Kit Meets Covington Page 5

  That left Nav and Will. “Boys,” Sally said firmly, “this behavior is strictly —”

  They were gone before she could finish, which was fine with Sally. They knew she wouldn’t forget this incident anytime soon. After shaking her head in dismay at their unruliness, she paused, waiting until they were completely out of sight. Then she pressed her own ear to the door.

  Inside, Lady Covington said, “I will create a schedule that you will follow.” She pulled open one of her desk drawers and hauled out a big, thick intimidating book. “This is the Covington Training Manual. Commit it to memory. Eat, sleep, and breathe it. Your training will commence tomorrow.” She thunked it down on her desk.

  Kit was in shock. “Did . . . did I just say I would ride a horse?”

  “Yes, you did. And if you’re going to compete in the midterm event, you had better get started.”

  Kit took the book, which weighed about a ton, and exited the office, thinking, What just happened?

  At breakfast the next morning, Anya sat next to Kit. “Okay,” she said, setting down a bowl of fruit and a glass of orange juice, “you have to tell me everything.”

  Kit fiddled with the spoon in her oatmeal. “Well, I panicked and sort of promised that I would —”

  “I know. We weren’t just eavesdropping. We were there for backup.”

  “Invisible backup?”

  “That’s the only kind we could muster,” Anya admitted. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I get it.” Kit glanced over at the big red banner hanging over the teachers’ table in the dining room. It read:

  COVINGTON WELCOMES

  BINGHAM ACADEMY

  RIDE WITH PRIDE

  “So what’s the deal with this opening race?” Kit asked. “It’s all anybody can talk about.”

  “Actually, it’s called eventing,” said Anya, but she didn’t explain what it meant. She was more focused on the other part of the opening event festivities. “I’m super excited about the gala. What are we going to wear?”

  Kit didn’t know what a gala was any more than she knew what eventing meant. “There’s a dress code?”

  “Kit,” Anya said in disbelief, “it’s a gala! I have so much to do! I have to choose the right gown, select the appropriate accessories —”

  Kit was lost. “Gown?”

  Josh took a seat next to Anya, setting down a plate stacked with pancakes along with a set of silverware and a linen napkin. “I can’t decide between my tweed suit and my tuxedo and top hat,” he declared in a worried tone.

  “A tweed suit is considered day wear,” Anya advised him.

  Kit laughed. “He’s teasing you.”

  Anya gave him a stern look, and Josh shrugged. “It’s what I do. What are you stressed about, anyway? You must have people to do all of that stuff for you. Dresses and all that.”

  Kit figured he was teasing Anya again, but like a turtle, Anya ducked her head down closer to her shoulders as if trying to hide. “Whatever could you mean?” she asked nervously. “I don’t have people. I’m going to handle this all by myself. Just me.”

  “My first tip?” Josh said. “No gowns. It’s a disco.”

  “A what?” As far as Kit had ever heard, discos were those cheesy places in the ’70s where guys wore dorky polyester suits and danced by pointing their fingers around like John Travolta.

  “That’s what they call a dance here,” Josh informed her.

  “Oh,” said Kit. “Good to know. I was going to have to ask my dad for some old-school dance moves.”

  All conversation in the dining hall stopped as Elaine entered. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said in her best I’m making an announcement so shut it voice, “the opening event is upon us. The season starts the second our enemies step onto our turf. We need to bring our top game.” She sounded so serious and intense that Kit threw an amused look to Anya, who tried to suppress her own smirk. Elaine noticed the exchange. “This isn’t funny,” she snapped at them. “Bingham Academy is coming. This is a BSEA event. Everything counts.”

  Josh noticed Kit’s confusion and explained, “BSEA. British Schools Equestrian Association. It’s the league we compete in.”

  Elaine passed out papers that showed photos of each Bingham competitor and their team stats. “Everything you need to know about Beatrice Bates is on this sheet,” she said gravely.

  “And that is her nemesis,” Josh continued softly, making Kit grin. So Elaine has a nemesis, huh? she thought. Don’t superheroes have those — mortal enemies they have to battle every time they turn around?

