The Perfect Distance Page 9

  As I finished with Tobey, I saw Dad pull the West Hills trailer up in front of the tent. Tara’s parents and Rob came back from the ring with outraged expressions, mumbling something about how Addison had won the Sam Edelman Equitation Championship at the Hampton Classic when David Bryant had judged and how David sold Dawn horses all the time.

  I helped Dad, Camillo, and Pablo take down the stalls and load up all the equipment—tack trunks, water and grain buckets, wheelbarrows, saddles, and bridles. The whole time we lugged things out, Tara fumed in a director’s chair in the tack room. Outside, Rob dragged on a cigarette—he’d recently started smoking again after finally quitting—and talked to his mother on his cell phone. “So don’t go out for the mail, Ma,” he said. “Not if you can’t get enough air.” Rob’s mother had been in and out of the hospital for the past few years. Rob kept saying she couldn’t live alone anymore, but there was no way he was having her move in with him.

  Camillo carried a bag of shavings out on his shoulder and opened it onto the floor of the trailer. “You’re going to the Maclay Finals!” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said, wishing I felt happier about it. Maybe Colby was right. Maybe I was too hard on myself. But, at the same time, I had to be. Things would never come easily for me. Not like they did for Tara or Katie.

  As Camillo left to get another bag of shavings, I grabbed a pitchfork. I was spreading out the shavings when Mr. Whitt’s Porsche Cayenne with the license plate WTT2 pulled up. WTT1 was a vintage Porsche that only made appearances when rain wasn’t forecast for weeks. WTT3 was Katie’s BMW. Mr. Whitt slid out and marched toward Rob.

  “Yeah, Ma, I gotta go,” Rob said.

  I could see Mrs. Whitt in the front seat. The back windows were tinted, so I could only make out shapes that I assumed must be Katie and Henry.

  “Thirteenth, Rob,” Mr. Whitt said.

  Rob threw his cigarette on the ground and stamped on it, grinding it with the heel of his paddock boot. “What can I say? She rode well. She deserved to be in there.”

  “I wanted the Maclay this year. How do we get them to take thirteen, just one more?”

  Rob shook his head.

  “Don’t tell me there isn’t a way,” Mr. Whitt said.

  “There isn’t.”

  “There’s always a way, Rob. You know that as well as I do.”

  Rob pulled out his pack of Marlboros, fumbled for another. “We’ve still got the Talent Search and the Medal Finals.”

  “See what you can do,” Mr. Whitt said. “I’ll make it worth somebody’s while.” He got back in the car, and I watched Rob watch the car pull out.

  Back in the tent Tara was still sulking in the tack room. I got out the stepladder and started taking down the curtains while she sat there pouting. Colby came in as I was stretching to get to the top part of the West Hills banner that was just out of my reach. “Can I help?” he offered.

  I should have just asked Camillo or Pablo for help, but I didn’t want to offend Colby, especially after we seemed to be getting back on better terms. “Sure,” I said, getting down off the stepladder.

  He climbed onto the ladder and undid the banner. As he was bringing it down, he said to Tara, “You know, you could get off your butt and help.” Colby started folding up the banner. “Just because she’s a working student doesn’t mean she should have to do everything.”

  There was this moment when everything stopped. I knew my lie was about to catch up to me and it was going to be ugly.

  “Working student?” Tara looked from Colby to me. “Is that what you’re calling it these days, Francie?” Tara stood up. “Where’s my trunk?” she said. “Did your dad already carry it out?” She looked around and called out, “Juan?”

  “Yeah?” I heard Dad call from outside.

  Colby looked at me like the strange ways I’d acted were all finally making sense to him.

  I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. Maybe it served me right for not telling Colby on my own, but Tara didn’t have to be so mean about it.

  Tara walked away, leaving me and Colby alone. I wasn’t sure how I could make him understand about wanting to be like all the other riders, but I knew I had to come up with some sort of explanation.

  “Colby—” I began.

