Kit Meets Covington Page 3

  Kit’s mood balloon popped. Hadn’t Nav invited her to do the same thing? It was true, then. Everybody at Covington rode except her. How was this possibly going to work?

  She flopped back onto her bed face-first, but this time it wasn’t much fun at all.

  Kit’s luggage arrived from the airport an hour later. Sally informed her that it would be brought to Rose Cottage along with several boxes of clothes and knickknacks that Kit had shipped to the school a week earlier. Kit found all of it stacked in the Rose Cottage entryway. With a groan, she hauled the first box up the stairs to her room and dumped it on the floor.

  “I take it your belongings have arrived,” Anya said. She was sitting at her desk reading some of the brochures from her Covington Welcome Packet. She gazed at Kit’s box with curiosity. “May I ask what’s in there?”

  “Rocks, apparently,” Kit complained, shaking out her strained arms. “Could have sworn I only packed clothes.”

  Anya giggled. “Come on, then. I’ll help you carry the rest. I can’t very well let my new roommate get arm cramps, now, can I?” The girls skipped down the stairs together. “Oh!” Anya said when she saw the pile of boxes and bags. “Is that . . . is that it?”

  “That’s it,” said Kit. “My entire life, right here in this little pile. Kinda depressing, really.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” Anya said. “Having few belongings shows that you’re not overly influenced by things, that you know who you are inside.”

  Kit laughed. “I wish.” She hefted another box, noting from the corner of her eye how Anya tried to lift the third box but couldn’t. Anya looked embarrassed, then quickly grabbed a couple of smaller bags instead. Kit grinned but said nothing.

  The girls tramped up the stairs, down the hall, and into their room. Kit dumped her box on the floor while Anya carefully placed the bags on Kit’s bed. “Can I help you unpack? I’d love to see what you brought.”

  Why is she so excited about something as dull as unpacking? Kit wondered. “It’s just the usual stuff,” she said. “You know, clothes, books, mementos —”

  “Yes, but they’re your clothes, books, and mementos. I’m curious.” She added quickly, “I mean, about you, my new roommate!”

  So the next hour was spent in a wave of chatter as the two new friends sorted through Kit’s things and put every item neatly away. Just as Kit was beginning to wonder what was in Anya’s closet, a dainty chime sounded over the room’s speaker. “Attention, please, Fourth-Form students. It is now time for tea,” Sally’s voice announced. “Please make your way to the dining hall to enjoy your first Covington meal together.” The chime sounded once more as if to punctuate the announcement.

  “Tea?” Kit asked in confusion. “Does she mean, like, high tea?” Kit wasn’t sure what high tea even was, but she’d heard the term on TV.

  “No, silly,” Anya said. “Tea is the evening meal. Americans call it supper, right?”

  “Oh!” Kit said. “Dinner! Yeah, let’s go — I’m starved!”

  When the girls arrived at the busy dining hall, Kit saw several familiar faces from earlier that day as the Fourth-Form students began lining up at one end of a long table loaded with plates and platters of food. “A buffet,” Kit noted with approval. “Me like.” She glanced behind her to get Anya’s reaction only to discover that Anya wasn’t there anymore.

  She’d taken a seat at one of the tables.

  Kit went over to her. “Earth to Anya, it’s a buffet. The chow’s over there.” She pointed to the buffet line.

  Anya shot to her feet. “Oh, right! I thought — I mean, I’ve never —”

  “Oh, don’t tell me,” Kit said, and laughed. “Your mom always serves the food at dinner, doesn’t she? My mom did that, too. Dad and I kept telling her she didn’t have to. I mean, she wasn’t a servant, you know? But she insisted on it, so we gave up and let her. Now, however, it’s time for Kit and Anya 2.0, the Self-Serve Editions. Come on.” Kit grasped Anya’s arm and pulled her to the buffet line.

  Kit grabbed a plate and peered into the first hot tray. “What’s that?”

  “Mmm, blood pudding!” said someone behind her.

