North Wind Acres #6

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Set in Detroit, Michigan, the sixth book in the American Horse Tale series follows the story of a young girl who has to learn to juggle her social life and horse-riding ambitions with her responsibilities as a working student.

Even though she can only afford to take lessons once a week, Daija’s increasing talents are on full display whenever she is riding at North Wind Acres–a prestigious (and expensive) equestrian center in her city. So when her trainer offers her a working student position, she quickly accepts. Now she’ll be able to pay for extra weekly lessons and join the show team! But Daija soon learns how difficult it can be to balance her responsibilities with her desire to hang out with the wealthy friends she’s made at the center. North Wind Acres is part of a series of books written by several authors highlighting the unique relationships between young girls and their horses.Shaquilla Blake is an adult amateur equestrian who has had a passion for horses for as long as she can remember. She created a blog (theblackequestrian.com) as a space to explore and celebrate riders of all ethnicities and backgrounds and to share her riding journey. This is her debut book. She lives in Boston, Massachusetts.Chapter 1: A Fantastic Opportunity

 
“All right, Daija, bring him down to a walk and cool him out,” called Ms. Julie.
 
I patted my lesson pony, Argus, on his neck and whispered a soft “Good boy” before letting him stretch.
 
I couldn’t stop beaming from ear to ear. During today’s lesson, Argus and I floated around the arena perfectly in sync with each other. Even now, my body swayed in motion with Argus’s walk, and with every inhale that he took, I could feel my calves rise and fall at his sides. As we walked, our breath visible in the unusually crisp September air, I could see that my parents and Ms. Julie were deep in conversation, but I couldn’t make out much of what they were saying. It was rare to have both of my parents here to watch a lesson, so I was especially proud of how well Argus and I had ridden.
 
After a few minutes of walking, Ms. Julie called to me from the opposite end of the arena. As she talked, her bright white teeth were blinding and her russet-­brown, poufy afro, which matched her skin tone, glistened in the sun with every move of her head. Ms. Julie, who was dressed in a navy North Wind Acres sweatshirt, tan breeches, and tall riding boots, stood a few inches shorter than my mom and looked much younger than my parents. It would be easy to mistake her for one of the older kids.
 
“Daija! You can hop down and head out to the barn to untack and groom. Be sure to give him a good currying—­you two worked hard today.”
 
I pulled Argus to a halt in front of the arena mirror and dismounted. Swinging the reins over Argus’s head, I unbuckled my helmet and shook my black box braids from their loose ponytail. Looking at Argus and myself in the mirror, I admired this beautiful horse, with his copper coat and long, wavy mane. His rich color made my own medium-­brown skin seem to glow, and even my gold necklace with the cowboy hat pendant that my mom’s dad, Grandpa Joe, had given me for my ninth birthday shined bright. I pulled a peppermint from my pocket and fed it to Argus before leading him toward the arena door and the barn.
 
“You can put a cooler on him, take him in his stall after you groom, and then meet me in my office,” Ms. Julie instructed as she held the arena gate open for Argus and me to exit.
 
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, nodding my head. My mind raced as I wondered why Ms. Julie wanted to see me. Had I done something wrong in my lesson? Was I in trouble? I was pulled from my thoughts with a yank on my arm as Argus spooked at the barn cat, Lady, who scuttled between his legs.
 
“Easy,” I whispered to Argus as I made quick work of slipping his halter over his head before clipping him to the crossties. I carefully but swiftly removed his tack, gave him a good grooming, and put a fleece cooler on him to keep him warm as his coat dried. Before I turned off the lights and headed to the main barn where Ms. Julie’s office was located, I locked Argus in his stall and left him happily munching on hay.
 
My palms felt clammy, and my heart pounded in my chest as I knocked lightly on Ms. Julie’s door. I closed the door quietly after she granted me permission to enter, and I took a seat in the empty chair next to my mother.
 
“I was just telling your parents how much progress you’ve made, Daija,” Ms. Julie, with a bright smile on her face, said to me before turning back toward my parents. “I believe that Daija would be an asset to the show team.”
 
