Exit Stage Left (10 page)

“Told you,” he replies.

I turn it up and lie down on the stage myself. After a minute, Oliver joins me. He said this was a good place to think, but I’m finding it a good place to forget. Which is nice, for a change.

“Casey?”

Amanda’s voice is barely audible over the Violent Femmes. I open my eyes and yank out the earbuds.

“Ms. Quindell sent me to get you. This is my last dress,” she says, her eyes flicking to Oliver. I could swear she smiles a little.

“Right.” I leap up and give Oliver back his earbuds. “Um, thanks. See you around.” Then I floor it back to the changing rooms, Amanda trailing behind me.

“Amanda’s about done,” Ms. Quindell says.

“Okay,” I say automatically. I can tell Amanda’s dying to ask me about what was going on with Oliver, but she doesn’t. Thank God, because
I
don’t know what was going on. He’s new and different—that’s got to be all it was.

Ms. Quindell hands me a heavy garment bag. “Here’s yours, Candy, honey.”

“Casey,” I say, but not loud enough. She waves me in the direction of the curtained-off changing stalls and goes back to adding pins to Amanda’s dress. I unzip the garment bag and remove the most atrocious piece of clothing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

Big, black sack of cloth. I’m pretty sure the only skin I’ll have showing is on my face. I didn’t even realize how distracted I was from my problems during those few minutes with Oliver. But it all comes crashing back now. I change into the thing and rejoin Ms. Quindell and Amanda.

A strangled noise comes from Amanda’s throat. She covers her mouth and looks away.

“Are you laughing? I’ll have you know that if
you
were wearing this, I would not laugh.”

Amanda bites her lip. “I’m not laughing. It’s just . . . you look so pious. And you would too laugh if I was in it.”

But I feel like I lost my sense of humor when I lost everything else. Although, by this time next week, I’ll have Trevor back and I’ll be on my way to superior horsewomanship. Things will be mostly okay by then. I force a laugh to try it out. And I’m pretty sure I sound like a hyena that’s been hit by a car.

“Nice try. You might want to work on that before Friday, though. Although if your raisin face never scared Trevor off, I doubt anything else can.” Amanda smiles at me and glides from the room.

True. But now she’s part of the me-and-Trevor equation. And I need to stop thinking like that. I’ve got to be more positive.

Ms. Quindell blinks at me from behind pink-framed glasses perched on the tip of her nose. “All right, then. Let’s see.” She stabs pins into the sides of the sack. Then she kneels on the floor and folds up the hem. All I can see is the top of her wild, white hair. She stands up and takes a step back to admire her creation. “Looks good, don’t you think?”

I take a deep breath and walk toward the makeup mirrors.

It’s worse than I ever imagined. Eric will die laughing when he sees it. The dress-sack billows out around me and makes me look about ten feet wide. It hangs straight to the ground and goes up to my neck in a high collar trimmed in white. The headpiece sits like a black cloud on my head, hiding my hair so I look bald underneath it.

This
will scare Trevor away. Or make him die of laughter too. I’ll have a whole graveyard of people who laughed themselves to death over my costume. Meanwhile, Amanda will be in her perfect blue dress, looking, well, perfect.

“All done, Carly,” Ms. Quindell says.

This time, I don’t even bother.

Thursday drags just as slowly as Wednesday did, but at least I have something to look forward to. Item Number Two on The List: horseback riding. I’m wearing my most equestrian-looking outfit, and I even added a horseshoe necklace for effect.

Amanda’s true to her word and ignores Trevor, but that’s not stopping him from showing up at her locker or complimenting her hair. It’s so weird, seeing him pay attention to her. It’s not like he’s ignoring me, though. He laughs when I crack a joke and answers when I ask a question, but he’s not his usual flirty self. At all. I have to figure out a way to change that on Friday. And I’m afraid the only way to do that is to be completely blunt. As in
Hey, Trevor, I miss you. Let’s get back together.
And then back him against the wall and throw myself at him.

Hmmm. That would definitely work.

When I meet Harrison at my locker after school, Trevor’s glued himself to Amanda right across the hall. She doesn’t look at him, but she does her trademark Amanda Hair Flip. And he grins at her. The
whole thing is eating me up inside. I know she’s not trying to flirt, but she’s doing it unintentionally.

At least I hope it’s unintentional.

Harrison adjusts his glasses. “They aren’t doing anything. Just talking. At least, he’s talking.”

I slam my locker door shut. “I’m ready to ride. How about you?”

