories. Mom knew what she was doing with Gulfstream, she made the choice to ride him. And I miss her, but I've made my decision, and I’m not going to stay out of the saddle for another two years because she had an accident.

Riding a horse is the next best thing to flying, and I’ve got to get away from the ground before I’m sucked down into it and I never get out. I’m not ready to rest in the earth yet. I need to fly away.



A/N: “Divergent” has a couple meanings, the ones I chose were “differing” and “opposing”. And surely everyone caught this, but just in case, the main character is Sammy, as stated above, even though she sounds different. I changed the history so that she’s fifteen when her mom dies, and I got the AU-idea from the poll at wbf.com.

[yukitamashii]

Chapter Two

I hit the alarm clock before it could go off and it flew off the table onto the floor and broke into three pieces. I would have said “Cheap alarm clock!” except that was the reason why my dad had bought it for me, because there was no use buying a nice one when I was only going to break it anyway. I hate alarm clocks.

I got out of bed. No worries, I had three more clocks in my closet and a travel clock in the bathroom. I got dressed and brushed my hair and my teeth and had breakfast, and sat at the table pretending I didn’t know what time it was so I could miss my bus. My dad was already at the training track checking out his new best friends.

Oops, was it past pick-up time? Oh, my! I couldn’t bug dad in the middle of his work to take me to school. Might as well explore TA. My dad hates it when I call the farm that; he said it robs Townsend Acres of its proper prestige. Well, I’m a flippant teenager.

I was out the door in minutes and looking for a dad-free zone when I remembered Ashleigh’s Wonder.

But when I got near the barn she was in I saw the owner’s son, Brad Townsend, very recognizable as the only handsome young man on the horse farm who wasn’t dusty and dirty from the horses or work. I veered off the path before he could turn his head. Not like he had much interest in me, but if he mentioned me and my dad realized—wait. Why would he even talk to my dad? I was being paranoid. It wasn’t like I was going to get into a huge fight with Brad and he’d go storming off to my dad and tell on me. He’d tell on me to his own dad and then my dad would know…

I seriously needed to chill out. I wasn’t even going to talk to Brad, much less make such an impression on him he told others about me. I started back towards the main path.

Then again, I didn’t need to talk to him. All he had to do was ask who that girl with the bright red hair was, and I’d be in for a lecture a lunch-break time. I turned around again.

Meandering back towards the house, I wondered what channel the local kids’ network was on. But I didn’t feel like watching cartoons. I saw my dad’s car in the parking lot.

Now, my dad only let me get my license because I needed to have it in case of emergencies. He never let me take the car anywhere, even to run and get those necessary girl-items. But since he was busy, and I already had a reputation in my family as the bad girl anyway, I popped inside the house and grabbed the spare car key. I decided to drive out and take a look at the place and people of Whisperwood Training Stables, where Dan Nelson had hired me to clean for him now that his stay-at-home wife Aisling and he were divorcing. She’d moved out, and he and his son were left short-handed in the house.

Personally, any man with a teenaged son (the guy’s name I’d forgotten, but I knew he was eighteen) that couldn’t manage between the two of them to keep the house decent was a little pathetic to me. My dad manages the kitchen and bathroom and all the shopping for food and general items. I vacuum and do laundry and cook most of the time. We make it work. But maybe that’s because I don’t run a jumping stable with over a dozen students with my kid. Since I needed the money I’d suppressed my snarky remarks when I spoke to him over the phone when I answered his newspaper ad.

I drove around, orienting myself with the local tack shop, Subway, Rite Aid, and mall, in that order, and figured I had all the essentials taken care of. It took me an hour. I was half an hour into first period. I flipped a U on a deserted suburban street and headed towards Mr. Nelson’s farm.

I followed the road and his directions. I have a hard time focusing, but when I concentrate I have a great visual memory, and I’d memorized the map I’d drawn. Within twenty minutes (thirty if I actually went the speed limit instead of five-to-ten over the whole way the next time) I saw the stable. In spite of myself I was impressed by its size. Just because these people weren’t in racing didn’t mean they were poor. I saw an outdoor training area, and by the size of the stable there must be a decent sized one inside as well. Probably thirty horses could be held here easily.

I pulled over to the side of the drive, and got out. Walking over to the main door, I scooted out of the way of students leading their horses for a trail ride and people bringing in feed bags. No one seemed to notice me. I wondered how this many kids got permission to be out of school at this hour. I guess people respect serious horsemen and women in Kentucky, even if they’re still only horseboys and girls. I walked up the aisle past Butterball, Side Show, Zoomer, and many others, until I saw another hallway off the main one. A sign on the wall beside it said “Private Stabling—Not Open to the Public”. I walked in.

Some of the horses were impressive. Some were clearly only beautiful in the eyes of their owners, such as the horse I found at the end, a white guy with an oddly shaped nose whose nameplate called him “Top Hat”. “I’m sure you’re the life of the party,” I told him. He reared his head and bobbed it, and stuck his nose out at me to catch my scent. I couldn’t help smiling. I rubbed his neck and started back towards the entrance/exit, pausing to admire “Miss Moody”.

Behind me booted feet scrapped the ground and I turned to see a startled brunette of about fourteen, with make-up that tried to imply she was seventeen. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“I’m a groom,” I said.

She looked me over. I was wearing scruffy jeans and a faded baby-blue long-sleeved Hurley shirt with my dirty sneakers. “Well, are you assigned to Magic Mary’s part of the barn?” she asked.

As far as I know, unless a barn stabled over a hundred horses, grooms weren’t assigned sections of the barn. They groomed all the horses. That was their job. It’s not like they had to run out and exercise ride also. “No,” I answered. “That would be Jeanette.”

“Well, tell her I want Mary to be gleaming, not merely clean, before her next show, or I’m telling Mr. Nelson she doesn’t do her job right.”

“I’ll do that.” She walked off down the aisle and I slipped out.

Walking past the opening to the indoor training arena, I spotted someone inside flying over a low jump effortlessly on a gray horse. I went over to the gate, making sure it was latched before I leaned on it, and watched a dark haired girl go through her exercises. Surely she wasn’t alone. I wondered if Dan was in there. He’d said he was very tall, blonde and blue eyed, and would probably look intimidating, though he was actually a nice guy.

