XVI

L A N D I N G S

Carly shivered in the cool morning. It was gray and overcast and matched the tired faces of the group that gathered outside the hotel to load their luggage into the airport bus. Lindsey, her pretty face puffy with exhaustion, was last to arrive. Sienna went to help her lift her suitcase into the storage space, and Carly didn’t fail to notice how that blocked her out of Lindsey’s sight.

No one looked like sleep had filled any part of the night.

Just as they’d arrived on different flights, the two groups would be traveling home with departures separated by hours. This was goodbye.

Sonnet and Christian, Kristen and Alan stood a little apart, holding hands until the last possible minute, which, Carly thought with envy, was the sweetest thing.

Tim, wearing his spaceman sunglasses again, hovered with Carly and Sienna like he had for the last three days, and she thought: Maybe he wishes he was holding hands with Sienna. Maybe if I wasn’t here, they would have got together. It wasn’t much thanks for the way Sienna had helped her out, she thought with regret—one more reason to wish this trip over.

After so much talk last night, Tim had fallen silent. It was awkward, standing there, saying nothing.

Suddenly Tim pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and passed it to them. “Can you write down your emails? And your phone numbers? If you’re okay with that?”

They both scribbled in the book. Good thing her email (ridergirl@gmail.com) gave nothing away. And Carly wondered, Why both? Was it really “just friends” she’d been reading in him? Then again, maybe if she hadn’t been here … and she kicked herself for not finding an excuse to leave them alone.

Tim scribbled his own contact info on a sheet for each of them, ripped them out, and handed them over.

“Great,” Sienna said. “So … have a great trip home.”

By now, Carly could read the tones of that sometimes-so-hard voice. Hear the soft beneath the brittle, and she knew Sienna had hoped for more.

Rats.

Lindsey found her seat on the plane (middle seat in the center set of three) and subsided into its narrow comforts with relief. For the long hours of the homeward flight, she pretended to watch a movie, pretended to sleep, pretended to read the latest copy of Seventeen she’d picked up at the airport. Kristen sat on one side of her, Sonnet on the other. Both of them were quiet, probably absorbing and replaying the farewells they’d exchanged with Alan and Christian as the bus loaded outside the hotel to take the girls to Heathrow.

Lindsey unpacked the flight blanket and huddled under it, pondering this last unexpected, outrageous roller-coaster week of her life. She had left home so sure it was going to be the best trip ever, and she and Kristen were the coolest of the cool, forever. How had that gone wrong?

There were moments that she really didn’t want to think about, ever, that going near caused hot embarrassment to burn her skin. But strangely, it wasn’t that humiliating scene with Josh in the stairwell that made her most want to wish she had never lived the seven days. It wasn’t the bursting of her stupid euphoric bubble about a boy, not even his hands under her shirt or the slobbery kisses. Not even last night, sitting alone in her room and Sienna showing up to tell her to keep her mouth shut about the girl who wasn’t Ashley.

The memory, the decision, the moment that made her want to melt with shame was that instant on the first morning in Covent Garden when she’d deliberately ditched her best friend to shop with Sienna.

I didn’t know I could do that, Lindsey thought. I didn’t know that I could be that person.

“Ten Top Secrets of True Beauty,” said the article that lay open across her lap. Right now, she could care less.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be me and Kristen. I blew that, she admitted to herself. I ditched her to be with everyone but her. And I was totally blind about that guy. “Seven Signals that He Really Cares” was what you got when you flipped to the next article.

“Josh came to see me last night,” she said quietly to Kristen. It was a trial effort, a toe nudging a door back open, hoping not to get slammed.

Kristen stopped studying the Vogue Paris magazine she’d picked up at Heathrow and really looked at her.

“It was five o’clock in the morning.” Lindsey continued. “He actually left his all-night party, I guess. And he wasn’t even drunk.”

“What did he want?”

He apologized, and explained all that about his friend Luke.

“Did he admit he was a big jerk?”

Lindsey smiled. “More or less.” Then she swallowed. “I was a jerk, too, Kristen.”

Her friend just smiled. “Don’t worry about it. All friendships have ups and downs. And it worked out okay, really ...”

She means: If I hadn’t been on my own I wouldn’t have Alan. Fair enough. For being a jerk, Lindsey was going home with no guy and a fistful of bad memories.

