Hannah & Chris: Before the Circuit (Show Circuit Series Book 0) Read online

  Contents

  Hannah

  Chris

  Excerpt: Summer Circuit

  About the Author

  Hannah & Chris:

  Before the Circuit

  Kim Ablon Whitney

  Copyright © 2015, Kim Ablon Whitney

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover Design by Littera Designs

  Cover photos by Sassy Strides Photography/Grace Schinsing & Fotolia

  Interior Design by QA Productions

  Also by Kim Ablon Whitney

  Summer Circuit

  Winter Circuit

  The Perfect Distance

  Blue Ribbons

  Hannah

  I pulled into the driveway and parked next to the barn. This is where other girls my age would be nearly leaping out of the car to get inside to hug their horse and hang out with their barn friends. For other girls the barn is their happy place, where they feel most at home in the world.

  My problem has always been that I’m not like other girls.

  I didn’t even really want to ride today. But I didn’t have anything better to do. I had barely any homework even though final exams were only a few weeks away. The end of senior year was pointless, if you asked me. They should just let you out when you’re accepted to college. Instead you go through the motions of classes, homework, tests, and then, mercifully, final exams. Lots of my classmates stopped trying hard months ago; they did the least amount of work that would still allow them to graduate and not have their college acceptances revoked. You always heard stories of that—how so-and-so’s grades had slipped so precipitously that whatever college he’d committed to had rescinded his acceptance. Or he’d partied too hard and gotten in trouble with the cops, maybe gotten arrested, and his school of choice had backed out then. Who knew if these things actually happened? I certainly wasn’t in any danger of them happening to me since I always worked hard in school and I never partied. We had two more weeks of school and then I would really have nothing to do. I’d leave for Tufts in late August. I guess I’d do a few local horse shows, Fieldstone perhaps. I knew most kids my age had jobs. Most non-horse people, that is. They worked at summer camps, lifeguarded, or caddied at one of the local country clubs.

  I walked into the barn, my ring bag slung over my shoulder. I already had my boots and breeches on. A few horses had their heads over their stall doors. Mike walked down the aisle carrying a saddle, headed for the tack room.

  “Hannah,” Mike said. “How’s life treating you?”

  Mike was always friendly. He didn’t seem hesitant to talk to the customers like some grooms did. Part of that was because most of the grooms only spoke limited English.

  “Okay,” I guess. “How about you?”

  “All is right with the world,” he said.

  I looked at him funny, unsure whether he was being serious. I didn’t know Mike well enough to know whether he was joking. But something about his statement caught me off guard. I guess because everything certainly wasn’t right in my world. It wasn’t necessarily wrong or awful. How could it be, when I lived in a nice house in a pretty, wealthy suburb of Boston, went to a good school, got very good grades, and was headed to a well-thought-of college? Of course there were a few things missing, notably good friends, any semblance of a social life, perhaps even a boyfriend, and real-world experiences.

  “Why is everything right with the world?” I asked. The only thing I could think of that could make Mike so happy was if something had happened between him and Zoe. I might not spend as much time at the barn as other people but anyone who spent any amount of time at the barn knew Mike was totally and completely in love with Zoe Tramell.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure it is. Just popped into my head,” Mike tossed off.

  “Okay,” I said, and smiled. At least Mike didn’t have it all figured out either, and probably nothing had happened with Zoe either. Maybe she was just being nicer to him than usual today. But, either way, he sure seemed happier than me.

  My trainer Jamie’s farm was nice, but not gorgeous. It didn’t have the greatest turnout—only a few small, dirt paddocks, and two larger ones with spotty grass. The biggest selling point of the farm was its proximity to Boston and its suburbs. Land was scarce in the surrounding areas and most farms were forty-five minutes to an hour away out in what more or less accounted for the boonies in Massachusetts. Kids and adults rode at Jamie’s because it was only a twenty to thirty minute commute from Boston. She had twenty-five stalls, and sometimes, if needed, she parked a few horses in temporary stalls in the indoor. The indoor was on the small and grungy side, with stained kickboards and several broken lights, but Jamie went to Wellington for the winter anyway. There was a decent outside ring with a small trail around it for walking your horse out. The trail backed up to some woods, but you could see newly built houses through the trees. Developers had probably tried to buy the farm from Jamie for years, but for now it was still hers.

