Free Initiation by Jessica Burkhart

fine,” I said. “I’m going to grab your tack—then I’ll get you all groomed and extra shiny.”
    Whisper nudged my arm with her muzzle, her whiskerstickling me. I patted her shoulder, then walked to the other end of the hallway to grab her tack. The feeling of being at a new stable—people and horses I’d never met milling around me—was something I was actually very used to. Before my accident, I’d competed almost every other weekend at different shows. My trainer and I had purposely set up my schedule so that I could show as often as humanly possible.
    My goal had been to rack up enough points to become the season’s overall champion. To get a championship title, I had to compete as often as possible in classes with high difficulty and win at least second place. Most of the time, I needed first. If I showed and didn’t do well, I didn’t earn enough points and had to show more to make up for lost points.
    But my goals had changed since then. Now, I was itching to get back to—and perfect—the basics. I knew it was the only way to compete and sustain and elevate my competition level.
    Inside the tack room, I slid Whisper’s saddle and plum-colored pad over my arm. I had a few saddle pads in different, fun colors for practicing and trail riding. The white ones for showing were stowed away, but I also had red, pink, blue, and yellow.
    I unzipped the new saddle I’d done chores all summer to save for—an all-purpose Butet saddle from Beval Saddlery Ltd. So, when I finally unwrapped the saddle and touched the buttery soft leather, I was beyond proud that I’d worked hard for to pay for half of it—all on my own. It felt more like mine than anything I’d ever owned. When the saddle had arrived in the mail, I’d stared at the sealed box for a long time—almost afraid to open it. The Butet saddle was not inexpensive. My parents had only agreed that I could get it because (a) I was paying for half, and (b) it was extremely customizable (parent translation: practical.)
    I never took for granted that I was lucky to have parents who could provide for me beyond the things I truly needed. My mom, a successful lawyer, had taught us all how to work hard for what we wanted. Same with my dad—a stay-at-home writer. Writing kept him busy most of the day and sometimes all night when he was on deadline. He led by example; he wasn’t going to hand us money for a trip to the mall—we had to earn it. None of my sisters nor I had ever been handed anything.
    At Yates Preparatory, my old school in Union, there were too many students whose parents gave them whatever they wanted— whenever they wanted it. I hadn’t reallyhung out with those kids in school—the rich guys who thought they could buy a girl expensive jewelry and she’d go out with him. And definitely not the wealthy girls who looked at every other girl as if she were speaking an alien language if she admitted to buying her clothes anywhere other than Barneys or Saks.
    Ana and Brielle lived comfortable lives, too, but they never flaunted it. According to our parents, the three of us had bonded because of our “work ethics.”
    Now, I touched my saddle’s name plate—a gift from my sister Charlotte. The brass plate read:
    WHISPER
Lauren Towers
    The ornamental satin brass tag had been Char’s good luck gift to me. I ran my hand over the saddle’s seat again, giddy. I’d only used it once before Canterwood to make sure the tree fit Whisper’s back just right.
    The saddle matched the equally gorgeous bridle with padded nose and brow bands. Both of my helmets hung above Whisper’s saddle on pegs. I had a black Troxel helmet with a detachable visor for practice that was scraped and scratched from plenty of falls and a new Charles Owenmicro-suede covered helmet for shows. That one was in its own protective cover.
    I carried my tack and helmet