  This was indeed crucial information.

  Elaine suddenly realized what she’d said and swiftly corrected herself. “I mean, everything you need to know about Bingham Academy is on this sheet,” she said. “They are our number-one competitors. Memorize it: their weaknesses, their strengths, their rank, even what they eat for breakfast. Write ‘Defeat Bates’ on top of your schedules.” She was so wound up that she didn’t realize she’d mentioned her nemesis again.

  Anya turned to Kit. “Do you have a copy of our schedule?”

  “It’s on your phone,” Kit replied. “They sent it by e-mail.”

  “Oh. I seem to have deleted my e-mail . . . and lost my phone.”

  Kit started to laugh at her roomie but stopped short when Lady Covington stepped up to the teachers’ table. “Your attention, please! Following years of tradition, Covington will ride to victory on Saturday. If we are going to rank first place, we must show our opponents exactly who we are. And to be clear: we are winners. This is a significant stone on our path to being named U.K. Boarding School of the Year.” She paused to let that last point sink in. “Thank you.”

  As she stepped down, Elaine’s cell phone beeped. She gaped at it in horror. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

  She was standing near Josh, so he pulled her hand down so that he could see what was on the phone’s screen. Kit and Anya caught a glimpse, too — a photo of Elaine at about eight years old. One of her front teeth was missing, leaving a goofy gap in her smile, and her bangs (or fringe) had been cut way too high and crooked, to boot. There was a message printed under it: “Elaine W. is my toughest competition this weekend? I’ve cleared my trophy cabinet.”

  Elaine shook with rage. “Beatrice Bates, you will pay for this!”

  Kit almost felt sorry for Elaine.

  Almost.

  The photo made the rounds at lightning speed. As Kit later walked to her dad’s office in the stable, she passed clumps of students giggling and whispering about it. Normally Kit would have joined in the fun, but she had more important things to worry about.

  “Oh, good,” she said when she found Rudy about to start teaching. “Dad, this is huge. I can’t get TK out of his stall, and I need to get to work with him ASAP —”

  “I heard.” Rudy regarded his daughter with deep pride and just a little bit of amusement. “Welcome to your first riding class.”

  Kit wasn’t signed up for a riding class. I guess I am now, she thought.

  Elaine strode into the room, buzzing with anxiety. “When do we tack up?” she practically demanded of Rudy. “This is meant to be a riding lesson. I need to annihilate Beatrice Bates. I trained all summer!”

  The knot of boys waiting for class snickered. “Is that before or after you grew some front teeth?” Will taunted, holding up his phone.

  “And got rid of that unfortunate yellow fringe!” Nav snickered.

  “That was a dare!” Elaine exploded. “I grabbed the wrong scissors!” She continued more softly, “Bates won’t know what hit her, which will be my trophy. In the back of her head.” When the boys stopped laughing and eyed her warily, she clarified in a prim voice, “By accident, of course.”

  Rudy cleared his throat. “Intuition. It’s the foundation of all riding. Today, each of you is going to spend some time with your horse. Hang out with them. Talk to them. Really listen.”

  Elaine didn’t like that idea one bit. “Sir, respec
tfully, we don’t have time for this. We need to prepare.”

  Rudy acknowledged her statement with a nod, then continued, “A deep connection with your horse is the most important aspect of riding.” When Elaine tried to interrupt again, he leaned down so that he was eye to eye with her. “You can’t connect with rules.”

  “I need to connect with winning,” Elaine declared boldly.

  Kit was amazed when her father ignored the comment. “Grab your stools and head out into the stable,” he instructed everyone. When Elaine refused to budge, he clapped his hands as if to shoo away pesky squirrels. “No time like the present to start that horse-human bond!”

  He made Elaine back down by taking charge, Kit thought, impressed. And he did it not just with words but with actions — just like when you train a horse. Maybe she needed to do the same. She stepped in front of her dad and stated firmly, “Well, I’ve got the whole horse bonding thing covered, so can I just skip right to riding?”

  Rudy laid his hand on her shoulder and guided her out the door. “I’m loving your enthusiasm, kiddo, but first things first, eh?”

