Riding Chance Page 14

  There was a race between Willie and a Wildcats player and guess who got to the ball first. Willie outgalloped the guy and hit a long pass over to Little Keith. Little Keith worked his way through the horse traffic and, as he got closer to the goal, slowed down to take half hits. He scored. The Wildcats’ mouths were just hanging open. We’d totally dominated them.

  The ball was thrown in again and this time the Wildcats got control of it and headed for our goal. But, uh-oh, Jerome stole it. He was bad. He knocked it over to me and I did a back shot that sent it down the field, toward the Wildcats goal. The ball went over to the sideboards but Willie chased it down and kept it alive. He made a sprint down the field and just overpowered the Wildcat who was trying to protect their goal. Willie scored. We were totally on our game. The whole first chukka was like that. It ended with us in the lead.

  “You guys are working great together!” Winston yelled as we came off the field. “They don’t know what hit them.” I felt my whole face just beaming. Shoot, I probably looked like Dre or somebody. I even waved at Lay-Lay. He was there talking to Jerome.

  Jerome had us doing just what we’d discussed. The Wildcats knew how good he was; they’d seen him play before, so they paid a lot of attention to him. They learned a little too late that they had to pay attention to all of us.

  Winston smiled up at me. “You two holding up okay?” He gave Chance water and patted her on her neck and shoulder. “Everything good?”

  I nodded and leaned down to whisper to Chance. “You’re doing great,” I said. She turned her head around to look at me with one of her big brown eyes. She was sweating but she didn’t need to come out of the game yet. I rode her back out onto the field with her neck arched and her head held high.

  The second chukka started and guess who won the throw-in. Us. The Wildcats were mad now, so they were playing more aggressive. Little Keith shot the ball up to Willie, and the Wildcats were all over him, but Willie outsmarted them. He faked an offside forehand and left the ball where it was. Jerome was right there to pick it up. He worked his way through the horse traffic and exploded down the field. A Wildcat was covering him but he couldn’t hang with Jerome. Man, Jerome took it home. He did this mean forehand swing that sent the ball through the goals. Wasn’t nothing wrong with his shoulder.

  Folks from Philly were standing up in the bleachers, cheering like crazy. Maybe it was that, the wild cheering—whooping and hollering, really—that made something inside me click. That’s when I caught fire.

  The Wildcats were expecting mostly back shots from me, so they were ready for that. They didn’t know how well I could handle the ball. See, they didn’t expect me to turn it before I hit it so I could be in more control of where it went. Or, when I did do a back shot, they didn’t expect me to hold it until Jerome or Little Keith or Willie was in a better position to receive it.

  Put all negative thoughts aside. I kept running that through my head over and over again. Chance felt it. Her ears were standing up like they do when she’s alert and, you know, I think mine were, too. Even with the helmet on. Seemed like I heard everything going on around me even before it happened. Like I knew what was coming. I don’t know how else to say it. Not only did me and Chance stop the Wildcats from scoring but we turned their attacks into offensive plays for our guys. Me and Chance, we were all over it, man. The Wildcats couldn’t break through us. The chukka ended with our team still on top, three to zero.

  “Fantastic defense!” Winston yelled. He was beaming from ear to ear and his polo buddies were already coming over to congratulate him.

  “Where’d you find your number four?” somebody said. “He can do it all.”

  “What an asset,” somebody else said. “He’s stopped the Wildcats dead in their tracks.”

  Everybody was saying stuff like that. I gulped down some water and closed my eyes to try to calm down.

  It was in the third chukka that he got me. Jerome. He was raging, man. The Wildcats won the throw-in but Little Keith and one of their guys were shouting at each other in midfield. All my concentration was on the game but something must have been happening somewhere else, too. The players didn’t seem to be where they should be, the refs neither. Me and the number one Wildcat were racing down the field and I could hear Jerome and another player thundering toward us. I got to the ball first and leaned out of my saddle to take a shot. I thought Jerome was going to keep going to receive my pass. Instead, he was heading right for me and Chance. That wasn’t right. You can use your pony to bump your opponent’s pony but I wasn’t his opponent. That’s when I saw his face. Totally cold, man. His face was just … cold.