The North Wind Acres show team was well-­known on the show circuit. Ms. Julie’s students always brought home blue ribbons and were some of the best in the state. She was very respected for training with a focus on horse welfare. Of course, I had dreamed of being on the team, but I hadn’t thought that I would have a shot for a few more years. I had been around horses since before I could walk, thanks to my grandpa Joe, but I had only started formal riding lessons a few months ago after my best friend, Kayla, had pony rides at North Wind Acres for her birthday. Kayla had been taking lessons with Ms. Julie for almost three years and was already on the show team. My heart raced even faster, and I began to pick anxiously at my nails as Ms. Julie continued.
 
“What does being part of the show team entail?” asked my mom.
 
“In addition to Daija’s current program of one private lesson a week, she would take two additional group lessons per week with other show-­team members, and she would have one more day ride on her own,” Ms. Julie said as she pulled a printed calendar page that read September at the top of it. “We would just need to find which days would work best for your family.”
 
“Four days a week is quite the commitment—­both physically and financially,” responded my mom.
 
“What would we be looking at cost wise?” chimed in my dad. “We have no plans to buy a horse anytime soon.”
 
“You wouldn’t have to think about buying a horse now,” assured Ms. Julie. “Kids will outgrow their ponies as they advance, and that tends to happen pretty quickly. It is perfectly normal to lease a large pony or small horse for Daija to show. There are plenty of North Wind Acres horses available.”
 
I racked my brain, wondering which of the amazing horses I would get to lease. At only twenty-­seven years old, Ms. Julie was considered young to be a trainer with such a big program and reputation, but it spoke to how skilled she was at her job. My mother reached over and swatted my hands apart to stop me from picking at my nail beds. This nervous habit left me with messy-­looking fingers and always left my mother with a frown on her face. I sat on my hands to fight the urge to continue picking while I listened intently.
 
“What are the monthly costs for the show team?” asked my mom.
 
“A monthly cost of one thousand three hundred  and fifty dollars will cover Daija’s three lessons and the lease fee for one of the lesson horses. Depending on which shows Daija competes in, the show fees will vary.”
 
I sneaked a glance at my parents’ faces. Dad’s brow was furrowed as if he were confused, and Mom looked worried. Riding was expensive, and showing was even more expensive, but I wanted nothing more than to be on the team.
 
“Now I understand that this is a significant increase to Daija’s current program in both time and price. However, Daija is one of the most mature and dedicated students in my program. Her willingness to learn and her natural talent are profound and incredibly rare at her age, and I want to nurture those qualities in her. To offset the costs, I would be willing to offer Daija a working-­student position.”
 
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing—­not only had Ms. Julie complimented me, she was willing to let me be a working student! So many top riders had started out as working students or grooms; I sat a little straighter in my chair.
 
“What is a working student?” asked my dad, leaning in and looking very curious.
 
“Daija would perform barn chores—­help with feeding, mucking out stalls, tacking up the lesson horses, etcetera, in exchange for her weekly lessons and lease of a horse. You would only be responsible for paying show fees and maintenance for her lease horse.”
 
“How often would Daija need to work?” asked my mom.
 
“We could work out a schedule to accommodate everyone involved. Of course, school is the first priority, so leaving plenty of time for studying and homework is imperative. I require that all of my show-­team students maintain at least a B average.”
 
The room became quiet for a minute. My parents appeared deep in thought, and Ms. Julie and I anticipated their responses. As my mom leaned forward to speak, Ms. Julie beat her to the punch.
 
“I know this is a lot to commit to and not a decision to make lightly. Why don’t you folks talk it over first?”
 
“Sure, that would be great,” replied my mom.
 
“Of course, here’s my card,” said Ms. Julie, holding a card in each hand for Mom and Dad. “Please feel free to reach out with any questions or concerns.” Ms. Julie, standing from behind her desk, turned to me and said, “Excellent riding tonight, Daija. You are making fantastic progress with every lesson. Keep up the great work.”
 
“Thank you, ma’am,” I answered shyly. Ms. Julie was a tough instructor. Though she was always happy to repeat things as many times and in as many ways as you needed to understand something, she didn’t tolerate excuses or lack of trying.
 
Ms. Julie and my parents shook hands again before my family exited the office and headed toward our parked car.
 
“I can’t wait to tell Kayla that I’m joining the show team!” I said excitedly as I walked alongside my parents.
 