  I peeked at the outdoor ring and saw Zoe cantering around. Even just at the canter, she looked good on a horse. She had natural talent, unlike me.

  Jamie was teaching a pony rider. I could hear her voice as the girl cantered to a jump. “Do not pull in front of the jump!”

  I went into the trunk room, put on my helmet, and gave my boots a quick shine. I was only flatting today but having shiny boots was one thing in riding I could easily achieve. Zoe rode so many horses she went through Parlantis like normal people went through gym socks. Whenever a pair was too worn out to show in, she had them patched and they became one of her schooling pairs. She’d also worn holes in the leather flaps of saddles. Literally, the leather had been worn off, creating a hole. She rode nearly every horse in the barn that needed to be ridden on a given day, and at shows she catch-rode plenty more for other trainers. She didn’t go to school anymore. I wasn’t sure how that worked exactly, whether she’d dropped out, gotten her GED, or was doing her work online. But she’d come straight from Florida at the end of the winter circuit to the farm and she lived with Jamie. Zoe was one of the only people Jamie wasn’t overly harsh with. She demanded a lot from Zoe but she wasn’t mean to her like she could be with other riders, juniors or adults. She knew Zoe was her best rider, her key to being in the winner’s circle at the biggest shows. Zoe was good enough to attract interest from plenty of other Big Name Trainers so Jamie had to treat her well to keep her.

  I put on my gloves and grabbed my stick. When I came out Logan was on the cross-ties. One of the grooms must have seen me come in, plus I’d let Jamie know I’d be riding at four o’clock.

  I went and patted Logan on the nose. He flipped his head, nearly hitting me with a cross-tie.

  “Fine,” I mumbled and retreated into the corner while the groom got him ready for me. The groom had a baby face. Was he even older than me? I wasn’t sure. I’d seen him around the barn before but I didn’t know his name. Usually a groom I was pretty sure was named Miguel took care of Logan but it seemed like at home they were always mixing it up and filling in for each other.

  I took out my phone and went on Instagram. My older brother Ryan had posted a pic of his company’s newly designed logo. I swiped down, looking through some of the photos of junior riders on the circuit that I followed, their cute posts of their horses, their dogs, and their friends. My ratio of following to followers was very lopsided.

  The junior riders I followed focused entirely on riding and showing, qualifying for the equitation finals, indoors, Junior Hunter Finals, and Young Riders. I was the anomaly. A girl in my last junior year still competin
g, not very successfully, not very consistently, and not very ardently, in the children’s jumpers. I had never thrown myself into riding like other girls had. I’d started taking weekly lessons when I was ten and by age twelve I was leasing a horse. One by one, the other girls started buying horses and going off to away shows week after week, spending their winters flying back and forth to Florida. I would do local shows and a few A shows every now and then that we could drive to, but I never pushed for more. Certainly, my parents would have been happy to support me if I wanted to show on the A circuit. My dad had the money to support a serious junior riding career and he would have been glad to see me take a passionate interest in something. That was why he bought me Logan—to try to unleash a yet-untapped passion in me. Well, that and he had too much wine and was showing off in front of a business associate. But I’ll save that story for another time.

  Maybe it was my mom that was the reason I’d never gotten more into showing. She wasn’t like other moms. Her anxiety disorder meant she wouldn’t be the type of mom who could go on the road with her daughter. I suppose if I had wanted it badly enough, we would have figured out something. Mom would have hired a nanny to take me to the shows. But maybe I didn’t want that, and maybe I thought I couldn’t leave my mom home alone. Of course when I went to college, she would be alone. But there was nothing to do be done about that. That was a natural sequence of events.