  Before I could say anything else, Rob walked up. “Colby, you ready?” he said. “We’re leaving.”

  Apparently Colby was catching a ride back to the farm with Rob. I looked at Colby again, trying to say I was sorry with my eyes.

  “Yeah,” Colby said. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Nine

  * * *

  At school on Monday, Becca took me aside before English. “Guess what?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “I just saw Doug. He said the test was exactly the same and he totally nailed it!”

  “Nailed it? Like he got a hundred?” Even I hadn’t gotten a hundred.

  “No, he got a few wrong on purpose, but he probably got a B.” From the way Becca said it, I had the feeling Doug hadn’t seen many B’s in his life. I was glad to know he was at least smart enough to have made sure to get a few questions wrong.

  “That’s great,” I told Becca.

  I looked into the classroom. Most of the other kids had taken their seats. Mrs. Hanson was writing on the board.

  “Once Coach hears about how he did, he’ll be totally set to play this weekend.”

  “That’s great,” I said again. Suddenly the only word I knew was great.

  The bell rang. We walked in and sat down. Becca leaned over to me and whispered, “Oh yeah, Doug asked me to invite you to the game on Saturday.”

  “He did?”

  Becca nodded. “And the party afterward. Can you come?”

  “I have a lesson and I have to work at the barn . . .”

  “What about the party?”

  Becca hadn’t asked me to a party in forever. I guess she’d given up hope of me ever going. Now she looked at me all excited, and I desperately wanted to say yes. We didn’t have a show that weekend, so it was even possible. Even though I wanted to say yes, I held back. I couldn’t imagine going to the party—how would I get there? Would I go with Becca and Doug? And after all, even if we didn’t have a show, we were in the middle of boot camp. It was hardly the time to start going to parties.

  “I probably can’t,” I told her.

  “Why not?”

  I started to give my excuses when Mrs. Hanson turned around to face the class or, really, me and Becca. “Girls,” she said, and I dropped my eyes to my notebook.

  The day after a show we always gave the horses a day off, so when I got home from school, I went straight to Katie’s room. Katie was lying on her bed. Her laptop sat next to her, open to The Chronicle website and a photo of Addison from the regionals. Katie’s eyes were red.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t make it,” she said.

  “You still have the Talent Search and the Medal,” I said, trying to cheer her up.

  She reached for a tissue. She wasn’t even really crying, but the minute she so much as pressed the tissue to her nose, she crumpled it up and tossed it in the huge pile by the side of her bed. I didn’t think I’d ever used as many tissues in my whole life history of being sick or sad.

  “It’s just that my dad is totally freaking out,” she said. “You don’t know what he’s like. I mean you kind of do, but he’s even worse than you think. All the time it’s, ‘Why can’t you get it right?’ and ‘How can a daughter of mine be such a loser?’”

  Katie didn’t need to convince me. I had seen enough of her father to know how bad he was. One time a few years ago when she was called back on top in the Medal at Lake Placid and blew the test, he screamed at her at the in gate for a full ten minutes in front of the whole horse show.

  “I don’t even care about the stupid equitation,” Katie said. “I just wish I could ride for fun, you know? Like not even do the finals.”

  “Did you ever think of just telling him
you wanted to quit?” I asked. “The power of no?” As I said it, I thought about Colby. I hadn’t seen him since the regionals. I had no idea whether he was still pissed at me for lying to him or just thought I was really weird or pathetic.

  “Quit?” Katie said. “Whitts don’t quit. He actually says that. It’s like his motto—Whitts don’t quit! Whitts don’t quit!”

  I laughed.

  “It’s not funny,” she said. “This is my life.”

  Tara knocked on the door and stuck her head in. “You’re cordially invited to the fifteen-millionth annual West Hills Film Festival,” she announced. “Rob said we all have to go.”

  “Great,” Katie said. “Just what I need—reliving the regionals all over again. I hope he got the part on tape where my dad tells me I’m stupid.”