Peaking inside, I saw a guy who was indeed tall, blonde, and possibly blue eyed, but he appeared too young to be Dan Nelson. It was probably his son, teaching a lesson. I took the opportunity to study him.

How people treat others says a lot about them (but since that can be fake, I keep my eyes open in their houses too, since living habits can also expose much about their personalities).

I wondered what his house would reveal about him. Was he a slob? Obsessive compulsive? Drowning in Star Wars Transformers or other secret childhood obsessions still cluttering up his room today? (Hey, I knew a nineteen year-old once who had tons of them stuffed in his closet. I opened the door to hang his jacket and was bonked on the head by the Millennium Falcon.)

I watched him turn slightly to follow the girl’s progress around the ring. She was a little too aggressive, even I could see that, overly enthusiastic, but she went over the jumps without knocking one over. Of course, that could be a well-trained school horse dragging her along. I could see the son cross his arms, though he didn’t call her off. When she was done, he spoke to her, his words not carrying but his tone sounding firm. She nodded sheepishly, and walked the horse to the far end, out of my sight, probably to cool him off.

The guy turned, walking in my direction, gaze downward in thought. I tried to keep my mouth from dropping open. He was possibly the most attractive guy I’d ever seen. I’ve always had a thing for the “all-American” look, and he was all that and more. Physically fit and probably witty too.

He looked up and blinked at me. I did something I haven’t done since second grade.

I turned and ran from a guy.

[yukitamashii]

Chapter Three

My dad never said anything on Thursday morning that led me to believe he knew I’d skipped school Wednesday. I didn’t say anything either.

I decided to go to school, since I needed something to fill my time. Henry Clay, I saw, was a typical high school in many ways and in others not so much. Typical in that there were the kids who stood out, who wanted to be the best, perfectly performing suck-ups who, when not around a teacher, were down-right rude to others they considered beneath them. Since I was one clearly of those “inferiors” I had an opportunity to see a pretty brunette charm a teacher while walking with him down a hall, then chirp good-bye and turn around and glare at me like I was slime. I didn’t move and she was forced to go around me.

As for the unusual part: only in horse-country, or so I think, do students walk around in their riding gear, their fancy pants and boots, tailored jackets. But since these are the students that were actually in school, I didn’t take them seriously. The ones who managed to convince their parents of their commitment to their horse-related sport weren’t in school today. The school was, I judged, only holding three-fourths of its capacity, and it’s not because the surrounding areas lacked children.

I walked into the main office to check in, as ordered, and stopped in front of the front desk. “I’m new,” I announced. The middle-aged receptionist, pre-maturely totally gray in her tight short curls, glanced up at me through black thin-rimmed glasses that matched her business-black skirt-suit and fashionable fuchsia shirt underneath her jacket. Her outfit screamed both her professionalism and womanhood, and dared anyone to underestimate her efficiency because of her femaleness. Being a woman myself, I could appreciate the statement.

“What is your name, and has your parent or guardian registered you?” she asked calmly.

“Samantha McLean, and yes,” I answered, glancing aside. Her shiny nameplate read “Evera Patterson”.

Evera looked me up on her computer. “You were supposed to be in yesterday.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Family emergency?” she asked composedly.

I shrugged. “That happens a lot.”

“I’m sure.” She was letting me know she didn’t buy BS from anyone, but she didn’t particularly care why I wasn’t in. Obviously she was the type who believe that while you can help those who help themselves, you can’t make someone do what’s good for them. I’ve run into a few of those, and they’re easier to deal with the well-intentioned type who never give up on trying to force someone to accept the “better life”.

She printed out something, rummaged in her desk, and handed me a schedule, with a smaller piece of paper paper-clipped to it, my locker number and combination. I stuck them in my backpack’s open front pocket. Evera eyed me and said dispassionately, “When you lose them, go to the Attendance Office for another copy. They’re around the corner. They handle that. And excuses as to why you weren’t in school yesterday.”

The woman just handed out cool cynicism like…like it was the truth. I just nodded. I could get to like such a woman.

“You have first lunch,” she told me as I turned around and walked out of the office.



Three hours of HCHS convinced me the people here are insane. Only insane girls could take the thing the less popular girls were better at, horsewomanship, and still manage to one-up them and make the less popular girls feel bad, as oppose to just hating the non-cheerleaders. Only insane guys could strut around because they were involved in what was elsewhere seen as a girls’ sport and be more popular than the football team members with the other crazy people. And only insane teachers could counsel the troublemaking students, who skipped school, in the hallway that they should take up horseback riding to feel a bond with a trustworthy soul—when that would mean those students still wouldn’t be in school. All in all, I decided my attitude was positively normal among these weirdos, and I would be noticed no more than anyone else, unless there proved to be, as usual, very few other redheads around.

Taking first lunch, I unexpectedly spotted a familiar face—it was the dark haired girl from Whisperwood. She was tooling around the hallway outside the cafeteria drinking a smoothie when she saw me. She walked right up to me before I could think to wander off.

“Hi! I’m Yvonne. You stand out like a beacon, so I know you must be new. Mind telling me your name?” She smiled and waited to see my reaction. Apparently she expected me to be all shocked and appalled by her boldness and comment on my hair (for that it had been).

“My name’s Samantha, I saw you at Whisperwood, and you ride too aggressively,” I said, challenging her right back with my own bluntness.

She looked taken aback, and then laughed. “I know. I’m too enthusiastic. I’ve yet to meet a horse with a passion for jumping that equals mine. Well, except Top Hat, and he’s Tor’s horse.”

“Who?”

“Don’t you know? He’s the part-owner, Dan’s son.”

“I didn’t know his name,” I said. Yvonne raised a brow.

“Since you didn’t even know Tor’s name, you can’t be a close family friend or student. Why were you at Whisperwood?”

We moved aside as some kids passed. Some said hi to Yvonne, who responded cheerily, and even said hi to those who tried to pass without comment. She commanded others’ attention.

“I’m going to be cleaning for them—for Dan. I just moved here a week ago, and cleaning’s an easy way for me to raise money quickly. I need new clothes,” I explained, though I’d never before felt compelled to give the reasoning behind my actions. I wondered why I had just now.

“Hmm.” After a moment, Yvonne said, “Doncha just think Tor is wickedly cute?”