Kristen said, “We have to get together to sort out the pictures. I’m sure you have some that I’m going to want.”

“Yeah, and I hardly took any at Salisbury.”

Relief coursed through her body like a warm drink on a winter night. She still had her friend.

Now, about the “Ashley” problem ...

The Novice Jumper Class was at 8:30, only a few minutes to wallow in regret before Ashley was mounting Brock again. This time, all that stuff about style and “collection” didn’t matter. It was just about the jumps, getting over them without mishap, in any style that worked and as fast as possible.

What the hell, thought Ashley, who rarely swore. We’re just going to go out there and ride.

Rosemary drilled her on the new sequence of jumps; all the same, with the addition of a small double-railed oxer, and one more pair of two—twelve jumps.

“Just go out and have fun,” said Rosemary as she followed the other riders into the ring. The same seven as her first class and one more, a nervous-looking boy on a small pinto. Pintos, Ashley thought irrelevantly, just don’t have the right look for English riding, and she giggled as she recognized her mother’s tones in the thought. Giggles were good, and she smiled as Brock moved into his happy warm-up canter.

One of the twins rode first and cleared every jump. The next two lost a rail.

The girl with the big black horse who had won the red ribbon in the Hunter class waited beside Ashley to be called into the ring, muttering nervously, “I hope we’re next. Pilot always does better when he gets to go first.”

But it was the red-haired boy who came next, and his troublesome mount refused two jumps in a row.

“Damn,” said the girl. “Don’t get any ideas, buddy.”

But, called next, her big horse balked exactly as the other had done, and Ashley patted Brock’s neck with new appreciation of his independence of mind. He might not like the unnerving flapping of birds, but he’d do his own thinking about which jumps to refuse, thank you very much.

With the other onlookers, she gasped when Pilot, refusing the combination a second time, sent his rider flying to the ground, and applauded when his rider picked herself up, remounted, and trotted her disobedient steed out of competition.

So far, only one rider had had a clear round.

Three waited to be called. The pinto boy. The other twin. Ashley.

The twin went next, and her golden mare sailed around the course, effortlessly clearing every jump just like her sister.

The boy with the pinto was summoned next and Ashley knew she would be last. Not an omen—stop being superstitious, she scolded herself. Last is not an omen.

The pinto was fast and, in the ring, the nervous boy morphed into a serious rider. They rode well until the very last jump, when too much speed sent them toward the fence a half-stride short—it made the arc of the jump too long and the landing too near, and the pinto’s left hind hoof hit the top rail and knocked it down.

So, Ashley was next. This is for you, Carly, she thought as the call for “Number 19” boomed over the loudspeaker and the gate swung open. She and Brock walked in. She raised her arm to signal her readiness and the ride began.

Following the course was a breeze after seven other riders had done it. One by one, they sailed over the rails. Amazingly, she had a chance at third if only they took all the jumps. So she forgot about speed. Brock was enjoying himself, she could tell, and though the oxer made her nervous, he took it with ease. They rode toward the last combination, the one that had undone the pinto, with a clean round behind them. Brock’s pace quickened as he saw the end coming, and she gathered him in. Just enough to stop him from overreaching, and he leapt both jumps without a fault.

The ride in the sunshine and the hands clapping in the distance were for them, a clean round. Third, she exulted, a ribbon, and vindication.

Then, astonishingly, the judge called the twins and Ashley into the ring and asked the three of them to do the course again. The twins rode first, and this time one of the perfect golden horses refused a jump. Ashley couldn’t believe it. If she and Brock beat that performance, they could come second.

Or dare she imagine coming first?

It was a decision to make: Ride with caution and go for second? Ride fast and aim for the blue? Not much time to ponder and no advice from Rosemary, who clearly trusted her to know. Even going into the ride, she hadn’t decided. Until, all in a flash, like the flight of a bird through her mind, she heard herself ten days ago, seeing two girls who needed to take charge of their own lives, step out of the safe and familiar.

Demand something.

Dare.

So she rode Brock toward the first fence with her knees urging him on. He knew the course now, knew the heights, knew the strides he’d need. She gave him permission to go as fast as he cared to and he happily accepted the invite. The jumps flew past and only once, on the oxer, was her landing with him, being one with him, less than perfect. It cost them a half second’s momentum, an inch of distance and on the next jump a rail fell down.

