Chosen (3 page)

I'd auditioned for Mr. Benson, singing a few lines from one of my favorite songs—“Begin Again.”

Mr. Benson had thanked me politely—he hadn't given the tiniest hint if I'd made it or not. He just told all of the people who'd auditioned to come back the next day after class. Then he'd told us we'd all done a wonderful job
and that if he called our name, we'd made it. When Mr. Benson called my name, I'd almost fallen off the stage. The girl who'd thought she was only good at one thing—and maybe not even that—had been chosen for glee club! To sing and dance in the spotlight. I'd been ecstatic.

Now Mr. Benson sat in front of the piano, his fingers flying over the keys. I reminded myself to stay focused on
energy
and when we started singing, Jared started clapping and got the whole group's energy up. I was grateful.

Jared, our glee club leader, always gave extra energy to the group even on the longest, gloomiest days. He was so friendly and he always gave advice to anyone who needed it—he wasn't a solo hog. Jared wanted our entire club to do well and he never acted like he had the best voice, even though he did. He could sing anything—his range was incredible.

Our voices did that magic thing where they all just seemed to melt together, and when we finished the song, we fell silent, looking to Mr. Benson for his opinion. But even before his face broke into a smile, we all knew we'd nailed it—thanks to Jared.

“That's
exactly
what I was hoping to hear, guys,” Mr. Benson said. He bowed his head to us, slapping a palm on top of the piano with excitement. “As long as you keep
practicing on your own over the summer, we'll be ready to start competing in the fall. We'll keep in touch via a locked glee club message board that I've been working on. We have something to discuss already: It's time to decide on a name for our club.”

“Cool!” Jared said. “It's about time we got a name.”

I smiled along with Jared and everyone else, but part of my happy look was fake. I loved the club and I'd been a member all year, but would I be here when we got a name? Or when we started competing? My feelings about Canterwood versus Yates changed daily. One day, all I wanted was to be a student at what looked like my dream school. The next, I wanted to stay where I felt comfortable—where I fit in and had friends and was even
popular
.

A place I could excel even if . . . even if I could never jump again. I loved riding, but I didn't know if going back to a life of equestrian competition was what I wanted. Sometimes, I thought it was. Other times, I wanted everyone to forget that I was a “good” dressage rider and I thought I'd be happy just pleasure riding Cricket from now on.

Would the right decision be to start all over
again
and risk everything at a brand new school? Was it wrong if I started feeling comfortable enough at Yates to be just
another normal student—one who studied hard and got good grades and did nothing but safe, fun glee club after school? No one shouting at me about confidence, or moving past bad memories. Would it be so wrong to be part of an ensemble for once rather than to ride solo?

You're getting ahead of yourself. You don't even know if you got in. So stop obsessing until you get an answer—which will very, VERY likely be thanks, but no thanks
.

But when I got home, I couldn't help myself—I walked over to the wire mail bin where whoever checked the mail placed it for everyone else to look through. Dad's mail was already gone and Becca had a card from Gram in a bright orange envelope.

Nothing for me.

I stared at the basket for a while—not sure if I was disappointed or kind of glad that there was nothing from Canterwood.

THE FINAL VERTICAL LOOMED IN FRONT OF
me during Wednesday's group riding lesson. It looked higher than any jump I'd ever attempted. Sure, I'd cleared fences higher than the approaching blue rails before. But ever since I'd applied to Canterwood Crest Academy months ago, the jumps—and the stakes—had gotten higher.

“Lauren!” Kim, my riding instructor, called across the outdoor arena. “Tighten your reins and slow Cricket. She's trying to rush the last jump.”

Come on
, I told myself.
You're supposed to be Lauren Towers. You should be able to do this stuff
.

I pushed my weight into the saddle to signal the Welsh-Cob pony mix to slow. Jumping wasn't
my
strongest area, but it was Cricket's. The school horse, sweet
and, more important, smart, knew just when to try and catch me off guard.

Cricket hesitated, almost as if trying to decide whether or not to listen. She could be a little hard to handle sometimes, but that had been Kim's intention when I'd come to Briar Creek. She'd wanted to challenge me by giving me Cricket to ride. I'd disagreed at first, especially after . . .
no, NOT thinking about that now
. I shut the memory out of my brain and tried to focus on my ride.

Cricket's small hooves churned up the arena dirt and she tossed her head, not wanting to slow. I did a half-halt, but Cricket surged ahead. Panic rippled in my stomach.

It didn't help that a group of students gathered along the fence, watching my ride. At the opposite end of the arena, I spotted Ana, offering me silent support. Brielle hadn't been able to make it today because she had to babysit.

In my head, I could hear Ana yelling at me, telling me these were the basics and I should have this. There was no excuse—I was making beginner mistakes.

“Lauren! Get Cricket's attention!” Kim shouted.

I could feel my face getting red. Everyone's eyes were on me and the last thing I wanted was to mess up in front of them.

We were strides away from the jump and I was too nervous to relax. In my mind, the handful of people watching turned into a crowd and they were judging my ride. The jump rushed toward us at a dizzying pace and fear took over. Spots swam in front of my eyes. This was almost like
before
.

I yanked Cricket's right rein, turning her away from the jump. The sudden sideways movement almost tossed me out of the saddle. Frustrated, Cricket threw her head in the air and half-bucked as I cantered her
far
away from the jump. I gripped as hard as I could with my knees, fighting to stay on.

I slowed her to a trot and, finally, a walk. My heartbeat seemed to slow the farther away from the jump we got.