I had just been in the middle of swallowing, and unfortunately I started to laugh in the middle of that, and end up coughing and sounding like a smoker trying to breath for a minute. Yvonne just looked at me. I smiled, which is something I do when I get nervous when I hadn’t expected to be. “Sure, if you’re into the typical blonde hair blue eyes kind of thing.”

“So you like him,” she said, eyes going narrow.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Which means that you do and don’t wanna say it.” She smiled again. “That’s okay. I do too. All the girls do.”

“I haven’t even met him,” I protested, shifting my weight, uncomfortable and aware that all I’d eaten was a granola bar and the hall clock said lunch was almost over.

Yvonne laughed again, though she crinkled her brows in confusion. “You’re weird.”



The bus dropped me off almost in front of my house, and after I dumped my backpack in the living room, I went out to the stables and ruthlessly distracted my dad with my questions of how was I supposed to get to work until he said I could take the car, since his break wasn’t until much later. I changed into sweats (annoyingly cute, since my mom had got them for me before she died so I could do chores in style) and drove over to Whisperwood.

At the front door I considered knocking, then looked over towards the stable, which was bustling with activity, then headed that way. I was horribly afraid I’d see Tor again and he’d recognize me (stupid memorable hair), so I peaked around every corner and down every hallway and probably looked like a paranoid freak. In the indoor ring I saw Dan, his face looking stern, though as the young boy he was training walked his horse out, they laughed at a knock-knock joke the boy told. I walked up to him.

“Hi, Dan Nelson? I’m Samantha.”

He stopped and looked at me blankly.

“McLean? Your new housecleaner?” I added.

“Oh! I’m sorry; I assumed you were a new student I couldn’t remember. I was wondering why you were wearing sweats to a lesson.” His face looked kinder with a smile though I still thought he was a guy on whose good side I wanted to be. “Come on up to the house, let me show you around.” He paused to tell another man he’d be back in a moment so watch the ten-to-twelve group as they practice grooming, and led me back to the house.

As expected, we went on a tour and he explained how he liked things done, and commented on the glowing recommendations of my references. I nodded and made mental notes and made sure I knew where he kept his cleaning supplies.

“You understand you’ll have to provide those, because if I paid for them in addition the gas the car will use to go the store and your house, I might as well pay you to let me clean?” I asked. He nodded. We discussed my weekly schedule, and with my experience and skill, I knew this would be an easy job.

Twenty minutes later he left me to get started and I grabbed a bucket holding Windex (there’s little it can’t do), scrubbing bubbles, paper towels, garbage bags, a duster and wood polish wipes and started towards the second floor bathroom at the end of the hall, deciding to work my way down and out. But as I came to it, the door swung open and Tor Nelson came out, flicking the light off. His dad must not have known his son was home from school and at the house or he’d have introduced us.

I stared at him, frozen bucket in hand in front of him, and he stopped and stared back.

“Oh…you must be…Samantha, is it?” he asked after a moment of stunned silence, glancing down at the bucket. “I’ve seen you before. At the stable?” He was trying to figure out where he’d seen a girl he’d never met before. If I’d been thinking, I’d have again cursed my hair.

“Hello?” he said, raising a brow. I snapped to.

“Yeah. I was wandering around, getting to know the place. You must have seen me.” He raised his other brow to meet the first and politely didn’t mention that he’d seen me run away from him like a scared little kid. Perhaps he was used to the effect he had on women.

“So, I’ll…just get out of your way, then.”

I shrugged. “It would help.” He didn’t say anything but as he went down the curving stairs he glanced back at me with questioning eyes.

If I’d been a vainer person, I’d have told myself he was intrigued by my silent beauty. As it was, I was certain he was baffled by my weirdness. Like everyone else seemed to be.

[yukitamashii]

Chapter Four

At the end of my first week at Townsend Acres I met Ashleigh Griffen, who was about six years older than me, married, and already had two daughters. Lest you think her a wild woman, let me mention one is only a year old and the other, the nine year old, is adopted. She married Mike Reese when she was twenty, got pregnant right away, and must have been glad she wasn’t racing Wonder any more at that time, since she probably found it hard to even walk. Stable gossip says she’s been trying to convince Mr. Townsend to let her take Wonder to Mike’s farm, Whitebrook, and maybe after the baby is weaned, she’ll succeed, though I bet there’ll be another battle over the foal.

Stable gossip also said that while Mike was practical, Ashleigh was a bleeding heart, and practically bent over backward to be nice to the mistrustful and moody Cindy Blake, her adopted daughter, who only responded to this treatment by becoming quite spoiled and obnoxious.

Not that I’m pre-judging, or anything.

My dad and I were invited to a welcoming party, and I wasn’t sure if it was an excuse for everyone to look at us—come see ‘um, the strange redheaded new comers!—since even my dad’s hair is auburn, or if they just wanted us to meet them and really feel welcome. In any case, I traded jeans and a t-shirt for a nice pair of dark jeans (which look dressier) and a sparkly white tank top under a matching dark denim half-jacket. I can look nice, if I want to, but I haven’t been so concerned with that since my mother hasn’t been around to bug me about it. As it was, I felt a little twinge of pain as I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror; mom had always liked me in dark blue.

Going to the party my dad was his usual altered self, meaning he continued to act the way he had since he’d pretended to recover from my mother’s death. Smiling, he shook hands with Clay Townsend when he opened his front door and said hello to everyone in the room, including Brad, who eyed me but said nothing, barely nodding to me.

“This is my daughter, Samantha,” he introduced me to the room. The party consisted of: the Townsend family, Clay, wife Alissa, son Brad, father Alexander, but missing daughter Eleanor; the Griffen family, Derek, wife Elaine, daughter Ashleigh Griffen-Reese, her husband Mike and daughter Cindy, but not her baby Christina or sister Caroline; Head Trainer Ken Maddock and his lady friend Jeanette, long-time workers at TA of various jobs and Brad’s friends, presumably there to keep him from actually having to interact with me or my father.

“Hello,” I said dutifully to each one, except Brad—to him I raised my eyebrow, smiled lightly and said, “How nice to meet you.” in a tone that everyone else would say was polite but would leave him doubtful. I admit I like to throw people off balance, especially if they do that to me. I didn’t know what to make of him, exactly. I figured it would depend on how he treated me.

He looked briefly surprised, and as I said, only nodded back. I turned my attention elsewhere.

Ashleigh came up to me, no doubt delighted to meet another woman near her age. Or maybe she’s just nice, and I spend too much time trying to figure out people’s motives.