  “Oh. My. Gosh.” Kit bent over to examine it more closely. The object in the tray looked like a giant worm, specifically a red wiggler, the kind that she and her dad used for bait when they went fishing back in Montana. This giant worm-thing was sliced up, and the inside had . . . spots. Of stuff. Unidentifiable spots of . . . worm-thing stuff. “I’m not eating that,” she declared.

  “But it’s delicious,” Anya said. “Do give it a try.”

  “I think I’ll pass.” Kit pointed at the bowl next to it. “What’s the green goo?”

  “Mushy peas. They’re quite good, too.”

  “Mushy?” Kit asked. “What, they come prechewed?” Maybe a buffet isn’t so great after all, she thought. Then she saw the plates of little hand-size pies and thought, I like pie! These pies weren’t like any she had seen before, though. Labels on the plates identified them as steak and kidney pie, shepherd’s pie, fish pie . . . “What is it with the English turning everything into pies?” she muttered, a little too loudly.

  “Perhaps it’s like you Americans’ obsession with putting food on sticks,” someone commented behind her.

  Kit turned to see Nav, the handsome fellow who had gallantly saved her from being trampled by TK. He was beaming at her. She grinned back. “Touché.”

  His smile beamed even brighter.

  Anya made a squeak of anxiety. “So many decisions. I don’t know what to pick!” Her plate was still empty.

  “Just go for it,” Kit urged her. “You’re free here. You can eat whatever you want. No parents, no pressure.”

  “But I need to eat a balanced meal.”

  “Oh, puh-lease.” To give poor Anya inspiration, Kit heaped a pile of brussels sprouts (her favorite veggie, believe it or not) on her plate, then filled the rest of it with a mound of French fries, or chips, as the English called them (everybody knew that). “See this?” she said proudly of her choices. “Sprouts an’ chips, a balanced meal. Sort of. Just pick something — you’re holding up the line.”

  Anya’s eyes lit up. “Are those samosas?” she asked, indicating a dish farther ahead.

  “I believe so,” Nav answered. “I can smell them. Heavenly.”

  With a rather guilty grin, Anya filled her plate with samosas. “Oh, and chips.” She giggled, adding some of those, too. “My mother would faint to see me eating a combination like this!”

  “Then mission accomplished,” said Kit, not without relief. Anya really was holding up the line. They chose a table, sat down, and ate. And talked. And talked and ate. And Kit decided that she liked Anya very much.

  When the desserts were brought out, Anya gasped. “They’re serving sticky toffee pudding for afters!”

  “Afters?” asked Kit with her mouth full of sprouts.

  “Yes. After the meal.”

  “You mean dessert? Right. What did you call it again?”

  “Sticky toffee pudding. Believe me, it’s absolutely gorgeous.”

  As with so many things that day, Kit had never heard of it. But sticky was a good thing in a dessert. And toffee was definitely good, too. And she loved pudding. Therefore, sticky toffee pudding had to be yummy.

  And it was. They each got a bowl of it and sat down again. “Mmm . . .” Anya groaned at her first mouthful.

  “Mmm,” Kit echoed in agreement. After she swallowed, she added, “Well, that does it. We’re going to be good friends now for sure.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Anya.

  Kit shrugged. “If sticky toffee doesn’t bond us together, nothing will.”

  It was time for the first day of class, and Kit was ready. She was beyond ready! She had gotten up early (she hadn’t been able to sleep much the previous night anyway) and spent a half hour getting dressed, which was a very long time considering all she had to put on was a uniform.

  The girls’
standard uniform at Covington consisted of a white cotton button-up shirt, a gray skirt, dark-blue tights, a navy-blue blazer with red piping, black tasseled loafers, and of all things, a tie. A tie with stripes! The school patch on the blazer was kind of cool, but beyond that, the uniform was, well, way too uniformy.

  So not my style, Kit thought when she got her first look at herself in the dorm room’s big mirror. She felt like she was supposed to march onto a field during halftime. So, in typical Bridges fashion, she did something about it.

  First off, the tights — or stockings, as they were called here — had to go. They made her look like she was going to ballet class. Instead, she put on her favorite cherry-red socks and replaced the black fringed loafers with her white leather Frye ankle boots for a little cowgirl flair. She took off the terrible tie and replaced it with a red bandana, added a thin red belt over the blazer, and as a finishing touch, put all her school supplies in her cross-body fringed leather boho purse. Perfect!