“Hang on there, kiddo. Your mother and I have a lot to discuss.”
 
I could feel my excitement start to fade, and it was replaced by worry. Being invited to join the show team was such an honor; what could my parents have to discuss other than when I could start?
 
As my dad pulled down the long driveway toward home, I pulled my phone from my backpack and texted Kayla with the exciting news. While my parents chatted with each other about dinner and weekend plans, I sat in the back seat and replayed Ms. Julie’s words over and over in my mind.
 
Once I got back in my bedroom, I pulled my cell phone from my jacket pocket and sent Grandpa Joe a text message.
 

Hi, Grandpa Joe!
7:16 p.m.
 

My little cowgirl! How are you, Daija?
7:19 p.m.
 
 
I’m good—­I just got home from the barn. Guess what! 
7:20 p.m.
 
 
Fantastic—­that’s good to hear.
7:20 p.m.
 
  
It was AWESOME! I rode Argus again, and we just clicked! BUT GUESS WHAT!
 7:22 p.m.
 
 
Okay, okay, I’ll bite. What?!
7:22 p.m.
 

My instructor, Ms. Julie, offered me a spot on the North Wind Acres show team and a working-­student job!
7:23 p.m.
 
 
That is EXCELLENT! Well done, Daija. When do you start?
7:23 p.m.
  
 
Well, Mom and Dad said that they need to think about it. They are worried that being a working student and on show team will be too much for me to handle.
But I KNOW that I can do it. I wish that I could convince them somehow.
7:24 p.m.
 
 
Why don’t you show them that you have a plan to handle so much responsibility? You could make a very detailed list for your mother—­you know how she loves her lists and plans.
7:26 p.m.
 
 
That’s a great idea! Thank you, Grandpa!
7:27 p.m.
 

Next time we talk, I want to hear that you are officially on the show team!
7:28 p.m.
 
  
I will! Good night!
7:29 p.m.

 
If my parents were worried that I couldn’t handle school, being a working student, and riding, I would show them that I could. I began drafting a schedule to show when I would ride, complete my barn duties, do chores, and study. About an hour later, I heard a knock at my bedroom door.
 
“Come in,” I said, still focused on filling out my calendar and schedule.
 
“Hi, Daija, your father and I want to have a quick chat with you before dinner,” said my mom as she took a seat on my bed. My dad followed and sat next to her. I swung around in my desk chair, my heart racing.
 
“First off, we want you to know how proud of you we are. You looked phenomenal in your lesson tonight, and clearly Ms. Julie sees your progress.”
 
“Thanks, Mom, I felt really great today.”
 
“We understand what a big honor it is to be invited to be a part of the show team. Your dad and I love that you love riding as much as you do, but we’re worried that being a working student, maintaining your grades, and riding multiple times a week will be too much pressure on you at such a young age. You are very mature for an eleven-­year-­old, but we do not want to burden you with having to work to maintain your spot on the show team.”
 
I could feel my heart start to sink as my mom continued.
 
“Affording a lease, lessons, show fees, transportation—­it is a big commitment, and it just isn’t something that we can afford right now.”
 
“You wouldn’t need to waste money on transportation!” I chimed in. “I could take the bus!”
 
“Daija, taking the bus at your age in Detroit is very dangerous,” responded my dad. “North Wind Acres is a few miles outside of the city. Perhaps in a few years, but I’m not sure we would be comfortable with you traveling by yourself.”
 
Desperately trying to plead my case, I grabbed my calendar and showed them what I had already jotted down on my carefully drafted schedule.
 
“I know that accepting Ms. Julie’s offer is a lot of responsibility, but I promise that I can handle it. Look at the schedule I’ve made—­it maps out the bus route, days that I would ride, times at the barn that I could work on my homework—­”
 
I paused as my parents’ eyes scanned my work.
 
“This is quite impressive, Daija,” mumbled my dad as he continued to read.
 
My parents were silent for what seemed like forever. They exchanged a glance, and my mom gave a slight nod before they both turned to me.
 
“If you are going to accept this opportunity and the responsibility that comes with it, there will be some ground rules,” began my dad.
 
“THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!” I shouted as I leaped forward to hug both of my parents, burying my face between their shoulders.
 