What was with this sudden self-doubt? Explaining my actions to Yvonne, giving people the benefit of the doubt, feeling guilty about I disagreeumptions…this wasn’t like me.

“Hello, as you heard, I’m Ashleigh, and I’m Wonder’s half-owner.”

“Funny, you look like a whole person to me,” I said, automatically popping out a quip.

She laughed. “Thank you, I try. It’s not easy when you feel like you’re running in four different directions at once.”

I mentally listed her directions: wife, mother, horsewoman, woman. “I suppose not. Say, how’s the Wonder baby?”

“We’ve named him Wonder’s Pride. He’s doing great. Quite the little adventurer.”

I smiled, but the conversation lulled at that point, and we were interrupted by Cindy whining she wanted to go home, because she was missing her favorite television show. Ashleigh seemed a little annoyed and embarrassed, and I got the feeling they’d already had a long discussion about this very issue, and finally told her to go talk to her father.

“He’s not my father,” the little blonde grumped as she walked off.

Ashleigh frowned, eyebrows furrowed, clearly distressed by the parting remark.

“Probably takes them some time to get used to being with a new family,” I offered, feeling sorry for her.

“She’s been with us for a year…but she’s had it hard. She needs time to realize she can trust us,” she sighed.

The night went on with various others stopping by after they’d spoken to my father to practically interview me, though they were nice about it, except for Brad. He mostly ignored me, but occasionally stared at me from across the room with a stern look on his face, and one of his friends eventually introduced himself to me. It was clear what he was after, and I left him with a cutting but oblique remark that left him looking insulted but confused. Whatever. I’m no easy girl.

At the end of the evening I was tired, more so mentally than physically, and I slogged back up to the house with dad. Slogged meaning I slid my shoes across the muddy path (somebody had mis-aimed the sprinkler system) and almost fell. I took them off when I reached the driveway and dad did the same.

He was quiet and introspective, and he always had been. But nowadays, when he didn’t know I was looking, there was a look of lingering sadness, as if…as if he, too, felt he was frozen in place, waiting for something that would bring him back to life. I didn’t say anything; I didn’t know what to say.

I went upstairs to my room, knowing the real work was ahead of me. Today was Friday, and classes would begin in earnest on Monday, and on Wednesday afternoon I had to clean Dan’s house in between homework, and I had yet to figure out a good schedule to creep out to see Pride without getting caught by dad.

Dropping my clothes on the floor and pulling on my nightgown, I went to the bathroom to wash off my makeup and snorted at the though of one of Brad’s friends thinking I’d be interested in him. Really, without my makeup, they wouldn’t be interested in me, I was sure. So many men were like that…

For some reason, I suddenly thought of Tor Nelson. He seemed…different. But that didn’t mean anything, I reminded myself. I didn’t know him well enough to trust him, and it’s my firm belief you should never fully trust someone until you’ve seen how they react to an unexpected disaster. Anyone who puts their fists through walls in anger is not to be trusted.

‘Just go to sleep,’ I told myself. So I did.

[yukitamashii]

Chapter Five

I sighed and rubbed my forehead as I dropped the used paper towel into the garbage bag I was carrying around with me at the Nelson home. I’d been there almost two hours going fast-paced, cleaning and wiping down everything, including the kitchen floor—on my knees, no less, since they didn’t have the mini-mop most widely used in many households, which could be because Aisling had taken it with her when she left, but it was more likely they’d never had one to begin with. As I finished up the guest bathroom, I wondered if I could persuade Dan to let me buy one and for him to pay me back upon seeing the receipt, which is how we set up the supply-payments.

As promised, I didn’t have to do laundry or spend an hour picking things up off the floor before I began cleaning, which really helped, and I was sure I’d only be there another ten minutes or so.

I vacuumed the living room and put all my equipment away and stopped to catch my breath. Glancing in the hallway mirror as I slipped my shoes on, I frowned at my flushed face. I breathed deeply to check, and, though I was sweating lightly on my forehead and back, it wasn’t enough to make me smell, thank God for the level of endurance I’d developed. Nevertheless, I went over myself with my mango-scented body spray, and after a moment my flush faded. I was now ready to be seen (and smelled) in public. I went toward the front door.

It swung open just as I reached it and whacked my outstretched finger, catching my index finger nail at an angle and bending it back and I yelped in surprise and pain and snatched my hand back. I have strong nails, but when they get too long they have a tendency to get ragged, snag and rip off real easily. I glanced down. The nail was bent back in the tip of the pink part, and turning purple. Despite my teenage attitude, I’m too well-mannered to swear, but in my mind I was telling God to curse whoever had opened the door and a whole bunch of other stuff. I clutched my fist to my chest.

A hand reached out to gently pull mine forward and was joined by another, and the two rough-palmed hands unfolded my fingers for examination.

“I’m sorry,” Tor Nelson said, rubbing my palm with his thumb and frowning apologetically. “I didn’t know you were here.”

I stared at him wide-eyed and he flushed self-consciously, and let go of my hand. I let it drop to my side. “S’ok.”

He glanced around, momentarily at a loss for words. “So I guess you’re done for the day.”

I recovered my cool. “Yeah. I’ll be back next week.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

We looked at each other for a moment before I said casually, “So Top Hat’s your horse?”

“Yeah, have you seen us jump?” he said, sounding surprised. I supposed he meant in a competition, so I shook my head.

“I met Yvonne at school. She talks a lot about you,” I said pointedly and he flushed again and rubbed the back of his head.

“Yeah, well…so do you ride?”

I shrugged. “When I can. I live at TA.” At his confused look, I clarified. “Townsend Acres.” And his eyes went all wide and as expected he asked the usual questions about the people, place, and horses. I asked briefly, trying to appear disinterested rather than mostly clueless. I interrupted him to ask about Whisperwood, and he told me about the stables, and asked if I was interested in lessons.

“I…don’t have the time right now.” My cell phone, in my sweatpants pocket, buzzed and I pulled it out and clicked it open. It was my scheduler, telling me I had to go. “I have to go,” I said shortly and moved around him.

He looked startled and swung around to watch me go. “Uh, hey, listen, I’m sorry again about— ”

“You didn’t kill me,” I answered without turning around. I could feel him watching me—I definitely didn’t hear the door shut—and wondered if he was naturally shy and gentle or if it was just more of me confusing him. I didn’t stick around to find out despite originally having intended to pass some time checking out the students (those who can’t ride evaluate others).