  So much for that.

  Later, in Rose Cottage, Anya sat on her wonderfully fluffy bed with her laptop open. “Madhu, that’s way too fancy,” she told the laptop.

  “You said it was a gala,” the laptop replied reasonably.

  “Yes, well, galas are a little bit different over here.”

  On the laptop screen, a lovely Indian woman — Madhu — held several dresses in one hand. With the other, she held up a particularly beautiful purple dress studded with sparkling gems.

  Anya’s eyes went wide. “Wow — no. I can’t. I’ll totally stand out!”

  “Which you were born to do, Your Highness,” Madhu replied.

  “Not here. Here I want to be like the others. That’s why I haven’t told anybody.”

  “That you are a pr —?”

  “Shhhh!” Anya hissed, looking around to make sure nobody was listening, which was silly because she was alone in her bedroom.

  Madhu spoke again. “There is no shame in this.”

  Anya knew that. She’d had this discussion with Madhu and her parents many times. They just didn’t understand. “I’m not ashamed,” she told Madhu for probably the hundredth time. “I just want to be like the others for once. And I can’t do that if people are still treating me like a princess.”

  “As you wish,” Madhu said. “You know where I am if you need me.”

  Anya performed a quick namaste gesture to her governess and closed her laptop with a sigh. “Okay,” she told herself, “I can do this.”

  Meanwhile, Kit was on her way to the mini tuckshop in the main school building to get a chocolate bar. She had successfully ducked out of her dad’s class, but now she didn’t know what to do. Eating chocolate seemed logical, so chocolate it was — until Lady Covington turned a corner and spied her.

  “Katherine, what are you doing in here? I thought you would be spending every spare moment on that horse.”

  Kit tried not to squirm. “Uh, he’s not feeling it today,” she said.

  That didn’t go over well with the headmistress. “He is not in charge. You will tack him up, and control him while riding in the ring before we enter into any other discussions. Do it now.”

  Great. Kit was fully aware that she had promised to ride TK. She even wanted to ride him. Kind of. In a ride-him-but-not-really-ride-him sort of way. That, of course, wasn’t going to work any better than ditching her dad’s class was working, so she just stood there, her stomach churning along with her anxiety. “I —” she began, having no idea what she was going to say. As it turned out, no words came to mind.

  “Close your mouth, Katherine. You are going to catch flies.”

  Kit snapped her mouth shut.

  “Now, if you will excuse me, I must prepare for my annual unavoidable luncheon with the headmistress of Bingham Academy.”

  Despite the circumstances, Kit couldn’t resist this tidbit of information. Was there some kind of problem between the headmistresses? Juicy, she thought, and fished for more. “Not a fan of Lady Branson?”

  “Headmistress Branson,” Lady Covington stated, “is no lady.”

  “Burn!”

  “Enough with the editorials, Katherine. You have work to do.” Lady Covington jabbed a finger in the general direction of the stables.

  Kit started walking.

  In the stables, Rudy’s students were taking time to bond with their mounts as per their teacher’s instructions. Will’s and Nav’s horses were in stalls next to each other, so the two boys talked while they groomed.

  “Have you used a double bridle?” Nav asked.

  “No,” Will replied. “Doubles only belong on horses with hard mouths.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Will gave his bay gelding a pat on the neck. “Wayne here told me. We’re best mates now.” He always referred to his horse as Wayne, thought the bay gelding’s full name was Sir Gawain in honor of the famous knight in the King Arthur legends.

  Nav chuckled. “I’m using a double. But it’s not because Prince has a hard mouth. I just prefer it.” At the sound of his name, Prince gave a snort. Nav scratched him around the ears.

  “Good thing you don’t need my permission, then.”

  The two students continued their vigorous brushing for a moment. Then Nav said, “Are you asking anyone to the gala?”

  “Are you asking me or your horse?” Will quipped. “I’m off girls,” he answered seriously.

  “Ah. Wise. From what I hear, you can’t afford any more trouble in your life.”

  Will snorted much like Prince had done earlier. “Thanks for the thoughtful reminder.”

