Blue Ribbon Summer (6 page)

Maybe it will be fine,
Brooke told herself.
She didn't mind being in the trailer, and that's even smaller, right?

Paige led the way to an empty stall. Next door was a tall, elegant gray mare with a short mane. “That's Snow,” Livi informed Brooke.

“She's pretty.” But Brooke wasn't focused on Paige's horse. She held her breath as she led Foxy into the empty stall beside Snow's and let her loose. Foxy stood there for a moment, and
Brooke quickly let herself out and shut the door.

“Want us to give you a tour of the rest of the farm?” Paige suggested. “We could show you where—”

She was interrupted by a loud whinny as Foxy leaped forward, stopping just short of the stall door. The pony shoved her head out into the aisle, her eyes rolling and her nostrils flared. Brooke reached out to pat her, but the mare whirled away.

“What's wrong with her?” Hannah wondered as Foxy spun in a circle before returning to the door.

Paige shrugged. “She's new here, that's all.”

“Maybe,” Brooke said. “Um, or maybe it's because she's not used to being in a stall.”

Livi turned to stare at her. “What do you mean?”

Brooke chewed her lower lip as she watched her frantic pony. “She lives in a field with a run-in shed. I never shut her in. I never had a reason to before.”

“Really?” Hannah sounded surprised. “Huh. Vegas would die if I forced him to live outside. He loves his cozy stall.”

Foxy whinnied again and kicked the wall. Several of the other horses nickered or snorted in response. A moment later Robin returned, looking concerned.

“Everything all right?” she asked.

“I'm sorry. She's not used to being inside.” Tears welled up in Brooke's eyes. “I didn't know she was going to have to stay in a stall, she's never done that before, and—”

Robin interrupted. “I see. Never mind, I have an idea.”

She stepped forward, grabbing Foxy's halter the next time the mare leaped forward. Foxy shook her head and tried to back up, but gave up quickly when Robin hung on. The stable owner snapped a lead rope onto Foxy's halter and led her out of the stall.

“Where are you taking her?” Hannah asked.

“She can stay in Hero's stall.” Robin glanced at Brooke. “Hero is one of my horses. His stall has a large attached run so he can move around more—he's older and has arthritis. Do you think Foxy will like that better?”

“I'm sure she will,” Brooke said. “But is that okay? If your horse has arthritis, doesn't he need that stall?”

“It's fine,” Robin assured her with a smile. “Hero is mostly retired—he can live outside for a couple of weeks.”

“Really?” Livi said. “Won't he freak out?”

“Absolutely not,” Robin replied. “He's lived out before.
Most horses actually like being outside, you know.”

Paige giggled. “Not Vegas. Hannah's trainer says he's a hothouse flower.”

“Hmm.” Robin didn't really respond to that. She led Foxy down the aisle to a different stall. It was larger than the other one, and had a wide doorway at the back leading out to a narrow paddock overlooking the riding ring.

As soon as Robin released Foxy into the stall, the pony headed toward the paddock with her ears pricked. She trotted out through the door, head raised and ears swiveling in all directions.

“One of my boarders has the other run-out stall.” Robin waved a hand at a large bay horse that was standing in an open doorway, looking out into an adjoining paddock. “So Foxy will have company whether she stays in or out.”

“Thanks,” Brooke said, relieved that her pony seemed much less upset already. “Sorry for all the trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” Robin's smile was wide and genuine. “Now let's go into the house for a snack and leave her to get settled. We can come back and check on her later.”

Later that evening, Brooke lay on her bunk and stared at the wooden ceiling beams. The other three girls had been chattering nonstop since returning to the cabin. They didn't even stop talking when one of them went into the tiny shared bathroom to shower and change into pajamas; they just talked louder so nobody would miss anything.

Once in a while one of them—usually Paige—made an effort to include Brooke, but mostly they seemed to forget she was there. From listening to the three-way conversation, Brooke had figured out that the other girls had been coming to this camp for the past three years, and that Camp Pocomoke was where the three of them had met. Hannah was from a fancy suburb of Baltimore; Paige lived in Virginia, south of Washington, D.C.; and Livi had come all the way from Pennsylvania, where her mother was a U.S. congresswoman. The three of them only saw one another at summer camp and the occasional horse show, which meant they had a lot of catching up to do.

Brooke yawned, wondering if the other girls were going to talk all night. Sleeping through their conversation couldn't be much harder than sleeping through one of
Ethan's tantrums or Emma's screaming fits, right?

The windows were open to let in the evening breeze, and Brooke smiled as she heard the faint sound of a horse nickering somewhere in the night. A second later another horse responded.

“I think that was Foxy,” she said.

The other three girls turned to look at her. “What?” Livi said.

“That nicker.” Brooke was starting to wish she'd kept the thought to herself. “I think it was Foxy. She has this really deep nicker, even though she's so small.”

“Oh. That's cute,” Paige said with a smile. “Snow pretty much sounds like every other horse when she nickers.”