I went out to my dad's car and left.



I glanced around, snuck in the wide door, sticking to the sides and shadows, peeking around corners and keeping the movements of the people I saw in my mind, so I could keep track of them. No one noticed me. So I went on.

Surprisingly, no one was guarding the famous mare, and she herself was dozing. But perking his ears up and sitting by her feet, Pride lifted his nose in the air to catch my scent. I smiled a little at him.

So this was the colt on which everybody placed their hopes.

“You’re quite the star, aren’t you?”

Wonder opened her eyes and echoed Pride’s movement, and decided I wasn’t a threat. She kept her eyes halfway open and on me, though, just in case, as Pride pulled himself up on his spindly little legs and tottered toward me like a drunk taking a line test. When he was half a foot from the half-door he stopped, legs splayed for balance, and just looked at me. I leaned forward a bit so he could examine me. “Just a fan, little guy, just a fan.”

I let him and his mother look at me and visa versa for another few minutes, then left. Tomorrow my science class would begin a project, which I needed to study the background information of, and Yvonne Ortez and I would begin the awkward “partner-bonding-experience”. I just hoped she wouldn’t drive me crazy by continuing to talk about Tor, as she’d done off and on every day that I saw her at school. I wasn’t sure what to make of him, and nothing irritated me more than being uncertain about somebody, though her chatter was a close second to that.

I reached my dad and my little cottage-style house and with a sigh, I went up to my room and pulled out my books to begin my homework, pushing away all thoughts of boys and horses. For a second, I thought of my mother, and her advice in the past, but I pushed that away too and buried myself in math. I refused to think about the way things were; they’d never be that way again.



Monday was always a black day for me, but this Monday seemed somehow more dismal than most, with the exception of the first Monday after my mother’s death, of course. I had that familiar gnawing in the pit of my stomach, that too-well-known feeling of empty discontent. Usually I push both away and have minimal trouble keeping them at bay when I remind myself that I’m far too smart to waste my time dwelling in the self-pity induced by loss.

But today, I went through the motions at school. My sarcasm was automatic, but luckily still seemed to stun and stymie others. Personally, I felt a bit of disappointment in my poor performance, but mostly I just felt emotionally tired. Being angry, even just a little angry, all the time, takes a lot of continued energy, and I obviously hadn’t slept enough during the weekend.

At lunch, Yvonne would, as had become custom, wander around the school and eventually end up where I was at, sitting at the little table on the second floor, over looking one of the back entrances where students drifted out to eat lunch at the covered picnic tables because the cafeteria was a nightmare.

“What’s up?” she asked, plopping down next to me at the little café-sized table.

I took a sip of my chocolate milk, savoring the extra creamy taste. “Nothing.” I eyed my burrito but it didn’t regain the appeal that had made me purchase it in the first place.

She looked startled. “Hey, where’s the Sam I know? Where’s the sarcastic remark?” She pretended to pout. “You’re supposed to say something like, ‘Mike C. is, he’s high as freakin’ bird today’.”

I shrugged. “He was, yeah. So what?” She just gaped at me, and shook her head. I sighed. “Look, I’ll probably go back to being my usual charming self tomorrow, why are you rushing it? You want me to say something rude?”

“I want you to be you. I don’t know how to deal with you when you’re not,” she confessed.

Well, I understood her reasoning; I pretty much felt the same way about others, except I didn’t want to agree with her right now. I mustered some more energy up. “Fine. I’ll say something mean to make you feel better, oxymoronic though that is.” She smiled. “Your shirt doesn’t go with your pants, and Tor held my hand the other day.”

She just looked at me for a minute, surprised, then suspicious. “That’s not true, you’re only saying that to make me feel bad.”

Which, duh, would be the point of saying those things. “Which one?”

“The second, I know my outfit matches. Why’d he hold your hand.”

I debated with myself, then finally admitted, “He accidentally broke one of my nails and tried to make me feel better by rubbing my palm.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her own hands in her lap. “He’s never touched me before, except to help me up when I got thrown at my first lesson.”

It was my turn to be surprised. Apparently Tor wasn’t the type to casually reach out to people, nor was he touchy-feely.

It made me feel a bit better; perhaps he was intrigued by my silent beauty.

[yukitamashii]

Chapter Six

My life had fallen into routine, but that wasn’t unexpected, even if it was dull. I adapted quickly; all kids who moved often figured out how to do that. That isn’t to say we all just fell into new lives happily, it just means we learned how to survive in whatever situation we happen to be thrust into, knowing it might not be long before we were pulled out just as quickly. Army brats and track brats are the most common of all kids who learn how to do this. Of course, I’m the latter.

I could feel myself getting empty inside, though, and that was new. I used to look for trouble, and sarcastic remarks to keep me entertained, and it made my life seem like it was going somewhere. But here at Townsend Acres, the standstill became glaringly obvious, and even my flippancy couldn’t hide it from myself.

Everyone had hopes about the future. Even my dad had a chance to achieve some greatness, if he was successful in training Fury. He may not be excited about that now, but someday he would look back and be glad he had something to pull him out of his funk. But what did I have?

Besides Pride, in some small measure. I went out to see him everyday, stealing every spare minute to give to him. He became my beacon of light in the gloomy despair that was my life. He was going somewhere, and I suppose I felt that if I helped him get there, he might pull me along with him.

He became quite attached to me. He would nicker at me and bob his little head, and Wonder would sniff at me as I gave her carrot bits. I talked to her, but more to Pride, because I felt Wonder already belonged to Ashleigh, and I didn’t want to try and steal her years-long loyalty from the other woman, not that I thought it could be done. She was famously a sweet but one-woman horse. But Pride belonged to no one just yet, and his heart was open, so I poured mine out to him, and he listened with the air of an eager child. He would stand straight up and quiver slightly, as if ready to leap away or into my arms, which one I wasn’t sure. Then he would prance around the stall happily. I left him feeling like I was leaving a younger sibling behind.

“What am I going to do when you’re older, and so busy, and I have no excuse to see you?” I whispered to him, leaning over the half-door and he danced about and almost tripped going around his mother’s front. Wonder blinked, munching her food, but didn’t otherwise react.

