Chapter Thirty
“HANDS QUIET AND shoulders back,” yells Coulter.
The cool thing, he isn’t yelling at me. I post past Devri. Her face is tight and miserable. Highball is dropping his head to resist the bridle and giving her fits today.
“Nice, Cassidy. That’s what I like to see.” Coulter’s given me Shooter to ride today to get him collected back up. Danny rode him yesterday, and he bolted. He’s doing fine for me so far. He’s not even ornery. I pick up his head and gently ask for the canter.
My riding skills are still rough. It takes years to develop the timing of an experienced equestrian. But I’ve improved fast. Coulter is letting me ride all of his horses. And my mustang, Roanie, is letting me put a noisy piece of plastic on her back, to simulate loading her with rain gear. That’s crazy advanced for a yearling, because horses usually hate that kind of stuff. Kaya has me help her with some of the younger campers, getting their horses groomed each day and making sure the horses are getting the gentling that they need. Kaya says I’m not a horse whisperer; I’m a horse listener. Which is fine by me.
Banner rides by on Thunderbird. “You’re on the wrong lead,” she says as she passes me.
I look down at Shooter’s shoulders. No, I’m not. I don’t know, maybe I am. I do a half-halt bounce and switch my timing.
Coulter yells, “What’s a matter, Cassidy? You just switched to the wrong lead. Can’t you tell which lead you’re on yet? Just look at the horse’s legs.”
I look at Shooter’s shoulders and switch back. Banner is galloping on the other side of the arena by now. Justin is hanging on the fence. Of course he’s seen the whole thing. He just shakes his head.
The closer we get to the tryout day for the mustang challenge, the more Banner fills my life with her charming sense of humor. Yesterday she told me that Mrs. Sanchez wanted me to start dinner without her, and when Mrs. Sanchez got there she about tore my head off for poking around in her kitchen without permission.
In a way I guess it’s a compliment. Banner sees me as competition instead of pathetic. But I can think of other compliments I’d rather have.
When I come to get dinner going I make sure not to do anything until Mrs. Sanchez tells me to. She’s in a mood, and I don’t want to do anything to make it worse. We’re making stew and cobbler today. Coulter’s favorite. It’s not that hard, really, but there is a lot of chopping and peeling to feed a group our size. Mrs. Sanchez leaves me alone with the peaches. “A peach is little gift from God. Don’t waste them by being sloppy.”
I peel each gift from God slowly and try to get it right. The rich, cheerful smell makes me feel hungry and satisfied at the same time. Maybe Mrs. Sanchez is right.
“Whatcha cookin’ up there?” asks Banner, coming to visit me in the kitchen.
I turn around quickly. “Dessert.”
Banner picks up a plastic spoon and licks it. Like, seriously. “Because you’re so sweet?”
I go over to the fire. I’m warming up shortening in the pan near the coals. I have to keep my eye on it so it doesn’t burn.
“Have you decided if you’re trying out for the riding spot?” she asks.
“Not really,” I say.
“Yeah. Me neither.”
We are both lying. She’s been planning on winning since the camp started. And why wouldn’t she? She can do flying lead changes and jump fences without messing up her hair. Justin can train horses to do things, but even he can’t ride like Banner. Something weird happens when she sits on a horse. Instead of being mean old Banner with a perfect bod, she turns into graceful Banner with perfect timing. Of course, the whole perfect-bod thing doesn’t hurt.
Just the same—I’ve been thinking about how I don’t want her to ride Goliath.
I walk back over to get my juice and one of the bowls of peaches. Banner reaches for the second bowl of peaches I’ve just peeled, sticks her fingers under the plastic wrap, and helps herself.
“That’s disgusting, Banner,” I say as calmly as I can.
“That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”
“Your hands are dirty.”
She licks her fingers. “I’m not the only one with dirty hands, am I? I’ve seen you sneaking out in your pajamas. I’d hate for that to get back to Coulter. He might have to fire smash nose.”
I squeeze the spoon I’m holding. “What is your problem with me exactly?”
“I don’t have a problem.” Banner gets up and sticks her hand in the bowl again before walking off. “But you might.”
I squeeze the wooden spoon so hard I’m afraid it’s going to snap. I don’t hurl it at her.
Mrs. Sanchez has me chop vegetables for the stew. I imagine the carrots are Banner.
“You are chopping with gusto today,” says Mr. Sanchez. He puts some more wood in the fire.
Mrs. Sanchez points at Mr. Sanchez. “Go bother those boys who do nothing. Cassidy is my little chef.”
I stop thinking about Banner for about two seconds so I can appreciate how nice it is for Mrs. Sanchez to call me her “little chef.” She blusters past me and sets out the Dutch oven. “If you don’t pay attention, you make mistakes,” she says. “Don’t get distracted.”
That rings a bell in my head. I think about how much I’d like to sneak up and steal the spot from Banner for the mustang competition. How good it would feel to win because I care about my horse instead of how I look on top of him. How it would feel to win at something, and maybe even make money doing it. But I’d have to do what Mrs. Sanchez says. Not get distracted.
And then there’s Ethan. He wants the spot, too. But I can’t think about that.
Mrs. Sanchez shows me how to layer the ingredients for the cobbler. The layering changes the way the heat gets around in the pan. Then she explains what she wants done with the stew. “I can do things in this pot you can’t buy in a restaurant,” she says.
I think Mrs. Sanchez could make a neutron bomb in a Dutch oven if she felt like it.
“The redhead gives you trouble?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“No one is more prized than a good cook.”
I like Mrs. Sanchez. She doesn’t get distracted.
Right about the time everything is in its rightful Dutch oven, doing its beautiful thing, Justin hijacks me at the water spigot. “I’m going out to check on the white mare tonight.”
