Free Grows That Way by Susan Ketchen Page B

children.
    I’m buckling on my helmet when Logan says, “Can I come with you?”
    I freeze with my fingers stuck on my chinstrap. “It would be boring,” I say.
    â€œNo, it wouldn’t. Not as much as homework.”
    I can’t see how I can get out of this. I wonder if I should tell him that Kansas has a No Boys policy at the barn, but that would make Kansas sound sexist and I don’t want to do that.
    â€œIt’s boring watching people ride,” I tell him. “I stay in the arena during the week. I go around in circles. I’m not even jumping Brooklyn yet.” Truly, I don’t want him to come. I don’t want to have to split my attention between Brooklyn and Logan. I don’t know how to tell him this. He sees my hesitation, and looks down at his toes. I’ve hurt his feelings. He’s been so nice to me, and I’ve been mean to him. I feel awful.
    â€œHow about another time?” I say.
    His face lights up. “On a weekend? When you’re not in the arena? We could explore the trails. My bike can go anywhere a horse goes.”
    â€œSure,” I say. “That’s a great idea.” Though it isn’t of course. For one thing, bikes can’t jump fallen trees. For another, I don’t intend to do another trail ride for the rest of my life.
    Declan’s truck is parked beside Kansas’s beater near the barn, but there’s no sign of them until I open the tack room door, and there they are, necking, shirtless (both of them!), in a panic of motion when they hear the door squeak on its hinges.
    I could die, I really could.
    Kansas isn’t even wearing a sports bra. She’s got some frilly pink thing on, that hardly has her covered at all. Pink. I can’t believe it.
    Declan turns his back and pulls a black T-shirt over his head. He saunters past me without a word.
    â€œOoops—sorry,” says Kansas.
    â€œCouldn’t you have gone to your trailer?” I ask. This would have been so simple. The trailer is mere steps away, behind the barn.
    â€œWe got a bit carried away,” says Kansas, as though this is an explanation. “I didn’t plan on it.”
    â€œIf you weren’t planning on it why weren’t you wearing your sports bra?” I ask.
    Kansas stops buttoning her shirt. “There’s no need to be mad at me,” she says.
    â€œI’m not mad,” I say. Then I think about it, and realize I am, a little bit, though I couldn’t say why. It’s not that I’m jealous of Kansas’s attentions. It’s more like I feel she’s betrayed me. What’s that about?
    â€œThis is my barn,” says Kansas.
    Sure it’s her barn. She has every right, that’s not the problem. Still, I’m feeling really upset with her, plus upset with myself because I can’t figure out why. I’d like to punch something—hard.
    Kansas finishes doing up her shirt except for one section where two buttons are missing, then she stands there looking at me sheepishly, as though she thinks she’s done something wrong too. I can tell she feels guilty, which somehow makes me feel more upset, and so even though it’s not very nice of me, I find myself taking advantage of the situation. “Can you give me a riding lesson?” I ask. “I’d like to do some jumping.”
    Kansas has been reluctant to help me start jumping with Brooklyn. She wants us to perfect our flat work first, something that could take the rest of my life at the rate we’re going. I know Kansas loves dressage, I know that flat work is important, but I want to jump.
    Kansas is ready to roll out her usual objections. She shakes her head and I see her mouth open to say no.
    I say, “My parents think it’s okay. They trust you. They think you’re very wholesome and provide a safe learning environment.”
    Kansas looks at the floor for a moment and then sighs.