“Perhaps you could groom him,” a feminine voice suggested in some amusement.

Startled, I jerked back, and both horses froze momentarily to gaze warily around. Then Wonder saw Ashleigh, and relaxed. Pride relaxed his stance a bit in response to his mother’s calm but continued to watch, twitchy-eared.

Ashleigh walked up to me. She didn’t know I was forbidden from horses, because my dad assumed I had long ago reconciled myself to his decision and wouldn’t seek them out, and so as far as I knew, he’d never mentioned it to anyone.

“Perhaps,” I said cautiously.

She smiled, paused, and then said, “Actually, I have a favor to ask you, Sammy. Mike and I have this dinner thing with some people in the horse business, and…” She faltered. “Um. You remember my daughter Cindy?”

“Yes…”

“Well, Christina’s going to be with her grandma, my mother, that evening—this Saturday. But, well,” she flushed, “she’s asked not to baby-sit Cindy as well.”

Obviously Cindy had a reputation. Like me in my own family. It must take a lot pride-bending to come to a younger woman and admit no on else wanted to take care of her older daughter for even a few hours. But she was lucky; I had no plans (of course not), and I was just unfamiliar enough with Cindy to be amused instead of aggravated with her.

“Sure,” I found myself saying. Anything to not sit at home that night, as usual.

She looked relieved. “We’ll pay you of course.” I nodded.

From then on we talked of Pride’s future, and the possibility of my grooming him. It seemed…hopeful.



Friday afternoon, at the beginning of lunch, Yvonne found me to let me know she was going home nauseous, which I found to be a strange bit of politeness considering her behavior the first day I met her.

“I might actually miss your company,” I told her, “or maybe I’m just used to you.”

She looked surprised, then flushed a bit and smiled, before her face regained its greenish tinge.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you really sick?”

“Long story,” she replied, and took off when her phone buzzed, parting with a, “It’s my dad, gotta go, bye.”

“Bye,” I called after her, then shrugged and went into the lunch line. After a few people got in behind me I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I half-turned and felt my own stomach lurch in surprise, though my default expression of mild annoyance remained composed. “Oh.”

Tor eyed me uncertainly after that not-so-warm welcome, before offering a hesitant smile of greeting. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

He stared at me; I gazed levelly back at him. A call from behind us caught my attention, and after realizing what it was, we all moved up half a foot in line. I glanced back at Tor.

He was staring at me with a vaguely frustrated look on his face which, when he realized I was looking at him, melted into a calm and pleasantly blank expression. “Uh, we’re going to be gone this Wednesday, tomorrow, so they’ll be no one to let you in. Can you come today?”

I thought rapidly, and replied slowly. “I suppose that’s okay.”

“Hi, Tor!” a bubbly brunette in a black and pink shirt and skirt chirped, pausing as she passed to wave and eye him admiringly.

“Hi, Jenny,” he replied, a slightly pained look in his eyes which probably only I saw. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine. We’ll have to catch up, where are you sitting?”

“Oh, I’m, um, busy. I’m doing some work.” If the girl had any kind of brains she’d realize it was a brush off.

“Oh, how about tomorrow then?”

We moved another three inches up.

“We’ll see,” Tor answered, rubbing the back of his head.

“Tor’s very busy tomorrow also,” I informed Jenny. “Important meetings and such.” Surely she knew he ran the stable with his father, and this would sound convincing to a girl of her, ah, intellect.

“Who are you?” she asked, startled, like she hadn’t even noticed me.

“His secretary,” I told her. She looked confused, then waved again and told Tor she’d see him later. He nodded at her, moved up in line with me, and then just looked at me for a moment.

“Uh, thanks,” he said. “Even though you didn’t have to lie for me.” Under his polite tone was an undercurrent of disapproval. Ah, morals.

“I answer the phone while I’m working, since your father doesn’t want to miss any calls that come to the house. I practically am your secretary, and could name you off all the dates you’ve missed last week,” I said flatly. Almost there! I could see the lunch trays. My stomach gurgled very quietly.

“Oh.”

I turned away, feeling the frustration radiating from him like heat from the pavement. What did he want?

Suddenly I recalled Yvonne’s statement that Tor had never touched her but once, to help her up, and thought of his hands enveloping mine at his house. It hit me like a brick, and I was glad that I was turned away from him, because my mouth fell open for a full thirty seconds.

He had a crush on me. Of course! I was probably one of the only girls he’d met that didn’t fall all over him. And I’m not that bad looking, even if I do look better in makeup, in my opinion. I knew about horses, lived on a farm, and saw him almost every day at school in passing and every Wednesday afternoon, and he’d developed an interest in me. Me being me, and clueless and flustered, I hadn’t made it easier for him, and it must have driven him nuts.

I picked up my tray and began to move away from him towards the salad bar. “See ya,” I tossed over my shoulder without looking back.

“Bye,” he said quietly, and his suddenly soft tone made my skin tingle with an unexpected pleasantness. But I ruthlessly ignored it and didn’t glance in his direction again as I left the cafeteria, though I wondered if his eyes were on me. He didn’t follow.

[yukitamashii]

Chapter Seven

“Samantha!” my dad’s voice rang out suddenly like a bullet and, instantly awake, I felt the pins and needles of anxiety wash down my body. The last time he’d yelled was when we’d gotten into an argument about my riding; the last time before that, when he’d seen my mother careening first toward then away from me on Miracle Worker, on Gulfstream Waves, going down fast.

“Dad?” I said, scared and hearing my voice go breathless. My dad pounded on my bedroom door. I pushed my blankets off of me and stumbled toward the door and twitched the lock at the top of it (one of those flip ones) and swung it open. My dad almost fell in.

Straightening, he grabbed my arms in a painfully tight grip. “Are you all right? Why didn’t you answer me?” He shook me, and my head jerked back and forth, and he eyed my wrists like he expected to find them slit and then looked around wildly.

‘There are no pills, dad.’ But I was too shocked to say that.

“I’m fine,” I said faintly. My hair was tangled and my pajama pants and top were wrinkled, and I looked exactly like you’d expect someone to look like first thing on a Saturday morning.

He stared hard at me, not believing me, then abruptly pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me so tightly I couldn’t even get my arms around him. When he finally pushed me back, my wide eyes met his.

