Free Take the Reins by Jessica Burkhart

next class.’ What a typical guy. Totally murky response.”
    â€œI’m shopping for lip gloss. How about bubble gum?” I waved an arm at Paige. Mom and Dad had given me a credit card for emergencies—this definitely counted!
    Paige wrinkled her nose. “Sasha, you’ve got to get scents he would like. Bubble gum is a girl smell.” She stared at my computer screen and scrolled through the massive lip gloss collection.
    â€œIs there anyone at Canterwood you like?” I asked her.
    â€œI do like someone at home,” she confessed. “Do you remember that picture I showed you of me dancing?”
    I nodded, remembering the picture—Paige arm in arm with her tall, gorgeous dance partner.
    She smiled. “His name is Derek. But my mom doesn’t approve. She thinks he’s a good dance partner, but he’s the instructor’s son. He sends me e-mails sometimes.” Paige pointed to the screen. “What about this one?”
    â€œTangerine? Fruit is better than bubble gum?”
    â€œIt’s very aromatic—guys have a nose for citrus scents,”Paige explained. “And here’s one—cinnamon. And mint!”
    We scanned the screen and kept an eye out for the elusive and nonexistent cheeseburger flavor.
    â€œHow about vanilla bean?” I asked, adding it to the cart. I’d be going home next Friday while the teachers had their staff development day. Hopefully, Mom and Dad wouldn’t see their credit card bill before then.
    12
I DON’T WANT YOUR STUPID SWEATSHIRT
    â€œIF YOU GET MANURE NEAR MY FOOT AGAIN, I’m going to scream!” Heather threatened.
    After three hours of this, on a Saturday no less, it was a miracle that her squealing hadn’t deafened me by now. Her hair was pulled into a flawless ponytail, not a single glossy tendril daring to escape. My hair, on the other hand, was matted with sweat. I wiped my filthy hands on ancient gray sweatpants that sagged in the butt and had holes in the knees.
    The scent of manure filled the stall. Breathing through my mouth, I stuck my pitchfork in the sawdust and spread it around the stall. At least next weekend, I’d be home for three days. Not seeing Heather for seventy-two hours sounded so good.
    Mike led Charm and Aristocrat side by side down the aisle. The horses eyed each other warily. They pulled on the lead lines, tugging Mike forward to the turnout pasture. I watched out the window as Mike put Charm in one paddock and Aristocrat in another. They regarded each other over the dark wooden fence line and Aristocrat let out a challenging neigh. Great, now Charm and Aristocrat were fighting. Dark gray thunderclouds gathered in the distance. Mike would probably bring the horses back inside soon.
    My arms, back, and neck burned. My boots were filled with sawdust. Dirt stuck under my fingernails and sawdust clumped in my hair.
    Heather’s cell phone rang from her pocket—some typical pop song I’d heard a thousand times over the summer. Surprise, surprise. She threw her pitchfork down and jammed her hand into her tiny pocket.
    â€œWe’re supposed to be working,” I reminded her.
    She waved her hand at me dismissively and walked outside the stall to talk, but her voice carried enough for me to hear.
    â€œDad, it’s my math teacher, Ms. Utz. She hates me! She’s going to fail me.” She paused and listened. I could hear gravel crunch beneath her feet as she paced back and forth. “Okay, okay. Bye.”
    For a second, I almost felt bad for her. It sounded like her dad never stopped pressuring her. No wonder she was so cranky all the time.
    Heather entered the stall. She avoided my eyes and started shoveling damp sawdust out of the stall. Reason told me to keep my big mouth shut, but my lips didn’t listen. “You okay?” I asked.
    Heather glared at me. “Like you care,” she said.
    â€œJust asking,” I said.
    â€œWhy