4. Claire
4
CLAIRE
A side from church, there was one other occasion when we were forced to intermingle with the Sooters.
The Belleflower Summer Fair is the biggest events of the year, save the Fall Coronation. It’s open to people of all walks of life. The Equestrian Club gets redecorated with fairground games, rodeos, and other competitive sports.
For us, the draw is the Junior Riders Competitions.
I’m a show rider. I’ve won blue three years in a row. Now that I’ve hit first-place, I can’t get anything less.
We don’t look back , Daddy says. Only forward.
Most importantly, I know the Belleflower Benefactors Society is watching.
I’m young, yet, but they’ll be scouting for Promises. Young women who show potential to be the Belleflower Queen in the coming years.
And there is nothing— nothing —more important to me than that precious Belleflower Queen crown.
Sweat gathers under my arms and dampens my dress shirt. The thick, navy jacket hides the stains. Calypso’s hair is twisted into beautiful, small braids, and even though her coat is shiny, I give her neck a few passes with the brush to keep her calm in the chaos of the festival. The crowd doesn’t seem to bother her, though; if anything, she’s curious, craning her head this way and that when trainers walk their horses in and out of the stable.
I know I’m supposed to stay close, but…the thickness of the smell in here and the heat is making me nauseous. I brave a short walk out of the stable.
A couple feet away, they’re running the breakaway roping competition. A small crowd is settled on the bleachers to watch the junior ropers lasso runaway calves. I creep closer to the bleachers to watch on.
Over the megaphone, the announcer says: “Here we go! The one, the only…Loooooren Dagney!”
Loren struts forward on his dark horse with a cocky grin. Of course, they’re going to give Loren a grand entrance. His father—and mine—are major sponsors.
He’s wearing a crisp polo and a shiny belt buckle. I watch as he gives the ranch hand a quick nod and they release the calf. The calf goes shooting out, running as fast as it’s little legs will carry it. Loren chases after it, his horse’s hooves pounding the ground. He whips his lasso in the air…but it falls short.
An ugly sneer stamps its way across Loren’s face. He kicks his horse in the flank and it jerks its head before spinning back around to the entrance.
He gives it another pass and, this time, he hooks it. The rope goes tight around the calf and, the second there’s tension, it breaks away, trailing limply behind the animal.
Loren turns his horse back to the stable, but there’s no joy in his face. He scowls all the way back to the stables, as though the calf personally offended him.
“Up next for the junior division, Riley Ransom!”
My heart does a strange tug and twist in my chest, like it’s a calf tangled in its own breakaway rope. There he is. My braid- buddy. He looks different outside of his church clothes. He’s wearing dusty jeans and a red plaid shirt. I watch as he pats his horse and murmurs something in her ear. She flicks her ear as though to say, message received .
Riley holds the lasso loosely in his hand. He gives the ranch hand a nod and, once again, the calf bolts out.
Riley wields the lasso as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. He swings a perfect loop and, immediately, it catches around the young calves neck. The animal scurries forward and the rope breaks free from Riley’s hold, trailing safely behind.
“Yeah!” A man and woman jump up from their seats, punching their fists in the air.
“That’s my boy!” the woman hollers.
They’re loud, messy, and when she raises her plastic cup, beer sloshes on the people sitting in front of him.
I can’t help but blush for Riley.
How embarrassing.
But he’s being a good sport about it, smiling—this wide, proud grin—as he circles the horse back to the stables to the tune of applause.
I duck behind the bleachers and follow into the stables. When I get there, Riley has already dismounted his horse. He’s cooing to her, calling her a good girl.
Sweat chases down my spine. I’m grateful the jacket hides it.
I summon up all my confidence and put on a disinterested mask. “Hey.”
Riley glances over at me. There’s that crooked, familiar smile. “Hey, there.”
Politely, I extend a gloved hand. “Claire Preacher. Good work out there.”
He looks at my hand and his smile only grows. He clasps his hand in mine, giving it a hearty shake. “I know who you are. Riley Ransom.”
I tilt my head. “I’m sorry about your parents, Riley.”
He blinks. “How do you mean?”
My cheeks instantly go pink, because I’m called myself out.
I’m a snob. And now he knows.
Daddy’s training unravels and, in my mistake, I start stumbling through my words.