The rest of the round was perfect.

So, she came second. But it was an earned second, nothing default about it, and she grinned as the judge, Mr. Evan McSorley, handed up the ribbon of blue silk.

A ribbon won without playing it safe.

“Well done,” said Mr. Evan McSorley. “Your riding has improved greatly since I saw you last,” and Ashley’s joy was complete.

“Bravo,” said Rosemary as she dismounted. She hugged the girl tightly and then she said, “Now, let’s get going. If we keep on schedule, we’ll be at the airport right on time.”

The pilot made frequent announcements as they circled Pearson International Airport. They were only ten minutes behind schedule. Estimated landing time: 3:20. The temperature in Toronto: 24 degrees.

Carly, in the midst of relief that they were almost home, didn’t forget that there was one last leg of the journey, getting through customs, back into Canada without being busted as an imposter. Traveling under a false identity. Perpetrating a fraud on Customs and Immigration. Hustled into a side room and strip-searched because, if she did the one, surely she would do the other (drugs), and then the cell, and then ...

When she’d left Canada, neither she nor Ashley worried about any of this. But an eight-hour plane ride provided lots of time for the imagination to whisper and worry. Then the stewardess passed out those intimidating declaration forms, where she’d honestly listed the quick airport souvenirs she’d snagged for Mom and Ashley, not forgetting Ashley’s mom. The fine print on those papers hissed with chilling legalese: It is an offense … punishable by … a false declaration may result in …

When they finally landed and made their way to the luggage carousel, Kristen and Lindsey hung together. Sienna tried to run a discreet barricade, so she, too, must still be worried about what their secret sharer was capable of.

“Lighten up,” she told Carly. “You look so uptight. Bad move. You look guilty, they’ll think you’ve got something to hide. Get some smile happening. You’re excited to see your family; you had a great trip; you’re thrilled to be back.”

Carly tried and she stuck gratefully to Sienna. Who jockeyed herself into the same close position when they finally had all the bags and got into the slow-moving line at the customs desk.

Mr. Robson said, “Have your passports ready, girls.”

They all bent to fish in their backpacks and purses. Rising from that stance, Lindsey glanced at Carly. She couldn’t read that look—everything terrified her right now—but Sienna clearly saw a threat and shot Lindsey a glare that would turn hot coffee into ice.

No. Bad move, thought Carly. You’ve got her back up now. All evident in the turning away, that sweep back of blonde hair, chin lifting.

The line inched forward and no one spoke—they were all too tired or too tense. At the desk ahead of them, the Customs and Immigration clerk, who looked like he was all of seventeen himself, scrutinized the passport of a woman who had sat ahead of them on the plane. A black woman, tall and elegant, and her passport was from Ghana. The clerk wasn’t satisfied with her papers and called a supervisor over.

“Lord,” said Mr. Robson. “He’s looking at it with a magnifying glass. For real, a magnifying glass.”

The line beside them moved one passenger through, then another. The woman from Ghana was still at the desk.

After more minutes, the supervisor finally led the African woman away to another office.

The clerk, looking bored, called, “Next.” Next was a perfectly ordinary gray-haired dear dressed in frump-wear and old-lady sandals. She handed over a Canadian passport and the clerk asked her question after question. The line beside them was moving people through at four times the speed.

Sonnet said, “I know how my mom feels now, when she says it’s her fate to always pick the slowest line in the store.”

Carly tried to produce the smile Sienna recommended. Her insides felt inside out and upside down and then, suddenly, things began to move. The lady moved on. “Next” barked the clerk. Mr. Robson stepped forward with his passport open, explaining, as he had when they entered England, the school trip situation, and again he stood there and called the girls one by one.

“Sonnet.”

“Kristen.”

One by one. they presented their passports, answered laconic questions about what they were bringing back, were passed through to wait for the others a few feet into Canada. He didn’t even really look at them.

“Sienna.”

Who shot Carly an encouraging glance and stepped up to the counter. Now, only Carly and Lindsey were left, waiting to cross the magic threshold to home. Carly made sure she didn’t meet Lindsey’s eyes, didn’t tap her foot as if she were nervous, didn’t do more than breathe.

