Free Initiation by Jessica Burkhart Page A

to Whisper’s stall, resting everything on her trunk.
    The mare’s purple halter was on a peg next to her stall. I took it into the stall with me and her ears pointed forward. She knew what the halter meant!
    I slipped the noseband over her muzzle and buckled the halter. I didn’t need a lead line just to take her from the stall to crossties. With a light grip on the halter, I led her forward to the pair of crossties directly in front of her stall.
    Honor’s stall door was open, but I didn’t see Lexa.
    Whisper’s ears swiveled and she sniffed the air, taking in her new surroundings as I clipped on the crossties. I stood beside Whisper’s shoulder for a moment, stroking her until I was sure she seemed comfortable before walking to her tack trunk. I closed her stall door, put her saddle and pad over it, and draped her bridle across them.
    I pulled open the heavy trunk lid. Inside, Whisper’s gear was still arranged the way I’d painstakingly put it together. I loved looking at it all. The sets of bell boots, a winter blanket, lead lines, two leather halters, a tack box, shampoo, conditioner, and hoof polish were among some of the items I’d packed.
    Whisper’s tack box was parfait ! The pale blue plastic matched the brushes and combs inside. And if I didn’t want to carry the whole tack box, I had a mini Ariat carryall.
    I put the box near Whisper and reached for a body brush. Whisper’s coat, already mostly clean, just needed a light going-over. She grunted softly as I started near her poll and ran the brush down her neck. She enjoyed every second of it.
    â€œIs this your version of a spa?” I joked. “It’s time to do your hair and then your nails.”
    Whisper huffed at the sound of my voice. She was an excellent listener. All summer, I’d rambled to her about how nervous I was about Canterwood. One of her ears was always pointed in my direction and she’d make a different noise depending on what I told her. It was almost as if she’d been trying to assure me that she understood.
    The wide-tooth comb slid easily through her mane. I’d thinned it the week before school started, so it took no time to comb. Whisper swished her tail playfully at me after I’d made it silky.
    â€œHey!” I patted her flank. “That’s it for the hairstyling.”
    After I picked her hooves, I prepared to tack up. I reached for her saddle and suddenly found myself face-to-face with Riley.

SNAP! JUDGMENT.
    â€œWOW!” RILEY SAID, EYEING MY SADDLE.
    â€œThat’s gorgeous .”
    That was nice of her! I chided myself for making a snap judgment about Riley—especially on my very first day. Maybe we could be friendly after all.
    â€œThanks,” I said, making sure to give her a genuine smile. “I worked for it all summer. My parents helped, though—it was their Welcome-to-Canterwood gift. Thanks for your compliment, Riley,” I said. “It means a lot.”
    Riley widened her eyes. “Gosh,” she said. “ My parents offered to buy me a Butet, but I said no. I was too afraid the judges would think I’m one of those people who try to cover for their lack of skill with expensive tack.”
    Well , then, guess I’d been off on the whole “friendly” thing. I reminded myself that snap judgments were perfectly fine.
    â€œOkay, then,” I said politely, turning back toward Whisper.
    â€œOh, no,” Riley said, holding up her hands. Her sincerity was about as authentic as a Chanel purse on Manhattan’s Grand Street. “I definitely wasn’t insinuating that you’re a bad rider.” She continued. “I mean, we both know a saddle isn’t going to sway Mr. Conner’s decision. You’d know that if you met Mr. Conner. Or maybe you haven’t . ”
    â€œLook,” I cut in. “I didn’t get this tack because it cost a lot of money.” My voice was a