  By the time she strode into her first class, she was feeling pretty and unique and confident. This was the way to start a new school year. She took a seat in front of Anya.

  Her roomie eyed her “Kit Bridges style.” “Wow,” Anya said. “Your uniform looks amazing!” She quickly added, “I’d never risk it, but I love it.”

  Kit basked in the praise. It was about time she did something right around here. But in all honesty, she was more interested in the boy standing across the room, the fellow who had caught the runaway TK and who had been cornered by Elaine in the stable yesterday. “Who is that guy?” she asked.

  Anya shrugged.

  “Will Palmerston,” piped up another student sitting in the next row. “He’s been kicked out of Tonbridge, Charterhouse, and Harrow. Covington’s kind of like his last chance before military school.”

  Kit never would have guessed that the tall, handsome stableboy was so troublesome, and she had never heard of those other schools. But they sounded impressive. “Wow, that’s a big list,” she said.

  The student in the next row broke out in a huge smile. “You speak real English! Finally! It is so good to meet someone who kind of talks like me, you know?” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Josh Luders, from Alberta. Your dad’s the stable master? That dude is so gnarly.”

  Kit shook Josh’s hand, giving her dad a big check mark in her mental “Awesome” column.

  That’s when the class bell rang. Students scrambled to their desks seconds before Lady Covington entered the classroom.

  Kit had expected to see a squat, white-haired, fuddy-duddy, old matron wearing a frumpy dress made out of couch fabric or something, but Lady Covington was nothing like that. Tall, dressed in a smart brown skirt suit, her soft ginger hair swept up in a neat French twist, she instantly commanded the classroom by simply standing there. “Settle down,” she said. “I’m not here to whisk anyone off to the dungeon.”

  Kit relaxed. At least the headmistress had a sense of humor.

  Lady Covington strolled down the first aisle of desks. “As you know,” she said, “we expect excellence at Covington. It is my goal to be named U.K. Boarding School of the Year. Therefore, it is your goal as well.” Her eyes landed on Will Palmerston, who, Kit noticed, looked immediately guilty. “There will be zero tolerance for pranks and the like. Any such behavior will result in the execution . . .”

  Kit tensed. No way! she thought.

  “Of appropriate detentions and/or expulsions. Are we clear?”

  Whew.

  Lady Covington walked back to the front of the class. “Yes?” she said when Elaine raised her hand.

  “Lady Covington, has there been a change to the uniform? I’ve noticed some infractions.” Elaine glanced over her shoulder at Kit.

  The headmistress also looked at Kit. “Katherine Bridges. Please stand.”

  “Hey, that’s me!” Kit said, popping to her feet. “How did you know my —?”

  “Could you explain to me what on earth you are wearing?”

  Kit automatically corrected her. “It’s Kit. I go by Kit.”

  “A kit is a travel bag or a small fox, not a young lady, Katherine.” The headmistress spoke with such perfect diction and authority that Kit felt like she’d just been insulted by a Shakespearean actor.

  “Okay,” Kit said. “Uh, I was inspired to make the uniform my own, to express my individuality.” Surely Lady Covington could understand that.

  “Any alteration to the Covington uniform is strictly prohibited.”

  Fine, then here’s my chance, Kit thought. I’ll show everybody how levelheaded and rational I can be. That’ll be good. “But maybe we could have a discussion about it,” she suggested with a big smile. “What do you think, Lady C?”

  “We have already had the discussion,” Lady Covington replied. Her voice took on a dark tone. “And my name is Lady Covington.”

  Mistake! Backfire! Retreat! Kit thought, trying to keep her smile going. She didn’t dare say another word out loud, and her smile wilted as every student stared at her.

  Lady Covington nodded to the rest of the class. “Good day,” she said, dismissing the entire interaction, and she strode out of the room.

  Dead silence was broken by Josh. “Dude,” he said to Kit, “you just stood up to Lady C on the first day. Very bold move.”

  Kit figured that “bold” really meant “stupid.” She noticed Will grinning in a sort of pained way, while Elaine appeared quite pleased with how things had gone.