They were chuckling as they recited the rules. I listened as best as I could, but I was mostly imagining myself in the show ring.
 
“Text us when you leave school and when you arrive at the barn. Homework and grades are nonnegotiable; if your grades slip, riding is suspended. Understand?”
 
I focused back on my dad’s words and nodded a firm yes. I wasn’t worried about following the rules and handling the responsibility; I wanted to ride, and I was willing to do whatever I had to do to make that happen.
 

Chapter 2: Welcome to the Team

 
It was the start of a new school year, and I couldn’t stop checking the clock during the last class period. I had told Kayla the good news about show team as soon as my parents left my room, and we couldn’t wait for my first group lesson. We had been talking about it all day at school. But we wouldn’t be able to go to the barn together because Kayla was in the extracurricular program, which meant that her last period was an enrichment activity outside of school. Kayla’s mom had scheduled a car service to pick up Kayla and drop her off at the barn on her lesson days, so she would already be there. The clock ticked painfully slowly, and 2:20 p.m. seemed much further away than fifteen minutes. I wondered what the other show-­team members were like and what horse I would be riding during the lesson and during the show season. As the bell rang, I closed my binder and quickly exited the classroom toward the study-­hall session held in the cafeteria. Show-­team practice began at 4:30 p.m., so I had a half hour to get some of my homework done before I had to prove to my parents (and myself) that I could safely get to the stables.
 
•
 
As I climbed aboard the number forty-­four bus, I found a window seat near the front and sat down, placing my backpack in my lap. As I looked out the window, the city’s colorful buildings and large sculptures became a blur as the bus made its way through Detroit traffic. A half hour later, the bus pulled to a stop at the Ferndale junction. I hoisted my backpack—­heavy with books and my riding equipment—­onto my back before getting off the bus. I had ten minutes until my next bus arrived, which would drop me off five minutes from the stables. As I waited, I texted the group chat with my mom and dad to let them know that I arrived at Ferndale safely. Keeping in touch with my parents was one of the conditions of allowing me to join the show team. Twenty minutes after I got on the number twelve bus, I hopped off and began heading toward the stables. As I walked through the rich-­looking North End neighborhood, I couldn’t stop staring at the large houses, with their beautifully manicured lawns. The sidewalks were neat and clean, very different from the cracked and sometimes trash-­strewn sidewalks near my home in the South End. A few blocks later, I saw a sign reading “North Wind Acres Equestrian Center & Farm, .25 miles.” As I hiked up the winding paved driveway toward the barn, I could feel the excitement and nerves rise from the pit of my stomach. I checked my watch; it flashed 3:55 p.m. I had just enough time to change into my riding clothes, tack up my assigned horse, and be ready for the lesson to begin at 4:30 p.m.
 
I pulled out my cell phone to text my parents to let them know that I had arrived and was going to Ms. Julie’s office. With my head down and my attention focused on sending the message, I didn’t notice Ms. Julie standing outside of her now-­closed office door, and I bumped into her as I rounded the corner.
 
“Oh, Daija! There you are! Ready for your first group lesson?”
 
I smiled up at Ms. Julie and nodded as I tucked my cell phone back into my backpack.
 
“I’m SO excited!” I proclaimed, my smile widening.
 
“Great. You can bring your bag with you and follow me,” Ms. Julie said, leading me toward the tack room. “You’ll be riding Captain,” she said, stopping at a locker with Captain Phoebus—­North Wind Acres engraved on the brass placard.
 
“All of Captain’s brushes and tack are stored here. As his assigned rider, you’ll be responsible for keeping them clean and organized.” I set my backpack on the locker shelf and listened carefully as Ms. Julie explained my duties. “Go ahead and grab Captain from his paddock and get tacked up for the lesson. Lessons start at four thirty sharp, and I expect riders to be mounted and warming up at that time. I’ll see you in the arena,” said Ms. Julie.
 