“I knocked on your door and yelled for you to get up and pounded on the door; and you didn’t answer. I was…I thought…”

I had seen my dad so emotional he was at a loss for words only once before. Well, no wonder he was now. I’d been angry and depressed for months now, and even if I didn’t say anything, my father knew me. He knew all wasn’t right. He must have knocked on the door for several minutes and gotten scared that I’d finally done something to hurt myself when he went to the stables this morning.

“I stayed up late working on my science project, researching out of some books till like, three in the morning. I couldn’t sleep. I…must have been more tired than I thought,’ I said. I’d also been sleeping far heavier than I used to since after mom had died; the therapist my grandma, my father’s mother, had arranged for me to see briefly after mom’s passing had said sleeping was a defense mechanism or a coping strategy, or something like that. I was trying to hide away from the world—and he’d implied I slept because I didn’t have it in me to kill myself even though I didn’t want to deal with life. This had reassured my dad enough to believe we’d get through this and I could stop going, even though grandma had wanted me to keep seeing a therapist. But instead we’d moved and the subject hadn’t been brought up again.

After a few seconds my dad let go of me and rubbed his hand down his face, sighing. “Why did you lock your door—where did you get that lock anyway?”

The therapist had also suggested I’d become a slight control freak, wanting control over my surroundings and heart and the emotions of anyone around me in order to protect myself. But she’d also said I might try to kill myself later, and so far it had never even crossed my mind.

“I bought it at the store,” I confessed. Then I lied. “You’re gone so much I just wanted to feel a little safer.” I really wanted the privacy in case I felt like being antisocial. I could always pick a fight with my dad and lock the door and he’d have to leave me alone, if I wanted to be.

“Okay,” my father said, accepting my explanation. He nodded, and looked at me again, and said more calmly, “You should have breakfast. Get up and do your chores so you aren’t in a scramble when you have to go baby-sit for Ashleigh.”

I just nodded. He looked at me a moment more, troubled, drawn-down brows smoothing out but not convincing me he felt better. But he turned and went downstairs and finally back to the stables. I sighed.



I hate doing chores. I can get a good rhythm and if I don’t let myself stop I’ll keep going until they’re all done. But that’s hard. And starting is even harder. I got up and drank some milk and made myself clean house even before I changed, because I knew if I waited I’d keep finding excuses. Whoever said exercise in any form gets easier in time to do, or that you’ll miss doing it if you don’t, was crazy. I have never missed cleaning.

After the house was respectable and I checked to be sure I didn’t need to do laundry, I showered and changed and finally ate breakfast.

Now what?

The phone rang.

Okay, then. I answered it. It was Yvonne. “Did I give you my number?” I asked, sounding annoyed. But secretly I was glad to hear from her. I switched my weight to one leg and leaned on it beside the end table in the living room.

“I looked you on NeoPeeps,” she said.

“On what?”

“NeoPeeps, it’s the people locator on NeoNews. You pay like, thirty-five dollars a month for it and the people who run the Peeps part, all they do is spend their time looking up and updating people’s information. I know your dad’s name, so I looked him up. Did you know there are two Ian McLean’s in Kentucky? Only two,” she mused.

“You paid thirty-five dollars to look me up online?” I asked, bewildered.

“My dad pays for it. He’s some kind of lawyer that specially works with seniors. He gets a lot of new ones in that can’t remember their address and other stuff, and he has the Neo system set up at home, ‘cause he works from home. So how are?” she changed the subject.

“I should be asking you that. Are you still sick?”

“No. Anyway, I was thinking about you and Tor.”

“There is no me and Tor.” I did not want to talk about a situation I didn’t know what to do about it any more than she wanted to talk about why she’d been sick.

“He likes you, obviously. He never pays much attention, besides to be polite, to any particular girl. Not since he and Sheryl broke up in freshman year when he found out she was going to parties with older guys and drinking a lot.”

I sighed and moved to lean against the couch. “I thought you liked him.”

“I do. But I’m not in love with him. I decided to give him up to you,” she said graciously.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear it.”

“I’m making you two my new project—”

“Or we could just work on the project we already have. Speaking of which, how is your part going?”

She made a dismissive sound. “Fine, fine.” She would have gotten back to the subject at hand, but I pestered her with questions until she gave up, and we ended the conversation with a nicely exasperated yet still friendly good-bye.



“Hi, Sammy, thanks for coming,” Ashleigh welcomed me warmly into her home later that evening. “Mike, you remember Samantha? Come here, Cindy.”

Cindy came forward and eyed me with an analytical eye and an express of distrust. Mike greeting me with the air of a person who doesn’t want to look like they haven’t been paying attention but really wants to ask what’s going on.

Ashleigh either caught the look or just knew her husband real well. “Sammy’s going to watch Cindy for us. I’m dropping Christina off at Mom’s, since she knows how to take care of babies so well.” She laughed a little.

“Why don’t I have to go there?” Clearly, though Cindy didn’t want to go, she had picked up on the fact that she was received only lukewarmly, if not with outright unwelcome at her grandmother’s house.

“Well, Gramma’s, well, she’s getting a little old now. A baby isn’t much trouble; Christina will probably sleep after eating. A nine year old is more active and requires more energy.”

Wow. For such a sweet person, Ashleigh did a maternal lie-of-necessity real well on short notice. Nine year olds like Cindy were easy—give them a television set and they were good. Babies were harder to figure out and take care of, even if you’d done it before, because they were all different. But Cindy, being so young, didn’t realize this and her gaze softened the slightest bit, believing.

Ashleigh walked me around the house, gave me emergency contact numbers and telling me Cindy’s routine and when she and Mike would be back. “We might come home early, depends on how sloshed everyone gets and whether or not they notice us sneaking out,” she confided to me as we walked out of the bathroom (where the first aid kit was located).

“Okay, we’re off,” she announced. Mike slipped on his jacked and without hesitation gave Cindy a brief hug, which seem to surprise her.

“If you blow up the house, be sure it’s back in one piece when we get back,” he said to her, and this won the briefest of smiles, though Ashleigh frowned momentarily at him, not seeing the flicker of light in Cindy’s eye at the joke.

She gave Cindy a longer hug, and sighed into her hair. “Don’t get into trouble.”

Cindy, who had relaxed into her arms, immediately stiffened up again. “I won’t, geez. You don’t have to say that.”

Ashleigh looked distressed, but glanced at me and put her smile back on. “Bye.”

