Taking Chances: Kayla's Chance

The next week I was cooling down Centerfold after his workout when I saw a strange rider at the fence talking to my father. I drew up to the gap and dismounted.
"Kay this is Felipe Andrez. Felipe, my daughter Kayla," my father introduced.
I stuck out my hand to shake the jockey's. He stuck out his own hand, seeming reluctant, and pulled it away as abruptly once we'd shaken hands.
"Nice to meet you," he said with a faint Spanish accent.
"Same," I lied.
"Felipe's going to breeze him tomorrow and then gallop him a little until the race."
"Okay," I said. Centerfold's race was four days away against a much easier field than his first race.
"I was hoping you could give Felipe a few tips on how to ride him," my father said. "I've got to go look at one of the other colts. He's off his feed."
"Sure," I said as my father walked off. I turned reluctantly to Felipe. "So he-"
"I don't need pointers from an exercise rider," he spat like it was an insult.
"Excuse me?"
"And the only reason you are an exercise rider is because your father is a second-rate trainer from a second-rate stable."
I stared at the jockey, dumbfounded.
"And I will only listen to him because he is paying me." And with that, he walked away.
I stared, open-mouthed after him, having the strange urge to laugh. My father would never believe that the jockey had been so rude. Stopwatch? Second-rate? It almost was enough to laugh. And my father? He was one of the best trainers in thoroughbred racing. But with the race only a few days away, it was a little late to find another jockey for a sensitive horse.

The next morning, I was jumping off one of my father's fillies as Felipe walked onto the track with Centerfold. Obviously my father had given him instructions for he was letting the colt's head swing.
I joined my father at the rail as they warmed up.
"I don't like him," I found myself saying.
My father looked down at me. "Who Felipe?"
"Yeah," I mumbled, regretting opening my mouth. My father was giving me a look like I had sprouted wings.
"Why's that?" he asked, turning back to the track.
"Just-I just don't."
"Not a very good reason to dislike someone," my father pointed out.
Of course it wasn't, I thought bitterly. My father rarely ever listened to my opinions. I turned my attention back to the track where Felipe was already cantering the colt.
"Warms up a little quick," I muttered, not expecting my father to hear. If he did, he gave no indication.
When the horse and rider passed the gap, Felipe put Centerfold into a gallop. I stood up a little straighter. My father liked to warm his horses up slowly. A lap around the track was a minimum warm-up. I glanced over at my father who was frowning and making a note on his clipboard.
They hit the turn and Felipe checked the colt. He tossed his head and tried to gain back the reins, but Felipe held him through the turn. When they reached the backstretch, I pulled out my stopwatch. Felipe gave a little when they hit the half-mile pole. I waited as they flew through the first eighth, then started timing when they hit the second. The big colt flew around the final turn, fighting for the reins. But Felipe still held him back.
"Let him out," I muttered.
I hit the button when they hit the half-mile and glanced down. Thirty-seven. Not bad, but not as good as his past breezes. I glanced at my father. The expression on his face told me he was thinking the same thing.
On the track, Felipe was hauling on the reins to get the big colt to stop. His black head was thrown up, his mouth wide open.
I felt a strong urge of hate for the jockey as he strong-armed the colt into submission. And instead of taking the colt around another lap at a walk to start cooling him down, he turned him around, going against traffic, to walk him back to the gap.
Centerfold was not happy. He was tossing his head with irritation. When Felipe hopped off, the colt swung his hindquarters towards the jockey and bumped into him.
Felipe retaliated. He drew a crop out of his half chap and struck the colt's hip. Centerfold snorted and wheeled around to take a go at the jockey with his teeth. I grabbed his bit before he could, more to save him another smack. Then I cracked down on Felipe.
"Are you out of your god damned mind?!" I demanded. That drew my father's attention, who had been talking to another trainer.
"The horse attacked me," Felipe defended himself.
"Bulls-"
"What's going on?" my father demanded.
"The colt tried to attack me," Felipe replied calmly.
"Like he-"
"Easy Kayla," my father scolded. Then he turned to Felipe. "I'm sorry."
And what the hell was he apologizing for? I knew my father hated whipping, especially punishing a horse for no reason. I was quickly learning that Centerfold was a very sensitive and smart horse, and that he didn't like Felipe.
"I'll race him," Felipe said carelessly. "If you let me ride him my way."
My father hesitated. I knew that it was too late to look into getting another jockey. He could always scratch him. But another of my father's flaws was hating to be wrong. He wouldn't admit that having Felipe ride was a mistake until he'd seen it with his own eyes.
"What's you way?" he asked slowly.
"A way that will make him win."
I gave my father credit for hesitating a little. So far he'd been wrong about Centerfold too. If Felipe could make him win...
"Okay," my father relented. "Ride him your way. He's galloping tomorrow so-"
"I don't do galloping work," Felipe said shortly. "I'll see you in the saddling paddock."

"I don't believe him," I mumbled around my burger. "'I don't to galloping work'."
"Maybe he thinks he's so successful he doesn't need to be working horses," Bo said.
"He's arrogant and stupid is what he is," I responded,"He thinks he can make Centerfold win riding 'his way'."
"You can't make a horse win if it doesn't want to," Bo said.
"Centerfold wants to win," I said. "That's why he was upset coming off the track after his race. He doesn't like losing."
"He was fine after the mock race."
"Because he won."
"So why'd he try to attack Felipe after his workout?"
"Felipe wouldn't let him run. He barely let him out. And he fought to get him to stop."
"Just a few tugs would stop him for me."
"Same. Or I just let him go and he stops. No fight, no reason to want to win."
"So what are you going to do with Felipe?"
"Let him go and hope he falls on his face."