  I wheeled Chance to the left so she wouldn’t get hit full force. Jerome slowed down and turned to the right at the very last second and reached out and yanked me off my horse. Like I said, he was raging. I caught those dead eyes again; there was nothing in them.

  I fell real fast but it felt like I was falling in slow motion. Chance turned her head and I looked right into her big brown eye. She watched me go down.

  I WOKE UP in the clubhouse. At first, I didn’t know where I was ’cause when I opened my eyes the only things I saw were these paintings of horses and dogs. I was in this dark room with wood paneling on the walls and real heavy curtains.

  “He’s opened his eyes,” said Grandmom. She was sitting right beside me on this leather couch. Pops and Uncle Ronnie rushed over from where they were standing with Winston by the window. Alisha was there, too. She was sitting on a couch at the other end of the room with Foster and Miss T.

  “What happened?” I said.

  “You have a concussion,” said Pops, leaning over me. “The club doctor checked you out but we’re going to take you to the hospital for observation.”

  I remembered Jerome charging toward me and Chance but I couldn’t remember what happened after that.

  “Where’s Chance?” I said, trying to get up. “Is she okay? And Magic?” My head was hurting but I had to know if the horses were all right.

  “They’re fine,” said Pops, holding me by my shoulders. “You know, Chance loves you. She stood over you after you went down.”

  I sank back down to the couch. “What about the match?”

  “They stopped the match after your accident,” said Pops.

  Winston had been pacing over by the window. He finally stopped and cleared his throat. “It’s time to be honest,” he said. He walked over to the foot of the couch so I could see him without straining. “Jerome intentionally tried to hurt you and he didn’t care if he injured Chance and Magic in the process.”

  “I can’t believe he did this,” said Alisha in a quiet voice. She was sitting there with her hands folded in her lap. “He doesn’t even care about the horses?”

  Winston let out another deep sigh. “It looked to me like Jerome, Little Keith, and Jerome’s cousin, what’s his name, Lay-Lay, planned the whole thing.”

  “Lay-Lay again?” said Grandmom.

  “Think about it.” Winston looked around the room. “Little Keith distracted our attention on the field while Lay-Lay started a commotion in the stands. That gave Jerome the cover he needed to attack Troy. That’s what it was, an attack.” Winston had on his polo watch. I knew he was nervous ’cause he kept swiveling the face up and down. “I didn’t know he was capable of doing something like this.”

  “He’s mad all the time,” said Alisha, “but I thought he loved the horses.”

  “You shouldn’t blame yourselves for Jerome’s behavior,” said Pops.

  “No, it’s not that simple,” said Winston. “I’ve been obsessed with making a big splash back in the polo world ever since I left it.” He looked at all the trophies in the display case. “I was too concerned about having a great team that I could show off out here instead of paying more attention to what was really going on with these kids.” He sat down on one of the faded velvet chairs across from the couch. “Maybe I’ve been pushing them for all the wrong reasons. Maybe it wasn’t to help the
m but just to make me look good.”

  “You never talked about this,” said Miss T. She went over and stood next to Winston’s chair. “I wish I had known—”

  “You’ve helped these kids,” interrupted Pops. “I can’t begin to thank you for what you’ve done for Troy.”

  I couldn’t look Winston in the face. He was taking the whole thing real hard. That’s when I said it. “Jerome got me back for tripping him at Alisha’s party.”

  “Got you back?” Pops frowned.

  “I thought me and him were cool after I said I was sorry.”

  “You apologized to Jerome?” Winston said. “When?”

  “On his first day back at the stables. Well, I guess I should have apologized to you, too.” I looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. “I should be suspended, too.”