Harrison nods. He doesn’t look especially equestrian in his
Book of Mormon
T-shirt and dark jeans with the cuffs carefully folded up.

“Hey, Casey,” Trevor says as we pass him and Amanda.

“Hey,” I say, trying to be casual.

Then he turns back to Amanda.

I reach over and rest my hand on his arm. “See you tomorrow.” And then I give him the look I used to when I’d ask him to meet me in the Alcove of Sin or outside in the parking lot.

He looks at me in a way that still makes me melty inside. “See you.” Then he turns back to Amanda, who gives me a reassuring smile.

“Case, come on. You can make eyes at Trevor later. We’re going to be late.” Harrison pulls at my arm.

Trevor doesn’t even glance my way as I leave.

Harrison drives us in his hand-me-down Volvo to the Happy Valley Stables on the far end of town. The car is pristine inside—completely unlike Eric’s rolling garbage can of a vehicle.

“Did you have your costume fitting?” I ask as Harrison slows at a yellow light. I’d even talk about the Violent Femmes and whatever it was I had going on with Oliver yesterday—anything to get my mind off Trevor. “You’ve could’ve made it through the light, you know.”

“If you say another word about my driving, you’re riding in the trunk, okay?”

I roll my eyes. But I don’t say anything else, because I can live without another lecture on why I should get my license already. So I go back to complaining instead, this time about my costume. To which Harrison says, “Well, it is a nun outfit, Casey. It’s not supposed to be hot.”

So not helpful.

When we get to the stables, Theresa the riding instructor gives us a tour and hands us each a helmet.

I buckle the strap beneath my chin. “It’s smashing my cute ponytail.”

“It’ll keep your brains inside your head if you fall off.” Theresa looks like a real horsewoman with well-worn riding breeches, scuffed boots, and a messy low ponytail. And yet somehow, she still looks insanely good. I make a mental note to wear a low ponytail next time. And maybe scuff up my boots a little.

“All right!” She claps her hands together, which reminds me of Ms. Sharp. “Let’s get you guys on some horses.”

We follow her through the stable. Long heads with big brown eyes peek out over stall doors as we walk by. I want to pat each one on the nose, but Theresa walks as if she’s late to opening night for
Wicked
.

“Harrison, I’m going to put you on Pants.”

I’m about to ask why the horse is named Pants when Theresa leads him out of the stall. The back half of his body is white, while the front half is brown. So basically, he looks as if he’s wearing white pants.

“And, Casey . . . you get Tamale.” Theresa presents me with the largest horse I’ve ever seen. Tamale stares at me with his huge eyes and snorts. I half expect him to rear back on his hind legs and whinny and maybe breathe fire. He’s more beast than horse.

“He’s really . . . tall, isn’t he?”

“He’s perfect for you. You’re a tall girl. You can handle him.”

Of course, that makes Harrison frown, since he’s about four inches shorter than me.

Theresa then shows us the bridle and saddle and all this other stuff she calls tack, and how to put it on the horses. I can’t help spacing out while she’s talking. I’ve never really been good at the whole listening-to-lectures thing.

I wrinkle my nose at the manure smell and look at Tamale. He’s staring me down. How in the world am I going to stay on that monster of a horse? I decide I’m thankful for the heavy, ponytail-squashing helmet on my head.

Theresa leads the horses to an indoor arena with a straw-covered floor.

“Ready, Casey?” Theresa cups her hands and crouches down. I guess I’m supposed to use that as a boost to get onto the horse. I swallow and step into her hands. Then I reach for the saddle and pull myself up.

Or, try to pull myself up. “Um . . .” I’m stuck halfway there. My stomach is smooshed against the saddle and my legs are sticking out. Not my smoothest moment. “Help?”

I hear Harrison snicker as I wiggle my butt to try to get all the way
up on the horse. Tamale shifts and I grasp the side of the saddle. All I can see is the ground moving under Tamale. And it’s a
long
way down.

Did I mention that I have a thing about heights?

“Push against my hands,” Theresa says.

I push, and somehow, I make it.

“It’s really high up here.” I grip the reins and refuse to look down. I need to relax. My future as an uber-successful equine veterinarian/millionaire rancher means I can’t be afraid of heights, falling off horses, or of horses themselves. I reach out and pat Tamale between his ears. He snorts and tosses his head, and I almost jump out of the saddle.

“Okay, let’s talk about correct riding posture first,” Theresa says. “You want to sit up straight in the saddle, elbows down, heels down. Grip the horse’s body with your knees, but not too tight. Hold the reins like this.” She reaches up and laces the reins through my fingers. “Nice, Casey. Just push your heels down more.”