  Nav spoke again, almost nervously. “I was planning on asking someone . . . to the Gala.”

  Kit bounced into the stable. “Hey, guys,” she greeted them.

  Nav smiled at her, his perfect teeth gleaming. “We were just talking about you.”

  That made Will turn around. Kit took advantage and asked them both, “Which one do you like better?” She held up the two saddle pads she was carrying, one red, one blue. “I’m thinking of getting TK all gussied up for some dressige.”

  The boys exchanged grins. “Dressige!” Nav chuckled. “I think you mean dressaaaage,” and he lingered on the “a” to make the point about pronunciation.

  Will explained, “It’s a type of riding. You know, rider and horse run a test where every movement is judged.”

  “Oh.” Kit hunched her shoulders sheepishly. “I thought it was some kind of fancy horse dress-up. My bad. Lady C is just demanding to see my equestrian arts.” She shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “I can help!”

  Kit paused. Was she hearing double? Both boys had spoken the exact same words at the exact same time. With a knowing smirk, she watched their formerly mutual amusement turn into mutual suspicion. They both liked her!

  Wicked, she thought.

  In less than ten minutes, she had both boys showing her how to tack up TK. She had grown up around horses and had ridden until she was eight, true, but mostly her dad had tacked up for her and she’d ridden Western, so she had no idea how to put on TK’s English tack. First came the saddle. “Then, your right arm, holding the bridle, goes up over his ears.”

  Kit started to do as Nav instructed, but Will, who stood by TK’s flank stroking him and, in general, keeping him calm, argued, “No, he’s head shy. She could end up with twenty kilos of horse skull bashing her in the nose.”

  Nav ignored the advice. “Remain calm,” he told Kit, “and the horse will know who is in charge.” Nav helped as Kit got the bit into TK’s mouth. She gently pulled the headstall over his ears, then buckled the nosebend and throatlatch. Done! She was pleased with her success and barely heard Nav say, “So I was thinking about the gala —”

  TK snorted, shaking his head in irritation.

  “Oh, no,” said Kit. “He’s getting that look, his fre
ak-out face.”

  “Well, right,” Will said in a duh tone. “That’s because he needs different handling. Saying remain calm is not going to cut it.” He aimed that last comment at Nav.

  Nav, however, was lost in his own world. “I wondered if you might consider going to the —”

  TK bolted.

  “Again? Seriously?” Will grumbled, running after the horse.

  Nav actually seemed pleased with what was happening. While Kit flapped her hands helplessly and TK cantered farther and farther away, he pressed her for an answer. “Was that a yes?”

  Kit started running after Will. “Whatever — just help us get TK!”

  As Will and Kit ran after TK, Nav punched the air. “Yes! Well done, Navarro. Seems like you’ve won yourself a date!”

  In the student lounge, Elaine sat alone at a study desk fuming about the riding class she had just finished — the pointless riding class, in her opinion. Bonding with a horse? Really! Good riders mastered their horses, period, and they did this by riding them correctly again and again and again and again and however many times it took to teach the horse to do things right. The upcoming opening event wasn’t going to be won by bonding, no matter what Rudy Bridges said.

  Enough was enough. She opened her laptop, went to the search engine, and typed in “Rudy Bridges.” What kind of credentials did he have, anyway, that made him an acceptable riding instructor to Lady Covington? Was the school going soft?

  She hit the Search button and studied the results. The first headline read, “Rudy Bridges: Jumpers, Hunters, Equitation, Dressage, Eventing.” The article began, “As a horseman, Rudy is renowned for not only his riding talents but for . . .” She didn’t click to the page but skipped to the next headline: “A Clinic with Rudy Bridges, Equestrian Instructor.” The article began, “Rudy is an approved instructor for the National Trainer Certification Program . . .” She skipped to the next headline: “At Home with Rudy Bridges.” It began, “From what was once a simple ranch, Equestrian Pages now brings a host of world-class trainers and competitors right to your home . . .” The next: “Rudy Bridges, the Heart of a Horseman.” The next: “Perfect the Automatic Release with Rudy Bridges.” And on and on.