Lessons from a Dead Girl(4)

“I would never!”

She sighs heavily, like she’s talking to a stupid five-year-old. “You’re right,” she says. “I should have trusted you. I know you’re not the type to break a promise. That’s why we’re friends.”

She reaches for my hand and squeezes it, then quickly lets go before anyone sees. “Come on,” she says, ending the conversation. She heads for the swings. I hesitate, wondering what she’d do if I didn’t follow.

She turns back and motions to me to come with her. I don’t move. She smiles, then looks around for someone else to call. I’m sure every girl in my class would die to have Leah call her name, and I panic at the thought of being replaced. I follow her.

A few weeks go by before Leah comes over again. As soon as we’re alone, she takes my hand. “We need to practice,” she tells me. She pulls me forward before I can answer. As her fingers lace tightly through mine, I feel her magic and let her lead me into the closet. She closes the door and we kiss. Then she rubs her hands over my body.

I’m scared and excited all over again, but I don’t want her to accuse me of liking it the way she did the last time, as if something was wrong with me. So I close my eyes and try not to feel her hands on me, her lips on me, the way my stomach tightens at her touch.

We’re just practicing, I tell myself. That’s all.





By the summer after sixth grade, Leah and I have had lots of practice. It’s always the same. Always at my house, in front of the lifeless dolls. Leah says this is the year — when we start seventh grade, we’ll start practicing with boys. Each time we go into the closet, I wonder if it will be our last, and each time we step out, I’m filled with shame over the small part of me that doesn’t want it to be.

Then Mr. and Mrs. Greene decide to buy horses for Leah and Brooke, and Leah seems to forget all about the doll closet. Brooke’s horse, Sunshine, is tall and a beautiful light brown. She came from a big, fancy horse farm in Massachusetts. Leah’s horse, Prince, is shiny black. Just like the Black Stallion. He also came with a pony named Lucky. Leah said the woman who owned Prince had the pony to keep Prince company and because he helped keep the horse calm. Leah threw a fit when her dad told the lady they didn’t want Lucky. She cried and told him how it would be cruel to separate them. But part of me wonders if she got the pony for me.

One day when the horses and Lucky are out in the pasture, Leah takes me into one of their stalls. She stomps around and acts goofy and makes me try their grain, which is surprisingly not bad. I love when Leah and I can just be silly and act totally immature together. Leah would never do these things in front of the other girls in our group, and I like having a secret thing we do together that feels safe.

Leah is determined to teach me what she learns at her riding lessons. After each one, she forces me onto lazy Lucky’s back and out to the riding ring to practice. She has her work cut out for her. The only thing Lucky wants to do is head back to the barn. But Leah does teach me how to post and get him on the right lead.

By late summer Leah and Brooke have been to several horse shows. Leah decides she wants me to go, too. She begs and begs her father to bring Lucky, even though I say I don’t want to go. Leah ignores me. She says it will be good for Lucky to get a feel for what it’s like.

The day of the next show, we all get up before the sun rises and wash and braid the horses’ manes. Even Lucky’s. I don’t know why Leah is so determined to make me a part of this horsey life. It’s clear I don’t fit in. Poor old Lucky and I look ridiculous next to Leah and Brooke on their fancy horses. But Leah seems blind to this. She never questions whether she can do something — and now she seems to have the same confidence in me.

At the show, I watch Leah and Brooke compete a few times, then I saddle Lucky and we walk around, checking out the expensive horse trailers. Lucky has an extra bounce in his step. I can tell he knows how pretty he looks with his mane braided and his dappled gray coat all clean and free of dust. For a little while, it feels like he’s mine and that I’m a part of this world, even though my parents probably couldn’t even afford to buy the saddle, much less the pony I’m riding.

Toward the end of the day, Leah comes rushing over to me. She’s smiling and holding out a white paper with a number on it.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

“You. We’re signed up for Breaking and Out together!”

“What? I can’t be in the show. I don’t know how! I don’t even know what Breaking and Out is!”

“It’s just for fun,” she tells me. “It will be perfect. You have to start somewhere, don’t you?”

The next thing I know, we’re walking along, looking as silly as ever. The rules are that you partner up with someone and walk your horses side by side, riding bareback, while holding a strip of newspaper. Then you have to follow the judge’s instructions to walk or trot. If your strip breaks, you’re out.

Prince is much taller than Lucky. I have to reach up high and Leah has to hunch down low in order for us both to keep hold of the strip. The other girls giggle at us as we enter the ring. They cover their mouths with their hands as if acting properly when they’re being nasty makes it OK.

Leah holds her head high. She’s dressed as if she’s in an Olympic event, with her black velvet riding hat, tailored jacket, leather boots, and clean riding pants. I look pathetic next to her in my ratty T-shirt and jeans.