  Rob made us watch videos of our rounds throughout the year. Like Katie, I wasn’t sure what was worse—making a mistake or seeing it over and over again with Rob telling you what you’d done wrong.

  Katie and I followed Tara and her mother to Rob’s house. Susie greeted us at the door. Even though she’d lived with Rob for a few years now, it was always kind of strange seeing her there. We went into the living room, where Gwenn, her mother, Rob, and Colby were already huddled around the wide-screen TV. Gwenn and her mother were squeezed into one armchair even though there were plenty of open seats. They had the same thin, mousy brown hair and pale skin. They might as well have been Siamese twins; I had yet to see Gwenn without her mother hanging all over her.

  “I would die if that was my mother,” Katie had said once when we saw Mrs. Curtis waiting outside the bathroom for Gwenn. “She doesn’t give her a minute to herself. Look—it’s killing her that she can’t make sure she wipes. Someone better tell her to chill out or that girl’s going to be permanently scarred for life, if she isn’t already.”

  I had laughed at the time because it was pretty true, but it was different for me than for Katie. Katie had a mother, which meant she could joke about what a pain her mother could be. Even though a mother like Mrs. Curtis might be overbearing, at least she cared about her daughter. Something my mother had forgotten to do.

  Katie and I sat down on the couch next to Tara. Everyone was watching Gwenn’s trip from the regionals. Rob said, “See that?” and then rewound the tape to show Gwenn horrendously chip a jump once more.

  “She didn’t ride out enough in the corner and came in completely crooked to the line,” he explained. “How are you going to meet the jump well if you come to it crooked? Steering, Gwenn—what do I keep telling you about steering and looking at the middle of the jump?”

  As Rob rattled on, Colby glanced over at us from his perch on a nearby ottoman. He held up a hand, fingers spread, a modified wave.

  Katie whispered, “Oh my God, he’s cute.”

  He was wearing baggy khakis and a T-shirt that just said COLLEGE. Katie looked away. Colby caught my eye again. “Sorry,” he mouthed.

  “No,” I mouthed back. “I’m sorry.”

  Katie elbowed me. “What was that all about?”

  Rob heard us whispering and stopped ripping into Gwenn for a second to turn and stare at us. “You girls like to participate here?” he snapped.

  When he finished with Gwenn, it was Colby’s turn, then Katie’s, then mine, then Tara’s. While he found plenty to criticize in Katie’s, Colby’s, and my trips, with Tara’s, he just shook his head and said, “If anyone can explain to me why that didn’t win, I’d love to hear it.”

  Rob finally clicked the TV off and we milled around, snacking on the carrots and celery and what tasted suspiciously like fat-free dill dip that Susie had put out on the coffee table.

  “I think I’ve lost about five pounds since I’ve been here,” Colby said, joining Katie and me and surveying the carrots and celery with apathy. “Are you sure this isn’t fat camp?”

  Colby didn’t seem mad, but I wished we had a few minutes alone so I could talk to him and try to explain why I had lied. It was impossible with everyone else around.

  Colby shook his head. “I need some real food.”

  “I could hook you up,” Katie offered.

  “Really?”

  “I’ve got a whole stash back in my room.”

  “It’s true. She’s got everything,” I said, and then wished I hadn’t. Why was I sending Colby off with Katie?

  “Cool,” Colby said.

  “We can go now if you want,” Katie told him. “Looks like the director’s cut edition of the regionals is thankfully over.”

  Colby looked from Katie to me. “You coming, Francis?”

  I was glad he’d asked, but I knew I couldn’t go with them. “I can’t. I have to go back and help finish up at the barn.”

  “Come on,” Colby cajoled. “It’ll only be a few minutes.”

  “Really, I can’t.”

  “Then we’ll go with you—we’ll help.”

  It was a nice offer but completely out of the question. Colby helping had already gotten me in too much trouble.

  Katie shook her head. “Rob doesn’t like riders helping. That’s not what we pay full care for.”

  “That’s stupid,” Colby proclaimed.