I wait while she gets Harrison situated. Tamale snorts and shuffles. I stay completely still, willing myself not to fall off. And wishing that maybe—just maybe—I hadn’t messed up the whole pottery thing. At least wet clay can’t kill you.

“Isn’t there supposed to be more to hold on to?” I ask Theresa as Tamale shifts his weight again and I slide a little to the right.

“Just the reins,” she replies. “Now let’s get moving.”

She shows us how to nudge the horses with our heels to get them to walk. Tamale turns the corner without me having to do anything. Which is good, because I can’t remember which way to pull the reins
to make him turn left.

His body shifts back and forth as he walks, which makes me slide from side to side. I look straight at Tamale’s ears and hold on like my life depends on it. Which it probably does. My eyes drift to the ground. Even though there’s straw on the floor, it looks really, really hard. Like breaking-bones and smashing-skulls hard. When the floor starts to spin, I force my head up until I can breathe normally again.

As we ride around the ring in the barn, Theresa keeps saying things like “Squeeze with your knees” and “Back straight.” Actually, she says, “Squeeze with your knees” only to Harrison. I squeeze Tamale so hard I’m surprised he doesn’t burst.

Then she introduces us to posting. Which should actually be called Torture on Horseback. Seriously, all it is is raising yourself up and down in the saddle, over and over and over. No one would ever need spin class if they did this every day.

“Posting when the horse trots makes the ride smoother for you and your horse,” Theresa says. “We’ll try it at a standstill first.”

Smoother? Who says? I don’t feel smooth. I feel freaked the hell out. And the horse isn’t even moving. I don’t think I look anything like Daydream Casey, who guides her horse into flying leaps over rivers and stuns the mob of waiting boys with her hots and excellent horsewomanship. I’m more like a scared little kid with a smashed ponytail on a fire-breathing dragon. I’m really glad Trevor isn’t here to witness this.

“Don’t be afraid to lift higher, Casey,” Theresa says.

Except I can’t lift higher. Every inch I rise up from the saddle gets
me closer to toppling off Tamale.

“Okay, good! Let’s try posting the trot,” Theresa says.

“Trotting’s fast, right?” I ask as Tamale starts walking behind Pants. I twist my head to see Theresa. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to go any faster. Even though my brains aren’t too good at pre-calc, I’d still like to keep them intact.

“Yes, it’s fun!” Theresa says. “Now, you want to nudge the horse twice with your heels to signal him to trot.”

No, I
don’t
want to. I just want to go nice and slow. At a speed where I won’t break my neck if I fly off the horse. In front of me, Harrison takes off on Pants. Show-off.

“Good, Harrison. Find the horse’s rhythm to begin posting. Nudge Tamale twice, Casey.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and touch Tamale twice with my heels. Instantly, I’m jerking around all over the place as he races around the arena in a bid to set a record for the Happy Valley Stables Derby.

“Find his rhythm, Casey.”

Easy for her to say. Her brain isn’t bouncing around inside her skull. If I wanted to kill brain cells, I’d befriend Steve-o Grimaldi and at least do it the fun way. I have Tamale’s reins in a death grip. I look down.

Big mistake. The ground rises and falls as Tamale moves, and my vision starts swimming again.

I slide to the right as Tamale rounds a corner. I try to pull myself up with the reins, but I’m too dizzy to remember which way is up. The spinning, bouncing ground comes closer and closer.

My left foot pops out from the stirrup, and I’m hanging off Tamale with my leg across the saddle. The ground leaps up and down sideways—way too close to my head.

“Pull yourself up with your legs!” Theresa shouts.

Right. My legs have turned to jelly. My heart is pounding. And I’m pretty sure those are black spots in front of my eyes. The reins slip from my fingers, and I’m going down, down, down. Oh, holy hell. Not good.

This is it. This is the end. Death by horse at age sixteen. This is not how I wanted to go from this world! I should’ve at least burned those poems I wrote about Trevor in case Mom sorts through my stuff. I should’ve been nicer to my brother, pain in the ass that he is. I should’ve forgiven my dad for moving too far away. I should’ve—

I hit the ground with my shoulder first and roll over, facedown in the straw and dirt.

“Casey!” Harrison yells from across the arena.

“Casey?” Another voice echoes from the hallway that leads toward the stalls. A guy’s voice that sounds familiar but doesn’t belong here at all.