Taking Chances: Kayla's Chance

The Daily Racing Forum's website had the story up the next day. "Unknown Colt Sets Track Record at Keenland." It listed the time and Centerfold's breeder, owner, and trainer. There was a picture of the colt pulling away from Off the Record and an article. The caption under the picture read: "Centerfold(inside) in an impromptu mock race against Off the Record(outside) at Keenland racetrack." The article listed each colt's pedigree and a rundown of the workout. Under that was the video Bo had taken.
"The handicappers haven't changed the odds much," Mik said, looking at the printout of the odds.
I sent him a look over my shoulder.
"Probably because his workouts haven't been consistent," he continued. "Until that first mock race he was dud, then the works after that were unimpressive."
"Then we got ahold of him," I said, turning off the laptop. "Granted that was only his third breeze with us but he's flown through all of them. And he was good with Jeff this morning."
"Jeff only galloped him," Mik pointed out.
"He'll win no matter what the stats," I said fiercely.
"Funny for you to be saying that about a horse you didn't want."

The next morning dawned clear and sunny. The track was listed as Fast. The stands started filling up early. Other than Centerfold's race there were several others being run today including a graded stakes race. And my father was more worked up than most of the horses.
Centerfold had barely woken up when Jaime had fed him this morning. My father had worried he was too tired and threatened to scratch him. Jaime talked him out of it and Centerfold had lipped up his breakfast with his normal carelessness.
He'd leaned on me when I was helping Jaime pick his hooves and I'd made him support his own eleven hundred pounds. My father had thought about scratching him. I'd talked him out of it.
Off the Record had seemed to know something big was about to happen. He was more perky than usual, keeping a close eye on anything that came near him. If a horse or person got too close, he would do anything from pinning his ears to striking out with his hooves or teeth. Mik and Bo had talked my father out of scratching before he had even voiced the thought.
Both horses breezed through the vet check although the vet had gone over Centerfold extra carefully because of his lifelessness.
Off the Record walked-more pranced-up to the saddling paddock first, tossing his head along the way. Jaime led Centerfold out a minuet later.
I followed them to the paddock where a crowd had fathered, getting a last look at the horses they wanted to place bets on. I heard the crowd mummer as Off the Record and Centerfold walked in. There was talk of the mock race, how the black colt had held back and passed Off the Record in seconds when his rider had let him out. Bets were verbally changed from Off the Record to Centerfold, some the opposite when they heard how Centerfold's previous workouts had gone. Some commented on the colt's calmness, even when the horse in front of him nearly got away from his groom as a lady's fat fluttered in the breeze.
When the horses were saddled and the jockeys up, I wove my way up to the grandstand. I showed my pass at the owner's box and walked over to where my mother, Mik, Bo, and Luke were sitting.
I heard Becky before I saw her.
"Of COURSE he's going to win," she practically shouted. "You see, that story's been BLOWN out of proportion. HE wasn't breezing that day and that OTHER horse was. So it's really not fair to judge him by that. It was probably just a fluke anyway. I mean just LOOK at his previous workouts."
I didn't respond. I knew she was looking directly at me as she continued to prattle on. What she didn't know is that she was making herself sound stupid, especially when she started getting terminology wrong.
"I've got an idea," Bo said, leaning over me to talk to Mik. "On our way down to the winner's circle, somebody trip her."
"I've got a better idea," I said wickedly. "Lets point her ass to the wind and smother her with the skirt of that dress."
Mik was shaking his head and muffling a chuckle.
Then the horses came onto the track. There were several bays, a few chestnuts, one other black and Off the Record: the only liver chestnut. He had pulled the number four position, Centerfold the far right: number eight.
The colts warmed up and several of their coats darkened and shone with sweat in just the slight heat. Some of the more excited colts lathered up. But Centerfold's coat held only a hint of sheen as he waited for his turn to load into the gate.
Off the Record gave the gate crew a hard time. He balked, reared up and nearly kicked one of the attendants. After they got him under control, they all but shoved him into the gate where he reared again.
Some of the other colts got antsy at the delay and two more balked going into the confines of the shoots. When they came to load Centerfold, the attendants were prepared for a fight. But the big colt stepped in calmly and all the horses were loaded.
Three seconds later the bell rang, the front gates sprang open, and the colts charged out.
Centerfold broke cleanly, unlike most of the other young horses. Some started a beat late, others took a stutter-step, one even stumbled a bit. Off the Record was half a beat late, leaving Centerfold to take the lead.
I saw his black ears flick in question, then tossed his head at the approaching hoof beats. But even as the other horses passed him, he didn't challenge Jeff for the bit. Jeff kept his reins slack and they dropped back to run behind the pack.
"Coming out of the first turn it's Turnabout leading by a half with Succio in second and Off the Record in third. Back a length to Ada Boy and Peaceful Dove neck-and-neck for fourth with Golden Boy in sixth, Rat-a-Tat in seventh and Centerfold trailing a good eight lengths off the leaders," the track announced boomed.
They hit the backstretch with Centerfold falling back another length and Off the Record gaining on one of the bays. Two of the other bays: Ada Boy and Peaceful Dove were still fighting for fourth. Golden Boy, a chestnut was beginning to draw even with them and Centerfold was still falling back.
Going into the final turn I saw Centerfold toss his head against the tension on his reins. Jeff let the reins out a bit.
Centerfold flicked his ears uncertainly. He didn't demand more, but took what he was given and caught Rat-a-Tat.
"Centerfold's starting to make his move as they come out of the final turn! Off the Record overtaking Succio and Turnabout! Centerfold passing Golden Boy, Peaceful Dove, and Ada Boy! But he's too late! It's Off the Record, followed my Turnabout, Succio, Centerfold, Ada Boy, Peaceful Dove, Golden Boy and Rat-a-Tat."
"See? I TOLD you it was a fluke!" Becky flaunted.
"A shame Rich," Mr. Rosery called as he stood up.
"Yeah, a shame," my father muttered.
I didn't think it was the best time to point out that I had been against buying the colt in the first place. Besides, I was feeling pretty miffed myself.