  Occasionally I looked up from my phone. Logan was already clean. I wasn’t sure how or when that happened. Maybe one of the guys groomed him earlier in the day? The baby-faced groom put on Logan’s front and back boots and then moved onto tacking him up. He worked quickly and efficiently, doing up the boots like it was something he did automatically, maybe like I clicked on my seatbelt when I got in a car. I looked back at my phone until I heard the cross-ties unclip—the signal that my horse was ready. Logan looked perfectly outfitted, right down to his ear bonnet. The baby-faced groom led him outside, put the reins over his head, and pulled down my stirrups.

  I adjusted my gloves and stepped forward. He put out his hands and I placed my knee in his clutch. He lifted me up into the saddle and I collected my reins.

  “Tighten girth,” he said, and I swung my leg forward in front of the saddle. He went up a few holes and then said, “All set.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Jamie didn’t say anything to me when I came into the ring. She was too busy yelling at the pony kid, who had gone and pulled at the jump just as Jamie had warned her not to. Her pony was gorgeous, like a conformation hunter only shrunk down to tiny. Emma, I remembered, was the girl’s name. She was cute with a face full of freckles. Emma, Zoe, and another rider at the barn, Jed, were all going to Devon, leaving in a few days. This was one of the last lessons before they left for the show. I noticed Emma’s mom watching from the side of the ring. That was normal—to have your mom watching. But my mom had never been able to stand by the ring. Back before I could drive, she’d take me to the barn and stay in the car while I rode. I hated imagining what people thought of her, how weird she was for staying in the car. And I hated that she couldn’t watch me like the rest of the moms.

  Zoe brought the horse she was riding down to a walk.

  “Who’s that?” I said, nodding at the pretty chestnut she was on.

  “Goober. Kathy Randall’s adult hunter.”

  The adults couldn’t always ride every day because of work or their kids’ soccer games, and Zoe often rode their horses. It was essentially like getting a pro ride because Zoe was so good. Zoe walked alongside me, but not too close because she knew Logan was temperamental. Well, temperamental wasn’t really accurate—more like certifiable.

  “How’s it going?” she said. “How was school?”

  “School was school,” I replied. School was an exercise in spending an entire day feeling like I was missing something in life. Like every other person there was having fun with their friends, and felt they belonged, and I was on the outside of it all. Even the total dorks seemed better off than me. At least they had each other. It was me, stuck somewhere in the middle between dork and popular, that was left out. I had my few “friends” that I’d identified early on because they were nice enough to let me sit with them at lunch or partner up with them in class. But we weren’t actually friends. We didn’t hang out outside of school. But Zoe didn’t really know about my lack of social life and I wanted to keep it that way.

  “You excited for Devon?” I asked. Keeping the topic to horses was always a good plan.

  “My last Devon as a junior,” she said, looking wistful. “I can’t believe it. It’s crazy.”

  “What horses are you showing? I mean besides Halo?”

  Halo was Zoe’s horse for the big eq. Jamie had bought him as a sales horse and they’d brought him along together. After the finals, Jamie was going to sell him for a good chunk of change, maybe in the barn if she was lucky. Zoe wouldn’t see a dime of that money even though she’d put in most of the training, but she had gotten to ride Halo for two years and that counted for a lot since she couldn’t afford horses of her own.

  “I have one to do in the small juniors, Plot Twist?”

  She made the statement a question to see if I knew the horse. Of course I didn’t. “Is he nice? Have you ridden him before?”

  “I did him at WEF a few times. He’s not a very good mover but he jumps great. He belongs to an amateur who’s trying to sell him. He got into Devon at the last minute. I’ve also got one in the junior jumpers. That should be fun.”

  We had to pull up in order to let Emma get to the line she was jumping.

  “I’ll try to watch some online,” I said.

  “If you watch the equitation, check out Casey Beck. We had a thing in Florida. I haven’t seen him since. I’m hoping maybe we pick up where we left off, you know?” Zoe gave me a grin.

  I nodded, as if I had any idea what she meant. What was a thing? Did that mean they had slept together a few times?