“Hmm.” Brooke smiled back, but she was glad when the other three returned to their conversation. She could tell they were trying to be nice to her, but it was pretty obvious she didn't fit in, and neither did Foxy. Had coming here been a mistake?

CHAPTER

“RISE AND SHINE!” ROBIN POKED
her head into the bunkhouse. “Breakfast starts in twenty minutes.”

Brooke was already dressed. She'd slept fitfully and woken early. After creeping into the tiny bathroom to pull on jeans and a T-shirt, she'd been tempted to sneak over to the barn to check on Foxy. But she wasn't sure what the rules were here, and she was tired of sounding clueless to the others. Besides, Livi and Paige were still asleep, Livi snoring softly from beneath her pillow. Hannah was awake but still in bed. She'd mumbled a greeting to Brooke, then immediately pulled out her cell phone and started scrolling through her messages. Her dark hair was loose and
sticking out around her head in soft curls that Brooke thought looked nicer than Hannah's usual sleek but severe ponytail, though she never would have dared to say so.

At Robin's voice, Livi's eyes opened and she rolled over. “Wha time is it?” she mumbled, spitting a stray strand of blond hair out of her mouth.

“Time to get up,” Hannah replied. “Dibs on first shower.”

“No!” Paige sat up too, suddenly wide-awake. She shoved a strand of tangled red hair out of her face. “Don't let Hans in the shower first, or she'll use all the hot water!”

Livi gasped. “Oh no, you're right!”

She leaped out of bed, tripping over her own slippers. Hannah was laughing as she grabbed a towel from the cubby at the foot of her bed and dashed toward the bathroom. Livi and Paige lunged after her. There was a brief tussle, which Livi won, slamming the door shut behind her as she disappeared inside.

“Cheater!” Hannah complained. “I called dibs.”

Paige laughed and collapsed on the foot of Brooke's bed, which was nearest the bathroom door. “You had the right idea,” she commented. “There's always a fight for the
bathroom in the mornings. I just can't stand getting up any earlier than I have to.”

“I usually like sleeping in too,” Brooke said. “I guess I had a little trouble sleeping in a strange place.”

Paige smiled sympathetically. “I was the same way when I first came here. Don't worry, before long Camp Pocomoke will feel like your home away from home.”

Brooke returned the smile, but it felt a bit forced. So far, she couldn't imagine ever feeling at home in this place. But who knew? Maybe Paige was right. Maybe Brooke and Foxy would settle in sooner or later. Brooke hoped so, anyway.

Fifteen minutes later, all the girls were dressed. Brooke followed the others out of the cabin, expecting them to turn left toward the house. Instead, they headed across the narrow patch of grass between the bunkhouse and the barn.

“Aren't we going to breakfast?” Brooke asked.

“Yeah.” Livi ran her fingers through her damp blond hair. “The
horses
' breakfast.”

“Oh, right, we didn't tell you about that part, did we?” Paige said. “See, at Camp Pocomoke we're supposed to take care of our horses ourselves.”

She, Livi, and Hannah gazed at Brooke as if expecting her to react somehow. “Okay,” Brooke said cautiously.

Hannah rolled her eyes. “I know, right?” she said. “I mean, this place is great and all. But I could do without picking up horse poop before breakfast.”

Paige giggled. “Don't let Robin hear you say that or she'll make you clean the whole barn instead of just Vegas's stall.”

“Do you know what Foxy eats?” Livi asked Brooke. “If not, we can check with Robin—I'm sure your barn gave her all the details.”

“My barn?” Brooke was confused. “Um, Foxy lives at my house. I feed her breakfast every day.”

“Oh!” Paige nodded. “That's right, you said something about that yesterday. Well, then never mind—you'll be an old pro!”

Brooke could tell she was trying to be nice. So how come her comment—and the way Livi and Hannah were staring as if Brooke had three heads—made her feel like such a freak?

She forgot about that as they stepped into the barn.
It was bustling with activity. Several of the older campers were wandering around, carrying buckets or pitchforks. Robin was leading a horse out of its stall, and a younger woman with a wavy dark ponytail was pushing a wheelbarrow down the aisle.

“You're late,” Robin announced when she saw Brooke's group enter.

“Sorry. Hannah took forever in the shower,” Livi said.

Brooke didn't hear Robin's response, because at that moment Foxy stuck her head into the aisle and nickered. The mare's eyes were bright and her ears pricked forward—as if this was just like every other morning.

Brooke smiled, suddenly feeling a little less out of sorts. “Hey, girl,” she said, stepping over to rub the pony's nose.

The young woman with the wheelbarrow stopped nearby and leaned on her pitchfork. “Is that your pony?” she asked. “Is she a Chincoteague?”

“Yes,” Brooke said cautiously.

The young woman smiled. “Thought she might be. Had one myself when I was your age—picked him out at the pony penning when I was seven years old.”

“Really? That's what I did too.” Brooke smiled back. “Except I was eight.”