Race Girl (2 page)

Tully was considering relaxing her hold when both she and Greg flinched with shock – a boy had somehow appeared beside them, trotting along the road.

He was tall and muscular and a bit older than Tully, riding a solid, stunning grey. Tully pulled Greg back to a walk, ran her hand down his neck to settle him. Greg's belly might've been round from lack of work, but he was still fresh and excited to be out. He baulked at this new horse and rider trotting so close. Eyes rolling, Greg started to sidle off the rail.

‘Whoa, buddy!' Tully said, doing her best to pull Greg back on line. She glanced across the rails of the drooping faded fence, narrowing her electric blue eyes at the boy.

The boy smirked at Tully, and she found herself mesmerised by the cocky lightening-bolt grin, the dimples in his cheeks, the challenging gleam in his dark chocolate, nearly ebony eyes. He lounged, utterly confident in the saddle, at home in the bush.

Heat crept up her cheeks and she blinked a few times to confirm the boy was real. Tully had never imagined guys like this existed in real life, and here she was riding next to one! His hair was super hot, sandy blonde and curling out from under his black Akubra. Dark stylish slim-fitting jeans pulled tight over his thighs, his roper boots were scuffed and dusty, his checked shirt rolled up to the elbows, collar flicked up. Her eyes ran down his strong forearms, where veins stood out beneath tanned skin as he handled the reins.

He rode in a stock saddle of soft rich brown leather, his grey's pretty face highlighted by a flashy silver western bridle.
Not like any farm boy
I've
ever seen . . .
she thought, her whole body feeling strangely tingly, her cheeks definitely going scarlet.

The boy pulled his horse back to a walk with hardly a raise of his hand. They rode along in silence, the horses' hooves clopping in unison on their parallel tracks. Greg's footfalls were muffled on the sunburned grass of Tully's side, swallowed by the clatter of the grey's shiny shoes on the bitumen lane.

Tully snuck a look at the boy through the cover of a stand of eucalypts, running along the front of her property. She peered at him carefully through the smooth trunks of the trees and the lush green leaves, her heart gaining pace . . .

His eyes found hers and he winked, sending shivers down her spine.
Busted!
Tully's eyes shot back to the track, and she narrowed them with concentration, like she'd been looking there the whole time.

The line of trees cleared and the track swept out in front of them, running down past the entrance to Avalon, across the final furlong to the home turn.

The boy's eyes were on her, practically scalding her skin. She tried hard to ignore him, concentrating on every flinch of the powerful horse beneath her. When the boy clicked his horse up into a trot, Tully's body followed the movement, Greg leaping forward happily. She glanced at the boy, her heart revving in her chest.
Can't let this dude on a stock horse beat us!

A flare of competitiveness she hadn't felt since riding with her mum lit within Tully as she clicked Greg up into a canter. The boy grinned and followed suit, the thundering of their race shattered the still rural morning. Tully was mindful not to push Greg too hard, as the footing was hard and uneven and he needed new shoes, but she could practically feel him smiling, pulling hard for his head – raring to go.

The air blew past her face and howled in her ears as they rounded the far corner and raced down the final stretch. Her body hummed with the pleasure of sweat and freedom and adrenaline, filling her with strength and lifting her up into the vast blue sky – just ahead of the boy on the road.

Greg pulled for his head just metres from the end of the straight, ready to tip into the home turn . . . Tully's heart beat huge and numbing pain stabbed in her chest, her limbs filling with a familiar and unwelcome dread.

Fear.

She gritted her teeth against it,
no, no, NO!
Kept her hands moving forward with the stride of her horse… but in an instant her mind was flooded by the devastating images of her mother falling, collapsing on the track, never to get up again. Fear rattled through Tully's mind like a machine gun, firing possibilities:
Greg might slip, we could fall, maybe his injury still isn't healed?!!

Maybe it's not worth it?!

This
is
what killed my mum!