  Kit wondered if she was ever going to do anything right again.

  Later that day, Kit found her dad out by the practice ring teaching his first riding class.

  He wasn’t actually teaching. Before he could make any firm teaching plans, he needed to see what the students could already do. So he was running them through a short jumper course.

  Kit hadn’t yet seen the academy’s official riding uniform, and she was surprised how smart and professional it made the students look. The weather was cold, so everyone had donned their warm navy-blue jackets with bright-red side panels and, of course, the Covington crest patch on the front (Kit presumed they were wearing their regular uniform riding coats underneath). Cream-colored breeches, tall black riding boots, and a black helmet finished the look.

  Even the horses were in uniform, all of them wearing matching protective boots. It was all very stylish.

  Covington stylish, anyway, Kit thought. She preferred her dad’s cowboy apparel for riding, but even he wasn’t dressed like a proper cowboy anymore. Hugging her own jacket closer against the breeze, she reached his side and leaned on the rail to watch the next rider.

  It was Elaine. She guided her horse up and over the first jump, the second jump, and the third jump. Kit marveled at how smoothly the horse moved, with its ears flicking back and forth, showing that the animal was relaxed and listening to its rider’s signals. Not a single rail fell. “Good one, Elaine,” Rudy called to her when she finished the course. “Nice work!”

  Elaine nodded at the compliment as if it were a foregone conclusion.

  Kit rolled her eyes and turned to her dad. “Nice tie,” she snarked playfully.

  He gave a soft growl, the sound he always made when he was annoyed. “Lady C made me wear it.” He tugged at the ascotlike material bunched up under his red work-shirt collar. “I’m gonna suffocate in this thing.”

  “If the cowboys could see you now,” Kit teased him again, pulling her cell phone — or mobile, as it was called in England — out of her pocket.

  Rudy saw the move. “Don’t you even think about —”

  Before he could finish, Kit raised the phone, and it gave a little click. “Ha!” She laughed, checking her handiwork. The photo was perfect, with Kit smiling and Rudy frowning in his cute, grumpy way. She hit the Send button. “Too late!” she announced as the e-mail zipped away through the ether to the other side of the world, where her father’s cowboy friends would be sure to laugh their chaps off when they saw it.

  Rudy sighed.


  At least Lady Covington was letting him wear his Stetson, Kit thought. Once a cowboy, always a cowboy.

  As Nav rode his horse into the starting position, Rudy said, “Now, Kit, watch these guys ride.” His voice took on a thoughtful tone. “Could be you.”

  Kit watched as Nav seemed to float his horse effortlessly from jump to jump. He rode a good course and gave Kit a suave wave as he returned to the group of students by the rails.

  Next came Anya, who rode gracefully, as if she weren’t sitting on her horse but was actually part of it. Another good course.

  Then came Josh. Kit noticed that he didn’t display so much a smooth riding style as an athletic one, with a cocky confidence that made Kit grin. Up and over, up and over he rode, but at the last jump, his horse’s rear right hoof knocked against a rail, sending it tumbling. He gave Kit a cheeky smile as he passed by anyway, as if he’d intended to knock that rail down.

  Last came Will. Everybody stopped what they were doing to watch him, and Kit quickly saw why. He spurred his horse to a faster pace than the others, approaching each jump as if it might run away before he could reach it. His horse’s longer strides meant that it could make fewer strides between jumps, but Will had obviously walked the course beforehand, calculating how many strides his mount would need to make at such speed without ending up too close or too far from each jump to clear it comfortably.

  “Go easy, Will! Don’t push it!” Rudy called to him. Despite his speed, Will rode a good course.

  As the students debated the technical merits and faults of their rounds, Rudy turned to his daughter. “I heard that you gave Lady Covington some of that infamous Kit Bridges lip in class this morning.”

  “I barely said anything!” Kit responded. “This place is practically built out of rules, and I don’t know any of them.”

  “Well, you better rein in that attitude, and fast. I don’t want to hear about you talking back again.”

  Kit saluted. “Okay, I hear you.” The salute was meant as a joke, but she knew that her father’s warning was serious.