He was keyed-up when he came off the track. Centrefold's black coat was lathered in sweat, his sides were heaving, and he wanted back on the track.
Jaime had ahold of his bridle and Jeff had jumped off. The big colt was prancing and tossing his head, trying to pull Jaime back towards the track.
My father ran a practiced hand over the colt's legs, evading him as he pranced and even kicked out.
"Nothing wrong that I can feel," he concluded. "Get him walking Jaime."
"Come on big guy," Jaime said, giving a tug on his reins.
Centerfold baulked. He planted his hooves and refused to move. She tried redirecting him but the colt wouldn't budge. My father clucked from the side and gave him a slight tap. I knew what the black horse was going to do even as I grabbed the reins from his right side.
He reared. He was a tall colt standing on all fours. On two, with his magnificent body flung upwards, he was huge. He turned in the air towards Jaime and my father, who both scrambled out of the way. I knew it would probably end badly for me, but I hung on to his right rein even as he landed and tried to take off. He could do a lot of damage to himself and other horses if he got loose.
There was a muffled shriek from somewhere in the crowd as Centerfold gained a few steps towards the track. The crowd parted, giving the colt the opening he was looking for. But before he got a chance to bolt, I dug in my heels and gave a sharp yank on the reins.
Centerfold halted and wheeled around to face me. The look in his eyes wasn't the scared I was expecting. They were mad-and even more, determined.
"Come on," I said firmly, walking back towards the shed rows. I felt him halt again, but not pull back. I looked over my shoulder to find him with his ears pricked towards the winner's circle. "You'll get there next time bud," I said, giving another slight tug.
Finally, the colt complied. He let out a final snort of defeat and walked with me past the starring crowd.

"There's nothing physically wrong with him," the vet assured later that afternoon. "A little worn out maybe, but that's normal for a maiden two-year-old."
"He wasn't tired at all when he came off the track," I commented dryly.
"Yes that was pretty odd," the vet, Dr. Cain, said. "It was almost like the opposite of what most colts do. Wired before the race and calmer afterwards. Well," he continued, "keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't go off his feed. If he does, let me know."
My father shook hands with him and he was gone. As he walked down the shed row, Jeff appeared at the opposite end.
"What happened?" my father asked with preamble.
Jeff shrugged. "I rode him just like Kayla said works. Let him set the pace until the last turn, then father him up and hold him through it, then let him go. He just didn't move out. In the video, you could see without looking when Kayla let him out. With me, he just didn't..." he searched for the right word.
"Click?" I suggested.
"Exactly."
"Well maybe he was tired," I suggested. "He ran nearly twice as long as he was suppose to in that breeze because he got away from me."
"But like you said, he was wired coming off the track," Mik pointed out from his post next to his father's most promising filly, Flexible Flyer.
"And he didn't feel tired," Jeff volunteered. "Just lazy."
I absently glanced at Centerfold who was in the corner of his stall, chewing the same mouthful of hay he had been five minuets ago. Lazy was an understatement.
"Maybe it's me."
We all snapped our heads around to look at Jeff.
"Sell he ran just fine for Kayla. It could be he just doesn't like me. Didn't you have a horse once Rich that wouldn't run but for one jockey?"
My father frowned. "Queen of Hearts. Tiny little thing just barely at fifteen hands. Tried every rider I had and she refused to run. Once I found the right jockey she started raking in the winnings. Lost best older filly by a few points when she was five."
"So you're saying he needs a different jockey?" I asked.
"Maybe," my father said.
"What about Felipe Andrez?" Jeff asked. "He's new but he's been riding pretty well so far."
My father frowned thoughtfully. "I've never used him before. Saw him bring in the long shot to win in that Graded Stakes."
I looked at Centerfold, standing in a corner with one rear leg cocked. He looked almost asleep.
"I want to race him again in two weeks," my father said. "I'm sending Tommy up to Belmont fore the season up there. I'll stay down here with the horses at Keenland and Churchill Downs."
Well there went my summer trip to New York.