So much for not asking me to get involved in this. But then I still ask, “Is she back with her band?”
“Yeah. But I’ve only seen them from a distance.”
“Banner threatened to tell Coulter about us meeting at night.”
“She’s yanking your chain like she always does.”
“What if she’s not? What if Coulter lost this whole place because of you?”
“Why do you care? You’re never coming back here.”
“Why don’t you care? You live here. Coulter’s your friend.” Not to mention the fact that there is a three-thousand-dollar fine if we get caught, and Justin could get his butt slammed back into juvenile detention. “It’s not safe.”
“What’s your deal with safe? When has that ever gotten you anything?”
“I’m behind schedule getting dinner ready.”
“You know what your problem is?”
“I’m sure you do.”
“You let everyone tell you what lead you’re on.” He kicks his boot in the ground and walks off.
I drink water in the tent with Alice. It’s so hot even the flies are taking naps. Alice sits on her bed reading a book from Coulter’s library.
“What are you reading?” I ask.
“Meditations.”
“What kind of meditations?”
“It’s kind of like horse yoga. Like things you can say to yourself when you ride. You know, to be more enlightened,” says Alice.
“You should tell me some.”
Alice closes her book and looks at me. “You have that restless look again. You’re going to take me if you go anywhere tonight, right?”
I need to get a better poker face. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Okay,” says Alice. “But you’ll take me if you go, right?”
I stand up and look for my canteen. I feel like I’ve been thirsty since I woke up.
Alice holds another package from home. She gets them so often that sometimes she waits to open them for a day or two.
“What did they send you this time?” I ask.
“Hand warmers,” she says.
We bust up laughing.
An hour or so before dinner I’m supposed to pull all the ovens out and check on everything and salt and pepper the stew to taste. It’s hellish hot, but if I focus I can get it done. Everything smells amazing. At least there is one thing I’m doing right around here. I cover them up and go wash my hands for dinner.
The Sanchezes make a big fuss about how I helped with cooking dinner. We all gather around the picnic tables. Everyone is laughing, smelling the food. Coulter’s eyes squint in a smile as he drinks out of his canteen. Justin sits on the edge of the adult table and doesn’t look at me.
I bring Coulter a corn bread muffin and a heaping bowl of stew, and he belly laughs. “Cassidy, sometimes you’re downright useful.”
Coulter sits back in his chair and crosses his legs. He puts a big spoonful of the stew in his mouth. His smile withers to a pucker and then twists into a tight oval. In front of everybody he spits the stew out on the ground. “What is that?”
Mrs. Sanchez looks as if she’s been mortally wounded. She grabs a spoon and sticks it in the pot. Her face says it all. “What did you do to it, Cassidy?’
“I seasoned it, like you told me to.”
Coulter stands, kicking dirt over his mess. “It tastes like you dumped a cup of salt in there, hon.”
I can barely talk. “I did it just like you told me to.”
Alice walks up behind me with her bowl in front of her. “What happened?”
All the kids are spitting the stew out. Except Banner, who is sitting innocently on a rock looking at the ground. She doesn’t even have a bowl.
Mrs. Sanchez is already diving into each of the three Dutch ovens. Her face gets angrier each time. I feel myself sinking in humiliation.
Not this time, I tell myself. This time it’s not even my fault.
“Banner,” I say. I don’t care if she rats me out. She’s probably going to do that anyway. “You did this, didn’t you?”
“Did what?” asks Banner, snorting with laughter. “Wreck dinner? I’m pretty sure that was all you, Cassidy.”
“Why would I wreck dinner?”
“I don’t know. Why do you do anything?”
“You can’t stand the thought of me doing anything right, can you?”
“Cassidy,” says Alice. “It’s okay. You don’t know that for sure.”
“Yes, I do,” I say, stepping in front of Banner and her big obnoxious red hair.
Coulter steps up to me. “Campers need to take responsibility for their own mistakes.”
“This isn’t my mistake.”
Mrs. Sanchez marches off holding one of the pots with hot pads. Everyone else starts moaning. And they stare at me, the killer of dinner.
I don’t step back from Coulter. “She did it. To spite me.”
“Cassidy, get ahold of yourself.”
I look through the crowd and see Justin with his head down. Thanks for that.
Banner looks so innocent it’s revolting. I’ve had enough of everyone. I turn to go.
“Where do you think you’re going?” asks Coulter. “You need to apologize, Cassidy. Now.”
I look at Banner. “I’m not going to apologize for something I didn’t do.”
“You won’t?”
“No.”
“Well, there’s another way you’re related to your grandfather. Fine. You’re welcome to return to your tent for the night. You lose all your riding privileges until you can own up to your mistakes.”
“I didn’t do it,” I say.
“Have it your way,” says Coulter. “Guess we’ll break out the beef jerky and hot chocolate, compliments of Cassidy.”
Everyone groans again.
Then I remember.
I grab the tongs and get down to sweep the briquettes off my last oven. I lift it up out of the fire pit with the tongs so I can put it on the serving rock and dazzle everyone. It’s ten times heavier than when I put it in there. I hear a noise as I move, but I can’t see anything because I’m holding a giant swinging hot thing. Suddenly, Charlie bumps me from behind. Or I bump him. The cobbler flies like fiery peach pellets into the air. Burning hot juice scalds my hand.
“Whoa,” yells Coulter. “Whoa, Cassidy.”
I frantically wipe my hands on my pants to get the burning juice off. It still burns. I stand up and face straight ahead. Everyone glares. Let them.
I walk past Alice, Ethan, and Charlie on my way to the tent. Even they don’t look up at me.