  We all walked out together. When I headed to the barn, Colby still looked semi-reluctant. I desperately wanted to go with them or at least ask them to wait for me. But then Katie chirped at Colby, “Come on,” and he said to me, “See you.”

  In the barn Camillo was grooming Stretch for what must have been the third time that day. Camillo had taken care of Stretch since Camillo had come to West Hills, and Stretch was his favorite horse. Since Camillo’s family was back in Mexico, Stretch meant a lot to him. Even though he’d never sat on his back, Stretch was his baby, and Camillo worked on him whenever he got a free moment.

  I grabbed a pitchfork and was on my way to snag a wheelbarrow to pick out the stalls when he stopped me. “I already picked out,” he said.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” Picking out the stalls was always my job.

  “I know. I wanted to. I fed, too.”

  “So everything’s done?” I asked.

  “Si. Tu papá, go home already.”

  I thought about going after Colby and Katie, but I knew Dad would wonder where I was. So instead, Camillo and I walked home together. The air had cooled, and fall felt like it was here to stay. Even the leaves overhead were starting to change.

  “Too cold,” Camillo complained. “I hate the cold. In my country, always is warm.”

  “Do you miss things other than the weather?” I asked.

  “Also I miss my family,” he said.

  “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “Three little sisters. You want to see a photo?”

  “Sure.”

  Camillo pulled out his phone. He tapped a dirty finger to get to the photos he wanted. “This is Maria; she is the most old. This is Rosita and this is Carmen.” He looked up at me with a huge grin—Carmen must be his favorite. “She is the most young. She has six—” Camillo paused again. “—eight years old. She has six when I leave my home.”

  Dad had left family behind in Mexico, too. His mother and younger sister still lived in the same town that he’d been born in. His father had died when he was young. Dad wrote to his mother and sister all the time and sent them money whenever he could. He also had an older brother, who had come to the States before him and now lived in California. We’d seen him once in Florida when we were there for the winter circuit and he was just passing through. I was pretty young at the time, so I don’t remember him too well. Dad had been back to Mexico to see his family twice since he left, but both times he’d said it would be easier if I didn’t come. I think he didn’t want me seeing how they lived there, but I was determined to go the next time. I’d grown up my whole life with only my father. It was always just the two of us, the two of us against the world. And even though we had all the other grooms, who were a certain kind of family, too, I couldn’t believe I had other r
eal family—a grandmother and an aunt, not to mention some cousins—that I’d never met.

  “It must be hard not seeing them,” I said as Camillo slid his phone back into his jeans. “Can you go back and visit?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “One day I earn money and I bring them to America. I always tell them—America is the best. Here, you work a lot, you get everything. House, car, school for the childs.”

  Dad had thought about bringing his mother and sister here, too. But his mother was pretty frail, and they were worried she wouldn’t survive the trip. His sister had said she wouldn’t go without her, which made sense.

  We came out of the woods into the clearing in front of the cottage. Dad and the other grooms were already at the picnic table. In the good weather we would eat outside together. We would either barbecue or Dad would cook up a feast for everybody. Bandit was always underfoot, too, waiting for the scraps that inevitably came his way.

  “How were the videos?” Dad asked as I sat down next to him and picked up an ear of grilled fall corn off the plate in the middle of the table. There was also a plate of chicken.

  “You know. Same as always. Tara won the Oscar and the rest of us lost out in the Best Supporting Actor/Actress category.”

  “The horses okay? Finch?”

  “All fine.”

  I had just bitten into the ear of corn when Katie and Colby pulled up in Katie’s red BMW. She had sunglasses on and propped them onto her head as she put the car in park. Colby had his baseball hat on. He looked incredibly cute, and I felt a pang of jealousy that he was with Katie.

  “My food wasn’t enough for Colby,” she said to me. “We’re going out for dinner—wanna come?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, looking at Dad. “Can I?” Please say yes, I thought. I couldn’t stand the idea of them going without me.