Lessons from a Dead Girl(5)

“We can win,” she says between her teeth as we make our way down the ring. My stomach is full of knots. Lucky is extra antsy. I think he may want to run for the first time in his lazy life. Maybe for the first time, he’s starting to feel like he belongs with all the special horses. I wish I felt as confident.

Leah winks when the announcer calls for us to begin trotting. Prince prances gracefully and Lucky kicks up and trots along, his little legs racing to keep up with Prince’s long strides. I squeeze my knees to stay on.

I hear a few people say “Awww” as we ride by. I don’t dare look anywhere but straight ahead, one hand squeezing the reins, the other holding on to the newspaper strip as if my life depends on it.

“You’re doing great!” Leah calls over her shoulder. “Don’t let go!”

My arm is so heavy it hurts. Poor Lucky pants and snorts like mad. I almost wish the strip would break. But I know I can’t let Leah down. Lucky seems as determined as me. We’re both out of place, but Leah believes in us.

“Number twelve and number seven, please exit the ring!” the announcer calls. And then, “Walk now, please walk.”

Leah and I trade a smile of relief to be walking again. When I look around, I see only one other pair left!

After we walk the ring once more, the announcer calls for us to reverse directions. As we try to make a tight reverse turn, Lucky bumps Prince. Leah pulls the paper toward her. My arm goes with her, and I start sliding off.

“Hang on!” she says loudly. She narrows her eyes and grits her teeth. I don’t let go.

With Prince on the inside, Lucky has to hustle around every corner to keep up. I hope Leah is the one to let go of the paper, so it won’t be my fault when we lose.

“Slow down, boy,” Leah keeps whispering, but Prince’s ears only flick as if he’s getting rid of a fly.

“Number five, please exit the ring! Number eight, congratulations! Please walk to the center.”

“That’s us!” Leah shouts excitedly. “You can let go now!”

I let the strip slip from my fingers and into Leah’s eager grasp. She waves it over her head in big circles.

People around the ring cheer, clap, and even whistle.

One of the judges walks out with two blue ribbons and hooks them onto Lucky’s and Prince’s bridles. “Go ahead and do your victory lap, ladies!”

Prince leads the way, cantering. Lucky is like a little colt chasing after him. Leah keeps looking back at me, yelling, “We did it!” The crowd cheers and cheers. I’m smiling so wide, the sides of my mouth feel like they might crack.

Sitting in Mr. Greene’s truck on the way home, I run my fingers over the satin ribbon with the horse-head button in the middle. When we get back to the Greenes’, I start to put the ribbon in my bag so I can take it home with me. But Leah says I should hang it outside Lucky’s stall so everyone can see how well he did. I still want to take it home, but I know I can’t. Lucky isn’t even my pony. None of this is real. Leah can try to make me fit in her horsey world all she wants, but in the end, Lucky and I will never be like Leah and Prince. Still, I’m grateful for the taste.

“You’re right,” I say. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says. “You didn’t know.” She hangs her own ribbon on Prince’s stall door.

“Are you glad you tried, Lainey? Did you like it?”

“Yes,” I say.

“You could come again if you wanted. We could show together! It’s no fun doing it alone.” Her face looks so genuine. I want to say yes, but I know it won’t work. It’s one thing to be in the “just for fun” competition, but Lucky and I would never cut it in the real ones.

“Thanks,” I say. “But I don’t think I have what it takes.”

She frowns. “You could if you really wanted to.”

I shake my head. “My parents could never afford it — the clothes, the classes, the show fees …”

“I could get my parents to pay.”

I shake my head again. “Thanks, Leah. I’m really glad for today.”

She shrugs and looks away from me. I wonder if she’s wishing she’d picked a friend with more money. Someone who could keep up with her. I wonder again why she picked me in the first place. But I don’t ask. Today, for the first time in a long time, I just feel grateful she did.

Before I go home, I reach for the ribbon one last time and rub the soft fake satin between my fingers. I picture our victory lap around the riding ring. Leah and Prince and Lucky and me, cantering around while everyone clapped and cheered. And Leah, smiling back at me, waving that silly strip of newspaper in the air. I feel my mouth make the same wide grin it made earlier as I imagine Leah giving me her knowing look: See how good it feels to win, Laine? Aren’t you glad I showed you this?

I wonder if what she really means is, See what it’s like to be me? And all I can think is, Yes. This is pretty great. And you’re great for sharing it with me.

Today, I’m really happy that Leah Greene is my friend.





“Promise you won’t leave me alone with Sam,” Leah says.

It’s the following June and seventh grade is almost over. We’ve climbed the ladder to the cupola, where we hang out sometimes after riding Prince and Lucky, who I’m almost too big for now. The barn is filled with fresh hay, and it smells overwhelmingly sweet.