Free Taking The Reins (The Rosewoods Book 1) by Katrina Abbott Page B

first met him and then again tonight. And it couldn’t be an oversight—he’d said he would talk to Coach Fleming on my behalf. He could have come clean right then. So much for us being friends as I’d thought.
    So much for me liking Coach Fleming as he’d said I would.
    He had intentionally deceived me.
    But why?

The Dean
    T he next day I was in French class, easily conjugating verbs about ten minutes before the bell was to ring, when I got called to the dean’s office. My heart pounded in my chest and the girls around me started whispering, but I couldn’t be in trouble already, could I? I was the good girl. And I’d just gotten to Rosewood.
    Then I realized maybe it was about the equestrian team. Maybe, despite his little deception, Brady—Coach Fleming—had followed through on his promise to get me on the team.
    Nervous, I packed up my things and left the classroom, pulling the dog-eared campus map from my backpack to find the dean’s office.
    Once I got there, I realized it was exactly what I would have expected the office of the dean of students of a very exclusive girls’ school to be: all rich wood and ceiling-high shelves of books, many leather-bound. There was a large but utilitarian wood desk placed strategically in front of the ornately carved door with a plaque that read “Dean Haywood”. Sitting at the desk was a bespectacled secretary. As my eyes landed on her, I startled a little; she was staring at me over the top of her reading glasses.
    The entire scene was so cliché, I almost laughed.
    Almost.
    “Um, hi. I’m Brooklyn Prescott,” I said. “Here to see the dean.”
    The woman pointed at a chair behind me against the wall. “Sit. I’ll let her know you’re here, Ms. Prescott.”
    The secretary didn’t move or pick up a phone, but turned her gaze to her computer screen and I figured in today’s day and age, she must have e-mailed or IMed her.
    Several minutes later, long enough for me to consider starting to bite my nails again, the brass doorknob turned. I held my breath as the dean came out.
    She looked a lot taller here in her office than she had on the stage, speaking from the podium. She wore a well-tailored suit, maybe Chanel, and her silver hair was wound around her head in a complicated twist that looked like it was compiled from a long braid. If I had to guess, she had hair midway down her back, but chose to pile it up on top of her head. Why bother? I wondered.
    “Ms. Prescott,” she said, her eyes landing on me, her expression unreadable. “Come in.”
    I took a deep breath as I stood up and hooked my backpack over my right shoulder, following her back into her office.
    “The door, please,” she said, although it sounded a lot more like a demand than a request. I carefully shut the heavy door behind me and came to stand at the desk, not daring to sit down until told to.
    She took a seat in her large leather chair and leaned forward, her elbows on the blotter as she steepled her fingers. She did not invite me to sit. “Coach Fleming came to see me today.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” I said because she’d stopped talking and seemed to be expecting something from me.
    “He tells me you want to join the equestrian team.”
    “That’s correct, ma’am.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and glanced at the two chairs in front of me. Had she forgotten they were there? What do I do now? It felt so awkward to stand there, but she hadn’t said anything, so I stayed where I was.
    “I’m to understand that you’ve won over a dozen blue ribbons in dressage.”
    Over a dozen? That was a stretch. But I had no way of knowing who was exaggerating, and wasn’t about to call her on it. “I was very successful,” I said, figuring that was enough of the truth. “I worked very hard.”
    She inclined her head slightly; respect, perhaps?
    “He also tells me that the practice schedule conflicts with your community service assignment.”
    I nodded.
    “What do you intend