‘WHOA!' Tully screamed into the wind, pulling Greg back with all her strength, forfeiting the race. Her heart plummeted with a sickening sense of disappointment; her stomach reeled, bile rising in her throat. She fought to keep hold of the reins as sweat burned her eyes and fresh blisters rose on her hands – she'd forgotten to wear gloves and goggles. Her mother had
never
lost her nerve, and here Tully was, unable to ride a fast lap around their
home
exercise track. Shameful.

The boy looked back and chucked her a smirk, bringing his grey back to an easy canter. Tully shot an outraged glare back at him, trying her best to hide the hurt.

Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she wheeled Greg around and headed back towards the entrance of the track. Tully was furious at the boy for tempting her to push herself, furious with herself for letting Greg down, for letting
herself
down. The Athens women were born to ride – became the best, or died trying.
Why am I so weak!?

She glanced back at the boy, even though her brain was screaming to resist the urge. He winked and raised his chin in a kind of cool nod, before disappearing into the cover of the trees along the front of her neighbour's place.

No matter how infuriating he was, with the exception of gorgeous thoroughbreds, Tully had to concede that boy was the hottest thing she'd ever seen. She also had to concede that he rode better than her; that he had beaten her. She wondered who he was, where he was from, then scolded herself for wondering, hitched her leg forward to check the girth, wiped her eyes and clicked Greg up into a trot to head for home.
The only thing you need to be thinking about,
Tully told herself,
is how in the heck you're gonna grow a pair and get back on track to becoming a jockey.

★

Tully's blue-checked school tunic rode up her thighs as she pedalled her pushbike down their dirt driveway, headed for the main road to ride the five kilometres down to the bus stop. The sun sizzled on her bare arms, her belly rumbled. They were out of bread and milk and she'd fed their last apple to Greg and her ancient grey Shetland pony, Frangipani. She'd managed to rustle up a few stodgy muesli bars, but knew it was wise to save them for lunch.

Tully stopped just outside the gate to get her McDonald's hat out of her backpack, cursing herself for forgetting a cooler ball cap to wear under her pink bike helmet. She hoped no one from school would see her and yell out. Her Macca's uniform was packed amongst her schoolbooks as she worked most days after school. She noticed the black line of dirt and horsehair under her nails when she reached inside her bag, cringed and kicked herself for forgetting to clean them. She was sure, judging by the crappy way her day was unfolding, the kids at school would notice and call her ‘dirty farm girl'.
Again.

To distract herself, Tully plugged her headphones into her phone and threaded them into her ears, setting it to Taylor Swift's new CD she'd finally saved enough to download. She cranked it up, singing along to the catchy pop tune as she swung her backpack over her shoulders, stood up on the pedals of her bike and crossed the lane to ride the narrow shoulder to the shelter at the end of the road, where the bus would pick her up and take her into the rural town of Beaudesert, further down the Mount Lindesay Highway.

Sweat ran down her neck and face, her legs burned from the effort – her muscles already weary from her adventure earlier this morning. A semi-trailer was approaching, so she pulled off into the uneven grass and broken edge of bitumen, lifting her bum above the seat to keep from bouncing right off her bike. The whoosh of air as the huge truck blew past nearly pushed her into the steep ditch. A few utes and cars came by next, most of them moving into the oncoming lane to give her space.

Tully pedalled hard up the last hill before the bus stop, past the final few driveways, and coasted down the other side, enjoying the view of the brown paddocks and fluorescent green crops flanking this last flat stretch of road before the highway. A huge, sweeping flame tree in brilliant bloom gifted her a bit of shady reprieve, then it was back into the unrelenting Queensland sun. She hurried for the shade of the shelter, making it to the end of the road just as the bus was approaching from the north. Drifted fast down off the road, onto the bumpy track leading around behind the bus shelter and up into a languishing lantana bush. She pushed her bike underneath it, before turning and running to make it on board the bus before the door closed.

