From Daniel.
He meant Coronado.
I made my way down through the bleachers and over to the schooling ring, to where Daniel and Emilio stood with our big horse. Just without Mom in the saddle this time. Emilio helped me up. Daniel handed me my gloves, then walked over to the middle of the ring. I put Coronado in motion, a couple of slow laps around the ring, then over one of the jumps. Then another lap, and over the other jump.
More nervous than ever.
Still stupidly excited.
I heard the in-gate announcer say, “Frankie next, then Adam, then Georgina.”
Georgina Bloomberg. Her father had been mayor of New York City once. Later on, he’d spent enough money to buy our whole sport running for president.
What the hell was I doing here?
“Becky four,” the announcer said.
The next few minutes were a blur, until I heard the announcer say, “Becky next.”
I slow-walked Coronado over to where Daniel was already waiting for us in the gate. He looked up at me, smiled, nodded, put out his fist so I could lean down and bump it. I looked around now, taking in the whole scene: the course, the tent to my right, stands that were mostly full, one of the biggest rings in the whole sport. I was about to take my place at the grown-up table.
My heart thumped like the palpable bass of a rap song playing from the next car at a stoplight.
I heard the announcer naming me as the rider of Coronado, owned by Steve Gorton of New York City and Caroline Atwood, Atwood Farm of Wellington, Florida.
The horse that had gone before me walked past us. I gave Coronado a little kick to get him going.
Then I heard, “Is this where I wish you good luck?” from the other side of the in-gate from where Daniel was standing.
Steve Gorton.
No owners ever came down here. There he was, anyway.
Don’t look back, I told myself as Coronado walked out into the International.
Showtime.
TWENTY-FOUR
DON’T THINK ABOUT Gorton.
Think about the sixteen jumps out here.
Eight before the speed round.
Let’s go.
No need to push Coronado in the first half. Get through the first eight clean. After that, let the big guy run.
Just like that, we were over the first jump. Six strides in the line between the first and the second. Then we were over that one. No big turns in this part of the course. No surprises. It would be the second half that felt like Daytona.
Don’t get ahead of yourself.
The next two jumps were along the wall in front of the members’ tent. Cleared both, then went right into a slight turn, quickly squaring him up, counting strides inside my head as I did.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Cleared it with ease.
Come on.
It was as if somebody had hit a mute button inside the ring. I couldn’t hear the crowd, couldn’t hear the sound of the PA announcer’s voice. All I could hear was my horse, his breath, the sound of his hooves.
The next line was a stride longer.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Another one clean.
We made a wide turn at the opposite end of the ring from the in-gate, approaching the big screen in the corner down there. There was a clock in the corner of the screen.
Don’t look at the time.
Three more jumps to clear before the speed round.
Damn, this horse felt good.
Then it was one more jump before the speed round, and we were over that, room to spare.
Come on.
Ten seconds from the finish.
Or less.
Eight jumps.
Cleared the first. Cleared the second. Handled a tight rollback with ease, not cutting it too close, not wanting to take a chance there.
Nailed the jump. What was the term in gymnastics? Stuck the landing.
Came around and was facing the big screen again. The horse flying now.
Don’t look at the clock.
Listen to Daniel’s words. All that ever mattered was the next jump.
Handled the next two with ease, perfect distances both times. I wasn’t one of those riders who’d tell you afterward they had a clock inside their head.
But we were getting after it.
Now I was yelling “Come on!” at Coronado.
Tough rollback coming up, tightest on the course. But Daniel had said that if I was going to steal some time, this was the place, if I was sure I could make an inside turn at one of the decorative flower beds. But only if I was sure I could get Coronado squared up in time.
I went inside.
Knew we had picked up time once I did.
Maybe that half second could make all the difference.
The stands were flying past us now, Coronado passing the announcer’s gazebo, then around close to the tent.