“I just…I mean…they’re enthusiastic …”
He chuckles. “That’s us Ransoms. Enthusiastic.”
I’m saved by the intercom. “Up next, dressage!”
“I have to go,” I say quickly. I give him a curt nod. “Ransom.”
He winks. “Preacher.”
I spin on my heels and rush away before the flame in my cheeks gets too bright. I walk past Loren and his father, Arris. Even in my hurry to get away, I can hear Loren’s voice pitch as he throws a fit with the judges.
Not my circus, not my monkeys .
Stupid. Stupid of me to talk to Riley. What did I think was going to happen?
We can’t mingle. We’re too different. We live in two different worlds. His world is too…
Enthusiastic.
I reach Calypso and, finally, I can breathe again. I’m back in my element, even if my heart is still racing. Here, I go back to what I do best. Performing.
I’ve done these competitions dozens of times. I know the routine. My body falls into the motions and I use it as a distraction to try to shake free this awkward feeling that clings to me like a shadow.
They clear the race track from the ropers and make way for the dressage riders.
Before I know it, I’m on top of Calypso, bouncing along her lithe body as she prances forward. I keep my posture impeccable. Back straight. Arms bent, but only slightly, at the elbow. Thighs strong.
Calypso and I move in sync. We breath in sync. The poised, picture of perfection.
Everything goes quiet when I’m performing. I drown out the sounds of the other performers. The loudspeaker. The crowd. Until all I can hear is my own breath and the clip of Calypso’s hooves dancing on the dirt below.
For a second, I chance a glance out to the crowd.
Daddy sits on the bleachers. Quiet. Hunched forward. Watching. Judging.
Even drenched in my own anxiety and heat sweat, his stare is like an ice chip down my spine. I can’t help but think:
Maybe there are worse things than overzealous parents .
I’ve been training for this all year, yet it feels like it’s over within seconds.
I ride Calypso back to the stables. I can barely hear the applause over the pound of my heart roaring in my ears.
Daddy is waiting for me in the stables.
My throat goes tight with fear.
I bring Calypso to a halt, swing my leg over, and hop off. My cheeks feel flushed. “What did you think, Daddy?” Nothing. “Daddy?”
He won’t even look at me. His gray eyes are staring off over my head. “Wait here,” he says. He walks off, and I watch as he goes to speak with one of the judges.
My throat is tight, so tight. I can’t breathe. Blood rushing, pounding.
I did something wrong. But what?
I go through each play in my head. Each routine.
There were no hiccups. No missteps.
Were there…?
I’m shaking. I tie Calypso up, tear off my helmet, and pace. It’s hot outside the stables and the sun beats down on me, but I gasp for air.
A rider rushes past me, their horse kicking up dust. I choke as it clogs my vision.
I need to get out of here.
My feet start moving. Away from the stables, just… away .
I find myself walking towards the main building. There’s a podium here, swathed with local newscasters. They’re calling the winners from the roping division. Just in time .
The judge is Mr. Davenport from the Belleflower Benefactors Society. His teeth are blindingly white when he flashes a wide smile.
“And this year’s Junior Roper is…” He peels back the envelope and announces: “Loren Dagney!”
My heart nearly stops in my chest. What ?
Loren leaps onto the stage and shakes the judges hand, a smug smirk climbing his face. The judge presents him with the winning belt buckle—a shiny, coveted object. The crowd breaks into a round of eager applause. All except one.
“Horse shit!”
The word sails out overtop the noise of the crowd.
Mrs. Ransom comes barreling out of the audience. She launches herself towards the judge and he goes skittering backwards, nearly losing his balance, catching himself at only the last second. She jabs her finger against his chest.
“My boy won! Fair and square!”
Riley comes scrambling up after her. Gently, he grabs his mother, guiding her back.
“Mama! It’s okay. Leave it.”
She spits. It leaves a nasty, wet mark on the polished stage.
“That boy couldn’t rope a bolder! You’re a bunch a’ nasty crooks! The lot of you!”
“ Mama . C’mon now.”
It takes some coaxing, but Riley eventually gets his mother off the stage. The crowd murmurs awkwardly as the family hobbles off.
The whole incident leaves me with a sick, acid burn in my stomach.
Loren’s cheeks are pink like a cherub’s. He hastily accepts the prized belt buckle and cameras flash and snap for him.