She took an empty seat against the window in the middle as usual, sinking low and pushing her knees into the seat in front. Kept her headphones streaming tunes and pulled out her tattered copy of
Horsewyse
. Tully's mind drifted and danced around the exciting and confusing images from her morning; of being on Greg's back, of the boy on the road, of the fear and the pain and the thrill. She hummed along to Taylor's inspiring lyrics, reliving it all, trying to make sense of it in her mind. The twenty-five minute ride into school had flown by for the first time she could remember, and the driver had to yell at her to get off a minute after the other few kids from her rural area had disembarked.

Tully walked in the front gates of the red-brick building alone, past groups of students chatting and laughing, past a few teachers trying to herd everyone inside. She waved and smiled at Chase, a farm boy in the year above, as he strode by on the footpath. Like Tully's, his headphones were in, backpack slung over one shoulder. She was grateful that the hallways were mostly open air between classrooms, with rows of lockers exposed to the elements. If they weren't, it'd really feel like prison.

History first up, and the classroom was sweltering. The fans just pushed the hot air around the room and Tully had to hold her breath to keep from spewing as the pimply boy next to her had clearly skipped his deodorant that morning. Annalise Belgrave, with her dark glam curls and ‘I [heart] Dressage' pencil case sat behind Tully and kept flicking her in the ear with a pen. Annalise's minions laughed like Preppy Barbie clones and the cool guys behind them sniggered too.

Tully moved forward in her seat, staring hard at her textbook and willing the clock to tick faster. She couldn't wait for her favourite subject, English, in third period, especially as the room had just been fitted with air conditioning. Plus, she had an ally in there, her bestie since Kindy, Tamara Thompson.

Tully's brain was overheated and she felt sweaty and gross by the time she slid in next to Tam in the back row of the English room. Inhaling gulps of cool air, revelling in the way it soothed her sticky skin, she relaxed back in her chair, dropping her books on the desk. She redid her ponytail, smoothing out the frizzy bits, and smiled over at Tam, who was fluffing her long mahogany hair using her iPhone as a mirror. Tam had just started a part-time hairdressing apprenticeship and was determined to try
every
colour on offer. Today the mahogany had purple and green highlights twisted into a messy up-do. Tam had beautiful, smooth olive skin – her biological father was Aboriginal. She winked a wide hazel eye at Tully and flashed a big dimpled grin at her, before turning to the front of the room where Ms Kovack was yelling for the second time for everyone to, ‘Put those phones away, and zip it!'

Tully's foot wouldn't stop tapping, she was
dying
to tell Tam about her morning . . . She nearly made it to the bell, before slinking close to Tam, and whispering, ‘I rode this morning . . . and, I saw a boy.'

‘
Oooh
,' Tam said, shoving her books aside. Rows of silver bracelets jangled down her arms as she rested her chin in her hands, moving in close. Tam was a keen barrel racer and was always whinging about the ‘boring school uniforms' and ‘lame no makeup rule', but, thankfully, got away with her bracelets. ‘My God, Tulls—!' Tam shrieked, her boobs bouncing in her tight school dress. ‘That's totes . . .
Spill!
'

‘It's not that exciting,' Tully said, shushing Tam with a finger. ‘I choked, and he beat me – we were racing, kind of, but I still couldn't get my mind off mum's accident . . . I pulled Greg up.'

Tam had signed off from listening, vibrating at the word ‘boy'. ‘So, was he cute?'

Tully cringed and shrunk in her seat. Annalise and most of the other girls in the room had turned to stare.

‘Who did he look like?' Tam dropped her voice a few decibels, moving cheek-to-cheek with Tully. ‘And he was out riding, how awesome! Is he western?'

Tully sighed, shook her head. ‘Seriously, Tam—can you stop planning our wedding, please?'

‘
Yours?
' Tam grunted. ‘I was more thinkin' mine!' She grinned, punched Tully on the shoulder. Tully's face broke into a smile and she started to laugh, that kind of rolling wonderful laugh that catches you off guard and takes over your whole body and melts your worries and stresses away. The girls were still giggling as they packed up their books and headed for the hallway.