“Bye,” I said, and they left.

Cindy watched them go through the living room window, and then turned to me with a calculating look on her face. “I wanna watch TV.”

“Tough beans. Go wash your face so you can eat dinner.”

She looked taken aback, and went and did as I asked. I wasn’t in the mood to cajole her. I bet she’d never met an older version of herself.



Cindy tried the age-old tricks: trying to get dessert before her dinner was done and not wanting to do dishes, sulking about not being allowed to watch more than her allotted time of TV, not feeling sleepy at bed time.

“Your mom said this is bedtime, so get ready, ‘cause you’re going to bed.”

“She’s not my mom!” she yelled, fists clenched by her sides, eyes practically sending out sparks. There’s nothing like a defiant kid. The only thing worse is a defiant teenager, and I should know.

“Fine, your person-who-legally-has-to-take-care-of-you. You’d better learn how to appreciate her.”

Oh, yeah?” she said back, but curiosity rose. “Why?”

“Where are your parents?”

She caught her breath, and gave me a stony stare. “They’re dead.”

“So you have no one left in the world that has a blood tie to you and you’re turning down a perfectly nice woman who wants to feed, clothe, and take care of you? Get your head in the game, Cindy. It’s called Survival. You’re wasting this chance.”

She eyed me, confused but still angry. “Chance for what?” Her tone still had that flatness associated with being interested and not wanting to admit it.

“Your chance to get everything you need to take care of yourself.” I rolled my eyes. “You want to set your own rules? Get educated, get a job, learn how to charm all the idiots and jerks around you, and get financially independent.” I realized she might understand that last part. I advanced on her while she was thinking it over and looked down at her. She raised her head. “If you want to be able to take care of yourself, you need money, so you need a good job, so you need your education. If you keep moving around in foster homes, you’ll never get a chance to really learn anything without being interrupted. So if I were you, I’d exert myself to charm these people. Maybe they’ll let you stay.”

“You aren’t me, and you never will be. You don’t understand!” she glared at me as she fell back on the one thing she knew to be true.

“Fine, I don’t know what it’s like to be a foster kid. You know what it’s like when your mom dies, though. Well, so do I. Do you know what it’s like when all the horses on your farm that you loved die and you have to move to someone else’s farm and work for them?” Ashleigh. “Or what it’s like when your parents divorce out of nowhere?” Mike. “Or what it’s like to take a person into your home even though you didn’t have to and have them act like they hate you?”

I realized my voice had risen in volume. Startled at myself, I stared down at her, without backing away.

She looked up at me, anger faded away leaving her only astonishment.

“Do you?” I asked in a quietly.

“No,” she said in a small voice.

“It’s hard. Life sucks, a lot. But you’re not the only one. People out there,” I waved my hand around toward the front door, outside, outside in the world, “are hurt. They’ll do anything to protect themselves, even if it means hurting people. Even if it means hurting you. So you better learn to play the game, and survive it, and you’d better appreciate the people who are good to you, ‘cause there won’t be many who are.”

She just looked at me. I knew she was still angry, deep down inside and I couldn’t change that.

When Ashleigh and Mike came home, they asked me how the evening had gone, with side remarks that theirs had been a little boring.

“Fine,” I said. They look surprised, so I added, “Cindy wasn’t too bad. She’s just a kid.” They looked even more surprised, and I felt a bit of annoyance at them; they didn’t have to expect her to always be bad. They didn’t have to give up on her. But then I remembered she’d been there a year, and had given them nothing but grief. Of course they expected negativity from her, even though they didn’t want it.

They paid me, grateful, and we talked briefly about maybe setting up a grooming schedule after their current groom left to return home out of state (sick relatives). I knew my dad would hear about Pride’s progress, but he wouldn’t be dealing with him until he was ready to begin training. Actually, Ashleigh’s long-time friend, Charlie, would mostly do his training, and the only way my involvement with Pride would come out was through a chance of casual conversation. I could hope it wouldn’t, and groom, or not.

Foolish me, maybe. But I agreed to meet the current groom sometime and get to know Wonder and Pride’s schedule. They were special, and Ashleigh wanted someone who had time to devote to them, and I wasn’t currently involved in any other horses, and she like me and I had experience. So I was perfect. Mike didn’t look the sort to be so indulgent, but it was obvious he loved his wife and didn’t mind her extra attention and affection for her horses. And so it was agreed.

I went home, told my father I was in. I prepared for bed, but felt strange in the pit of my stomach. Not sick, but not well. I went into the bathroom, picked up my hair brush, put it back down.

“Why do I feel this way?” I whispered. I raised my head and looked at my reflection.

‘It’s called Survival. You’re wasting this chance… if I were you, I’d exert myself to charm these people.’

I stared hard, seeing my mother in my own face, remembering her joyfulness, her firmness her belief that you must live life to the fullest, but never at someone else’s expense. She never hurt anyone intentionally.

‘You’d better appreciate the people who are good to you, ‘cause there won’t be many who are.’

My father snored in the other room, untroubled for the first time in many nights with nightmares that made him cry out in his sleep.

‘…Or what it’s like to take a person into your home even though you didn’t have to and have them act like they hate you?’

“No!” I said sharply, and the echo in my head vanished, and my face was merely my own again. “I don’t do that. I’m not like that to my dad. I’m not ungrateful.”

But I was mean. Sometimes, I was rude. To other people, I was sarcastic and mistrustful and I never gave them the benefit of the doubt. I never assumed they had their own reasons for being the way they were. I assumed they were out to get all they could and step on me if they had to, and that I had to be better, stronger, tougher to make it.

“Not like life’s been apples and cherries to me,” I muttered.

Yeah, my life had thrown me some lemons—my mother’s death after risking a ride a temperamental horse, my expulsion from the horse world by my father, my resulting inability to trust people keeping me from making deep friendships or knowing what to do with the guy who liked me, because I had no one to ask for advice. But these decisions had flown from the hearts of flawed people who were affected by the world around them. Who was I to cast judgment on them?

“No,” I said again, stubbornly. “They should have known better. They’re older, wiser. They didn’t have to be this way.”

But I still didn’t like what I saw in the mirror, and it was only myself I saw this time. Maybe that was why.

I turned away, and went to bed. Sleeping, my world of safety.

[horselover]

I just love this story, Yuki!

[HorseMystique]

I love this story, I hope you update soon!