Twenty minutes later, I was dressed and leading Captain into the arena, where Kayla and two other riders were already mounted and warming up their horses. I waved to Kayla, then lined Captain up next to the mounting block, put one foot in the stirrup to swing myself onto Captain’s back, and felt the saddle slide toward me. I clutched it as I fell off to the side. Captain nickered as if he were laughing at me, and I heard snickering from the other riders in the ring. Feeling embarrassed, I righted the saddle and tightened Captain’s girth before attempting to mount again. This time, I was able to swing a leg over and climb up onto his back. As I walked Captain out to the rail to begin warming up, I heard a familiar voice whisper to me as she rode by, “He bloats a lot, so it helps to double-­check his girth so you don’t slip again. It’s happened to me plenty of times.” I looked up to see Kayla on her pony, Hershey, walking alongside Captain and me. Her dark, wavy hair was in a loose French braid that hung down her back, almost to her belt. She flashed me a bright smile before trotting forward. As I watched her ride off, I admired her shiny, tall black boots and crisp tan breeches. I looked down at my own cheap riding tights and secondhand paddock boots and half chaps, and I suddenly felt out of place.
 
•
 
“All right, let’s walk on a loose rein and begin our cooldown!” instructed Ms. Julie after our lesson. We all brought our horses down from a trot to a walk, and I patted Captain’s neck as we moved. I was tired and so was Captain. Show-­team lessons were more rigorous than regular lessons, and Ms. Julie was even more tough. So it was nice to get a few compliments from her during the lesson. We cooled out for the next fifteen minutes before dismounting and heading back to the barn to untack and groom our horses. After putting Captain away in his stall, I headed up to the lounge, hoping Kayla would be there. Captain was a lesson pony, so he was stabled in the lesson barn. Hershey was stalled in the boarders’ barn, so I hadn’t been able to talk to Kayla all afternoon. I turned on the light in the empty lounge and sat at the table before pulling out my remaining homework.
 
A few minutes later, the lounge door opened and the other girl and the boy from our lesson entered, laughing and talking with each other. Feeling shy, I kept my eyes down on my homework.
 
“Hey, you were in our lesson,” I heard the boy say. I looked up at him and nodded.
 
“Yes, I’m Daija,” I said with a shy smile.
 
“Hi, Daija, I’m Anthony! I’ve been on the show team since last year, when I turned eleven,” he said, a crooked smile on his face. He had a head full of dark, springy curls, and his teeth were stunningly white against his skin tone that seemed equal parts white and Black. His eyes were hazel, and they crinkled when he smiled. Anthony was wearing a crisp white polo shirt and tan breeches. “This is Abby,” Anthony said, gesturing to the girl he had walked in with.
 
Abby was strikingly pretty—­her brown skin was smooth and glowing, and her locs hung in waves past her shoulders. Taller than Anthony, Abby was fit, with rich brown eyes and lips that were much fuller than mine, and in her black long-­sleeve polo and black breeches, she looked like an athlete. I couldn’t help but stare at her.
 
“Hi, Abby, nice to meet you. You looked awesome in the lesson!” I said with a smile.
 
“Thank you, and it’s Abayomi—­only my friends call me Abby,” she said sharply.
 
Anthony rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Don’t mind Abby; she’s just mad because you’re new and really good, maybe even as good as she is.” I suddenly felt very shy again, and all I could do was smile. I stared back down at my homework and tried to concentrate on finishing my algebra while Abby and Anthony took a seat at the end of the table and resumed their conversation. I could hear them discussing spending $300 on a show coat and even more on new tack for the upcoming season. I was lucky to even be on the show team and working off my lessons, and show fees didn’t cover expensive show clothes or tack. When my cell phone vibrated a few minutes later with a text from my dad saying he was in the parking lot, I was grateful for a reason to leave the lounge. I bagged my books, hoisted my backpack onto my back, and slipped out quietly.
 
As I climbed into the minivan, my dad greeted me with a bright smile.
 
“How was your first lesson, kiddo?” he asked excitedly.
 
“It was awesome! Ms. Julie assigned me a bay gelding named Captain. He’s so cute! Ms. Julie was impressed with the way I rode, she called me out in the lesson in front of the other students. I met some of the other show-­team kids, and they were all super nice.” I didn’t mention my interaction with Abby. I had promised my parents that letting me join the show team would be a great thing, and I didn’t want to worry them.
 
I was glad that I had met Anthony; he seemed nice. I wasn’t sure that I liked Abby, but she was such a great rider that it only made sense for me to try to be her friend.US

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