“Lauren,” Kim said my name again. She walked over to Cricket and me. “You okay?”

“I'm fine,” I said. “I'm sorry. I—I couldn't do it.”

I didn't look at anyone who was watching. But I was sure they were all whispering about what had happened. That was one of the worst performances I'd had in a long time. I was supposed to be
the
Lauren Towers. Now everyone probably thought I was a joke.

“Everyone else is finished, so I'd like you to cool and groom Cricket, then come by my office. Okay?” Kim asked.

I nodded.

Kim touched my shoulder, then turned to address the other riders. But I didn't hear her. It was like a silent movie. Everyone dismounted and started toward the stable. I watched Ana hand her horse to one of the girls who'd been watching and then make her way toward me.

I dismounted, patting Cricket's neck.

“We'll get it next time, girl. Promise,” I said. We'd jumped a million times before—I had to keep reminding myself of that. But it wasn't easy.

I took off my helmet. The warm May air had made my long, dark brown hair stick to my forehead. I let my hair down and then gathered the natural waves into a ponytail. Afterward, I loosened Cricket's girth and started to lead her in a circle.

“Is everything okay?” Ana asked, reaching me. Her eyes were wide with worry.

“I was so ridiculous,” I said. “Cricket was set to jump and I stopped her. I . . . got scared.”

“That's okay,” Ana said. “You have every right to be nervous about jumping.” She ran her fingers through her light brown hair. “But what matters is that you don't beat yourself up and that you remember you
have
done this before. And really well!”

“Everyone's probably in the stable laughing at me,” I said.

“No, they're not,” Ana said firmly. “Don't worry about that. Next time you jump, you're going to
fly
over it without a problem. I know it.”

I smiled a little. Ana had been one of my biggest cheerleaders since I'd started at Briar Creek.

“I'll be ready next time,” I said. I tried to make sure what I said sounded like a statement and not a question.

Ana nodded. “You so will be.”

Ana stayed with me for a few more minutes before her mom came to pick her up. Before she'd left, Ana had switched the subject to the weird mystery smell in homeroom. She'd made me laugh and I'd gotten past my bad ride with Ana's help. I
had
conquered a lot of jumps since my accident, and just because I hadn't today didn't mean I was a failure.

I walked Cricket out of the arena and past the wooden fence boards that had been painted a light brown last month. Kim had been busy making all kinds of repairs to the only riding stable in town.

I hadn't been living in Union, Connecticut long, but since I'd been here, Briar Creek had become my oasis. It had given me what I'd needed—an escape and time off
from competition. It had also taught me how to
really
love horses again.

Kim had played a huge role in the way I felt about Briar Creek. She was one of the best instructors I'd ever had. The most exciting part about Kim was that she'd taught the stable's star, Sasha Silver, all she'd needed to know to leave Briar Creek and get into Canterwood Crest Academy.

Kim, familiar with the process because of Sasha, had helped me with my application. I'd sent transcripts from Yates, a DVD I'd made of myself riding, and two letters of recommendation—one from Kim and the other from my French II teacher.

I asked Kim to tell me everything she knew about the equestrian team at Canterwood. Kim told me everything, especially about how tough the instructor, Mr. Conner, was on his students.

The biggest shock had been when Kim told me that I'd been here when Sasha had come to visit one day. Sasha Silver had been on the grounds and I hadn't even known it. I wondered if she'd seen me.

That's why I'd been checking the mailbox every day since January fourth. Every day since I'd applied to Canterwood Crest.

Briar Creek was so different from Canterwood. Kim
was the only instructor here and there were riders of every level and age. A few adult riders schooled young horses in the metal, orange round pens that Kim had spaced out on the grassy sides of the drive.

A college-age girl smiled down at me from her black-and-white Appaloosa as she headed out for the trails. That's where I wished I was going—anywhere but Kim's office to talk.

It couldn't be good and my gut felt knotted. Maybe Kim wanted to take back her recommendation letter.

I untacked, groomed, fed, and watered Cricket, then led her into her stall. She took a dainty sip of water before turning around in the deep sawdust to grab a bite of hay.

Reluctant to leave her, I walked down the quiet aisle to Kim's office. I wished that Ana or Brielle could come in with me. I reached Kim's office and tapped my fingers against her half-open door.

“Come in,” she said.

I smiled as best I could and sat in the chair across from her. Behind Kim, photos and paintings of her beloved horses covered the reddish-brown walls. Her tiny office had a cluttered desk, an overflowing metal file cabinet, and multicolored ribbons strung along the wall. There was a shelf of trophies and the biggest one wasn't hard to
miss. Its shiny gold gleamed, and the name etched on to the plaque was familiar to everyone here—
Sasha Silver
.

“Lauren, don't look so down,” Kim said, smiling at me.

“I'm sorry about the jump,” I said. “It's not going to happen every time.”

Kim folded her hands into a steeple on her desk. “Of course it's not—you're a good jumper. And I'm not upset with you. But I want to talk to you for a second about something else.” She paused. “About Canterwood.”

The words sent my heartbeat into overdrive. I nodded.

“As I've said many times before, I believe you're a perfect candidate for the school. But Lauren, I can tell as decision time gets closer that your nerves are affecting your ride.”

I lowered my head. She was right.

“We are so privileged to have you here at Briar Creek,” Kim said. “It's been an honor to have you as a student. But when I first found out that you were coming, we talked. And you told me you'd come for one reason. . . .”