  “Jerome’s not suspended,” said Winston. “He’s out. Same for Little Keith. There’s a big difference between tripping somebody and knocking someone off a horse. You could have been killed.” Winston shook his head like he was still putting the whole thing together. “And Jerome’s cousin came all the way out here to be a part of it. Well, he’s in trouble, along with the others.”

  Uncle Ronnie had been quiet up until then. He sat down and scratched his forehead. “I sure don’t like what they did,” he said, “but we can’t just forget about them.”

  I looked over at Alisha again. She didn’t say anything else. I could tell she was confused from the way she just sat there so quiet. She was smarter than me about some things but she couldn’t understand how Jerome and Lay-Lay could be the way they were. So hard that they couldn’t be anything else.

  “Don’t worry,” said Winston. “We’ll get them some help. I just hope they’re open to it.”

  “That’s what I mean,” Uncle Ronnie said, pinching the skin at his throat. “Maybe they can turn themselves around.”

  Nobody said anything else about what I’d done but I knew I couldn’t let things stand the way they were.

  “I’m sorry I lied,” I said.

  “I am, too,” said Winston. “But don’t think for a minute that’s what caused Jerome to try to hurt you. He’s been jealous of you from the beginning.”

  “He’s the big polo player. What’s he got to be jealous of?”

  “Heart, Troy.” I looked right at Winston then. “You got heart. Jerome’s going to be spending a lot of time with his social worker talking about that.”

  Winston was sitting with his hands hanging over either side of his chair and there was this lamp with a little green shade shining light down on his watch. It finally hit me what was so special about that watch. It was tough enough not to break when it was hit by something hard, but it had another side, too. A soft side that was totally cool. You just had to know when to switch from hard to soft, that’s all.

  There was a knock on the door and Dre stuck his head inside. “How’s everything in here?” His face lit up when he saw that I was awake. “I’ll let the horses know you’re all right,” he said.

  All the talking had made me real tired. I sank back into the couch and let my eyelids close without worrying about anything. I didn’t need to keep them open to know it was all good.

  HAVE YOU EVER been bitten by a bug? A bug with real sharp teeth that just grabs you and won’t let you go? It may not be a bad thing. I’m not talking about real bugs, of course. I’m talking about something that inspires you—a song, a picture, a summer breeze. Anything that inspires you to be creative.

  That’s what happened to me when I heard about Work to Ride on National Public Radio. Listening to the wonderful story about a mentoring program in Philadelphia’s Fairmount Park, where kids get the opportunity to ride horses in exchange for work, was totally inspirational. This was back in 2011 when the Chamounix Equestrian Center’s polo team won the US Polo Association’s Open National Interscholastic Championship for the first time. Intrigued, I did additional research and found photos of some of the kids. Well, that’s what did it. I was bitten by a beautiful bug.

  Riding Chance is fiction, but the spark, the idea for it, came from hearing about Work to Ride. Check them out and maybe you’ll be inspired, too.

  THIS BOOK OWES its existence to my wonderful editor, Andrea Davis Pinkney, who saw a glimmer of a story and encouraged me to write it from the heart; the talented faculty at the Southampton Writers Conference, who embraced me when I needed it most; my New York critique group, who read every word and helped make the pages sing; Elise Arnold and Susie Richards, who introduced me to the world of horses; to Lila Zemborain and the amazing polo player Alberto Bengolea; Miriam Altshuler, agent extraordinaire; and to Rob for his loving encouragement.

  CHRISTINE KENDALL STUDIED children’s literature at the Southampton Writers Conference and was named a semifinalist in the 2014 River Styx Micro-Fiction Contest. Before becoming an author, Christine worked in the field of law firm talent management. She was honored to join the NAACP Legal Defense & Educational Fund, Inc., to coordinate the fiftieth anniversary commemoration of the historic Brown v. Board of Education decision. Riding Chance is her first novel. She lives in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

  Copyright © 2016 by Christine Kendall

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available

  First edition, October 2016

  Cover art by Levente Szabó

  Cover design by Mary Claire Cruz

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-92406-1

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