“Good, Fay! Good!” Jerome says, his voice eager and encouraging.
Kent’s trainer couldn’t come on short notice, so Jerome is putting me through some exercises on the horse. He watched me ride a bit and then told me – to my surprise – that I’m too reliant on the reins.
“You hold onto them,” he had said, smirking at me, “like the handlebars on a bike. Like they’re going to keep you from falling off.”
I had frowned at him. “Well,” I said, hesitating. “Aren’t they?”
Jerome had laughed, looking up at me from his place on the ground next to Heathcliff. “No, Fay,” he said. “The best riders barely even use the reins. You’ve got to learn how to communicate from here.”
With that, he’d shocked me by smacking my thigh.
Jerome hadn’t noticed my surprise, though, instead moving to Heathcliff’s