  “You lessoning today?” Zoe said.

  “No, just flatting.”

  “When are you showing next?” Zoe said.

  “I don’t know. Probably just Fieldstone.”

  “No away shows this summer?” Zoe said. “Come on, that’s where all the fun shit happens!”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I have to get ready for college and stuff.” Lame reply. Who got ready for college in June and July?

  “You should come to Vermont for at least a week or two,” she said. “It’s such a blast up there. There’s this great bar, Backcountry. Everyone from the show goes there. I would love to get you to go out… loosen up a little. Trust me, you would come home with stories to tell.”

  “We’ll see,” I said. “I guess I should get trotting. Good luck at Devon.”

  I came home and refilled my water bottle from the door on the fridge. The house was quiet, as usual. I could hear the ticking of the mantel clock in the living room. Our house was nicely decorated in a stuffy fashion—floral swag drapes and dark wooden antique furniture. Mom hadn’t changed the decor in years. She liked things as they were. I spotted her outside in the yard. She had on a big hat and sunglasses and was filling one of her many bird feeders. I didn’t really want to talk to her so I grabbed a Lara bar and fled upstairs to my room.

  My school books were neatly organized on my desk accompanied by the necessary school supplies: highlighters, pencils, pens, paper clips, sticky notes, and color-coded page-markers. I was nothing if not organized. The obligatory row of ribbons on one of my walls fluttered from the nearby air-conditioning vent. My ribbons were all from small shows and mostly any color but blue, red, or yellow. I cherished them still, though, since most of them I’d won with Dobby, the horse I’d leased before my dad bought Logan. I loved Dobby. Back then I’d loved riding too. Now it felt like just something I did to take up time in the day—a distraction so my life didn’t feel utterly empty.

  I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes, wishing I had somet
hing going on in my life like Zoe had getting ready for Devon, or the kids at school were planning for their summer jobs. Maybe I could go to a week of Vermont. Maybe it would break up the summer. Otherwise I wasn’t sure I was going to make it to August when I left for school.

  The barn was quieter a few days later. Jamie, Zoe, Emma and Jed had left for Junior Weekend at Devon. A bunch of the grooms had gone too, and Mike, of course. I didn’t recognize the groom who tacked up Logan. Several stalls were empty, the shavings banked off the floor till the horses came back. I missed seeing Zoe riding. I even think I missed hearing Jamie yell. I almost wished I had a lesson. I would have rather endured her yelling at me to the stillness of the barn.

  I had a frustrating ride on Logan, but honestly what ride on Logan wasn’t frustrating? I kept trying to get him to put his head down, to go on the bit like a normal horse. But he refused, sticking his head up in the air like a giraffe and chewing miserably on the bit. I tried putting my hands lower, which I knew wasn’t right. Neither was see-sawing back and forth to try to get him to come down. I gave up and just cantered him around in half-seat, letting him keep his head up in the air. Even then, he felt terrible, like he was running away with me. I kept circling, my only hope of slowing him down. Finally, I gave up and came down to a jig. I took him outside the ring, around the path, which I realized half-way around was a stupid idea. He spooked at every rock and tree branch, shimmying left and then right, as if the whole world was out to get him, and I ended up pulling on his mouth even more. I was so grateful to get back to the barn and hand him over to the groom. I didn’t even go to his stall to say goodbye or give him a treat before I left.

  On my way home I decided to stop and get frozen yogurt. There was one of those self-serve places where you can add all kinds of toppings and pay by weight. Of course a bunch of girls I knew from school were there, licking their spoons delicately and laughing over photos on Instagram. If I had known they were there I wouldn’t have stopped. I had no idea this place was such a school hang-out. The fact that I didn’t know depressed me too. The girls weren’t mean to me or anything—they didn’t even notice me. That felt worse than if they’d stared at me. I measured out my yogurt carefully. I didn’t like my flavors all mixed together. Then I put about ten M&Ms on top. I asked for a top for my yogurt so I could take it home. The guy behind the register was cute. I recognized him. He had been in my French class last year.