18 
18 Sasha
I WAS BUSY READYING TO groom my second horse of the morning—a sweet bay gelding named Watson. He was tall, like Charm, though his bone structure was much finer and he was leaner. My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the screen. I had a new text message.
Sasha, pls come to BC after the adopt-a-thon on Saturday @ 7pm. Having a little Xmas bonfire. Bring your friends! xo, Kim
A bonfire sounded liked the perfect way to unwind after the event. I’d get to visit Charm and hang out with everyone at my old stable. Smiling, I put my phone back in my pocket.
“Quinn told me a little bit about you,” I said to Watson. I’d just taken him from his stall and clipped him into crossties.
Quinn had gotten everyone else started with jobs too. Jacob and Paige were helping put up Christmas decorations with a group of people who, like them, weren’t experienced equestrians. Quinn had said decorating the stable was so important for the adopt-a-thon, and potential adoptive people always raved over the festive feel.
Callie had been asked to feed a list of horses, so she was in and out of the feed room with different grain mixtures, depending on the horses’ needs, and flakes of hay.
Alison and Brit were in the outdoor arena lunging horses. Heather had been asked to groom, tack up, and ride a horse that had been tagged as one ready to go to a home as a pleasure horse.
“Make all of the mistakes that a beginner rider might,” Quinn had told Heather. “Let a stirrup iron flap for a few seconds, don’t double-check the girth, drop a brush or two, really do anything you can think of to test this horse. Take note of his behavior and what scares him or doesn’t. We’ve put him through so much already that by now he should be a safe ride for a fairly new rider.”
I focused back on Watson. “So you, mister,” I said, “just came off the track a few months ago. You were fast, but not fast enough for your owners, huh?” I hugged his neck. “I know that’s not true. It’s their loss to have let you go, Watson. You’re going to get a much better home, where you’ll be the speed demon of the stable!”
Watson shifted his weight as I swiped his left shoulder with a body brush. He was barely four years old, and I couldn’t let my guard down around him for a second. He wasn’t mean or intentionally dangerous, but he was definitely energetic and hot-blooded. His dark-brown ears stayed pointed toward the stable exit, and he yanked on the crossties.
“Easy, shhh,” I said. “I bet someone will exercise you today.”
I kept whispering to Watson, trying to keep him calm. He danced in place, almost stepping on my toes.
“How’s it going?” a soft voice asked. Quinn slipped under the crossties and placed a gentle hand on Watson’s neck.
“He’s a great horse,” I said. “Is anyone exercising him today, though? I’m worried he’ll kick a hole in his stall if he doesn’t get a chance to stretch his legs.”
Quinn scanned her clipboard, then looked back at Watson, frowning. “No one’s free to ride him today. Well, no one with the experience to handle him.”
“I can,” I said quickly. “I’d love to ride him.”
Quinn looked at me, her mouth open as she paused. “Sasha, I know from your paperwork that you’re a skilled rider. Watson is fresh off the track. He’s still a bundle of energy, and his exercise schedule still includes allowing him to gallop around the track with another horse. We’re working on teaching him not to always feel he has to ‘win,’ but also giving him a sprint on the track because he’ll go stir-crazy otherwise.”
My entire body tingled. I wanted nothing more than to ride this ex-racehorse around a track. For a second, my silks—the outfits jockeys wear—flashed in front of my eyes. Pink and white with a glittery stripe down my helmet. Not exactly traditional, but they were my daydream silks.
“Quinn,” I said, “I promise you that I can handle Watson. I would never say that if I didn’t mean it. I would be putting his safety at risk—not just mine. Please let me ride him.”
Quinn stared at me for what felt like hours. Finally her head dipped. “Okay.”
“Thankyou, thankyou!” I said, grinning.
“Let me see who’s going to be your exercise partner,” Quinn said. She ran her pointer finger down the clipboard.
“Oh! Well, this works out great,” Quinn said. “You’ll be exercising with someone from your school. Do you know . . . Lauren Towers?”