“Ashley,” said Mr. Robson.

The clerk opened her passport and looked at the details. “Are you bringing anything back with you?”

“Yes,” she said. “A few gifts.”

“Anything for yourself?”

“No.”

The clerk looked up. Clearly, it was a response he never heard. “You didn’t buy a single item for yourself in Great Britain?”

“Yes. No,” her voice dropped as she seemed to realize how odd that sounded. “I mean, I picked up a few things but they were really ... not expensive, really, almost free ...”

The hint of panic in her voice must have narrowed the officious young man’s eyes. He looked at her handsome suitcase and at Carly and then down at the photograph page of Carly’s passport. Then back again, the beginning of a frown forming above his steel-rimmed glasses.

Behind them all, Carly saw Sienna’s face freeze.

Suddenly, Lindsey bumped up beside her, purse swinging, and stepped right up to the officer’s desk. He glared at her, pointing up at the sign: one person at the desk at a time. Oh, God, here it comes, thought Carly.

“Wow, Ashley,” Lindsey giggled, looking down at the passport photo. “I remember when you had your hair that long. You look like Ella Enchanted or something. It’s way better now.”

The clerk rolled his eyes, the moment gone. “Also part of your group?” he asked Mr. Robson, who was looking embarrassed by his ditzy students.

He nodded, then the clerk gave Lindsey’s passport the briefest of glances and passed them through with a sudden shocking smile and “Welcome home!”

Home!

Sienna met her with a hug and then they both turned around and gave Lindsey a high-five, and Kristen said, “What the heck was that all about?”

The airport was crowded with people waiting to meet with the travelers. Separated by a barrier, they pressed up close, calling out greetings as they spotted mothers, friends, sons, husbands. Carly saw Kristen disappear into her mother’s open arms and suddenly felt how desperately she wanted to see Mom.

They hadn’t planned this part of the adventure. Would it be the chauffeur? Would Ashley be with him? What if no one came?

She pulled the heavy suitcase along, scanning, scanning the faces. She saw Sonnet hug her father, Lindsey with her arm around her little sister.

For herself, no one.

What would she do? Could a bus take her home? Or a taxi?

Then a hand touched her arm and a familiar voice said, “Carly!”

She swung round and it was Mom, Mom’s brown curls and blue eyes, clear blue eyes. Mom, looking so good, Mom reaching out for a hug that lasted, tight and trembling, for a whole minute.

“I missed you so much, Mom!”

“Me, too.”

When they finally let go, Ashley said, “Hey, what about me!”

They hugged, too, and Carly asked with happy anxiety, “The Trials ... how did you do?”

Ashley grinned and held up her blue ribbon. “I’m going to frame it. But I couldn’t have done it without your mother. Or you.”

In the muddle, there was one moment with Sienna standing there, her parents behind her, saying, “I’m Sienna. And I’m coming to meet your horse,” and then she was gone.

Then they saw the man in chauffeur’s uniform, standing, stoically waiting, holding a sign that read: Ashley Beaumier.

Carly handed her friend the passport and a bag of presents. “The wallet is for your mom; it was hard to guess what would work on my limited budget, but Sienna helped me pick.” Amazing, she thought, how this gap of dollars used to grind me down, and now I’m just grinning at the joke of it all. “There’s something for you there, too, and I hope you don’t mind, I picked up something for my mom, too,” she said, lifting the only bag she’d take home from her trip to England.

“I’m glad,” Ashley said. She took the suitcase handle and said, “Dad said their plane comes in an hour after mine, so I just have to wait with the driver for a while. I’ll get your stuff back to you as soon as I can, Carly. And I’ll be over tomorrow, if they don’t ground me when they notice these piercing holes. I want to hear everything. And I’m sorry I didn’t think of the money ...”

“No fear, you’re going to hear the whole story,” said Carly. It was sad to see Ashley going off with that stranger in uniform while everyone else left with family. But for now, she was glad to be alone with her mother. They had a lot to talk about.

And seeing Ashley say goodbye to her mother, the way Mom stroked Ashley’s fake red hair, stirred an odd mixture of feelings.

“Thanks for everything, Mrs. Venn,” said Ashley, eyes filling with tears.

“Thank you, Ashley,” said Mom. “And keep your chin up. You’re a brave girl.”