'Until he dumped Aphrodite,' Shaunee continued. 'When he did that I realized the boy might have something going on upstairs.'
'We can already tell he has it going on downstairs!' Erin said, waggling her eyebrows.
'Uh-huh!' Shaunee said, licking her lips like she was contemplating eating a big piece of chocolate.
'You two are gross,' Damien said.
'We only meant that he has the cutest butt in town, Miss Priss,' Shaunee said.
'As if you haven't noticed,' Erin said.
'If you started talking to Erik it would really piss off Aphrodite.' Stevie Rae said.
Everyone turned and stared at Stevie Rae as if she'd just parted the Red Sea or something.
'It's true,' Damien said.
'Very true,' Shaunee said while Erin nodded.
'So the rumor is he used to go out with Aphrodite,' I said.
'Yep,' Erin said.
'The rumor is grotesque but true,' Shaunee said. 'Which makes it even better that now he likes you!'
'Guys, he was probably just staring at my weird Mark,' I blurted.
'Maybe not. You're really cute, Zoey,' Stevie Rae said with a sweet smile.
'Or maybe your Mark made him look, and then he thought you were cute so he kept looking,' Damien said.
'Either way, his looking will definitely piss Aphrodite off,' Shaunee said.
'Which is a good thing,' Erin said.
Stevie Rae waved away their comments. 'Just forget about Aphrodite and your Mark and all that other stuff. Next time he smiles at you, say hi. That's all.'
'Easy,' Shaunee said.
'Peasy,' Erin said.
'Okay,' I mumbled and went back to my salad, wishing desperately that the whole Erik Night issue was as easy-peasy as they thought it was.
One thing about lunch at the House of Night was the same as lunch at SIHS or any other school I'd ever eaten at—it was over too soon. And then Spanish class was a blur. Profesora Garmy was like a little Hispanic whirlwind. I liked her right away (her tattoos looked oddly like feathers, so she reminded me of a little Spanish bird), but she ran the class speaking entirely in Spanish. Entirely. I should probably mention here that I haven't had Spanish since eighth grade, and I freely admit to not paying much attention to it then. So I was pretty lost, but I wrote down the homework and promised myself that I'd study the vocab words. I hate being lost.
Intro to Equestrian Studies was held in the Field House. It was a long, low brick building over by the south wall, attached to a huge indoor riding arena. The whole place had that sawdusty, horsey smell that mixed with leather to form something that was pleasant, even though you know that part of the 'pleasant' scent was poopie— horse poopie.
I stood nervously with a small group of kids just inside the corral where a tall, stern-faced upperclassman had directed us to wait. There were only about ten of us, and we were all third formers. Oh, (great) that annoying redheaded Elliott kid was slouching against the wall kicking at the sawdust floor. He raised enough dust to make the girl standing closest to him sneeze. She threw him a dirty look and moved a few steps away. God, did he irritate everyone? And why couldn't he use some product (or perhaps a comb) on that nappy hair?
The sound of hooves drew my attention from Elliott and I looked up in time to see a magnificent black mare pounding into the corral at full gallop. She slid to a stop a couple feet in front of us. While we all gawked like fools, the mare's rider dismounted gracefully. She had thick hair that reached to her waist and was so blond it was almost white, and eyes that were a weird shade of slate gray. Her body was tiny, and the way she stood reminded me of those girls who obsessively take dance classes so that even when they're not in ballet they stand like they have something stuck way up their butts. Her tattoo was an intricate series of knots entwined around her face—within the sapphire design I was sure I could see plunging horses.
'Good evening. I am Lenobia, and this,' she pointed at the mare and gave our group a contemptuous look before finishing the sentence, 'is a horse.' Her voice rang against the walls. The black mare blew through her nose as if to punctuate her words. 'And you are my new group of third formers. Each of you has been chosen for my class because we believe you might possibly have an aptitude for riding. The truth is that less than half of you will last the semester, and less than half of those who last will actually develop into decent equestrians. Are there any questions?' She didn't pause long enough for anyone to ask anything. 'Good. Then follow me and you shall begin.' She turned and marched back into the stable. We followed.
I wanted to ask who the 'we' were who thought I might have an aptitude for riding, but I was scared to say anything and just scrambled after her like everyone else. She came to a halt in front of a row of empty stalls Outside of them were pitchforks and wheelbarrows. Lenobia turned to face us.
'Horses are not big dogs. Nor are they a little girl's romanticized dream image of a perfect best friend who will always understand you.'
Two girls standing beside me fidgeted guiltily and Lenobia skewered them with her gray eyes.
'Horses are work. Horses take dedication, intelligence, and time. We'll begin with the work part. In the tack room down this hall you'll find mucking boots. Choose a pair quickly, while we all get gloves. Then each of you take your own stall and get busy.'
'Professor Lenobia?' said a chubby girl with a cute face, who raised her hand nervously.
'Lenobia will do. The name I chose in honor of the ancient vampyre queen needs no other title.'
I didn't have a clue who Lenobia was, and made a mental note to look it up.
'Go on. You have a question, Amanda?'
'Yeah, uh, yes.'
Lenobia raised one brow at the girl.
Amanda swallowed noisily. 'Get busy doing what, Profes—, I mean, Lenobia, ma'am?'
'Cleaning out stalls, of course. The manure goes in the wheelbarrows. When your barrow is full you can dump it in the compost area on the wall side of the stables. There is fresh sawdust in the storage room beside the tack room. You have fifty minutes. I'll be back in forty-five to inspect your stalls!'
We all blinked at her.
'You may commence. Now.'
We commenced.
Okay. Really. I know it's going to sound weird, but I didn't mind cleaning out my stall. I mean, horse poopie just isn't that gross. Especially because it was obvious that these stalls were cleaned out like every other instant of the day. I grabbed the mucking boots (which were big rubber galoshes—totally ugly, but they did cover my jeans all the way up to my knees) and a pair of gloves and got to work. There was music playing through excellent loudspeakers—something that I was pretty sure was Enya's latest CD (my mom used to listen to Enya before she married John, but then he decided that it might be witch music so she quit, which is why I'll always like Enya). So I listened to the haunting Gaelic lyrics and pitch-forked up poopie. It didn't seem that hardly any time had passed when I was dumping the wheelbarrow and then filling it with clean sawdust. I was just smoothing it around the stall when I got that prickly feeling that someone was watching me.
'Good job, Zoey.'
I jumped and whirled around to see Lenobia standing just outside my stall. In one hand she was holding a big, soft curry brush. In the other she was holding the lead rope of a doe-eyed roan mare.
'You've done this before,' Lenobia said.
'My grandma used to have a really sweet gray gelding I named Bunny,' I said before I realized how stupid I sounded. Cheeks hot, I hurried on, 'Well, I was ten, and his color reminded me of Bugs Bunny, so I started calling him that and it stuck.'
Lenobia's lips tilted up in the barest hint of a smile. 'It was Bunny's stall you cleaned?'
'Yeah. I liked to ride him, and Grandma said that no one should ride a horse unless they clean up after one.' I shrugged. 'So I cleaned up after him.'
'Your grandmother is a wise woman.'
I nodded.
'And did you mind cleaning up after Bunny?'
