Taking Chances: Kayla's Chance

“It’s a good solution,” Bo said. “And both of you benefit.”
“Yeah if Centerfold runs for me,” I agreed, taking a swig from my soda.
“He will,” Bo assured. “You’ve seen the video and seen the times.”
“Could be flukes-”
“Hey don’t think like that,” he said, his tone going from teasing to serious. “You two are a good pair and you can kick ass on the track. Pardon my French.”
I sighed and rested my chin in my hands on the rail of the track. The last race of the day had ended hours ago, but I liked it best when the track was quiet. And Bo was good company; we’d become fast friends.
“And if he runs for you or not you’ve still got your half of Silver.”
“I’ve never really wanted to be a jockey,” I said quietly. “I want to be a trainer. I’ve seen the injuries…”
“Exercise riding has as much risk,” Bo pointed out.
“Minus a dozen other horses,” I pointed out.
“You know, I wanted to be a jockey when I was younger.”
I looked over at him. “Why?”
He shrugged and smiled faintly. “Family tradition I guess. My mom was a jockey. She used to take me down to the track when I was a kid and showed me all the horses. Until I was 13 I thought they were all hers.”
He paused. “And?” I prompted.
“And when I was 16 I got a job at Santa Anita exercising horses. I was still short enough to be a jockey back then. Then I hit 17, shot up 2 inches, and one of my mom’s horses went down. She and the horse were in the middle of the pack and got trampled by the rest of the field. They put the horse down on the track and a week later they took my mom off life support.”
I moved towards him automatically and ducked under one arm that was braced on the rail. When I first wrapped my arms around his waist, he stiffened. But after a moment, he sighed and his body began to relax.
“I won’t pretend to know what you feel,” I said quietly. “I’ve been fortunate enough that I haven’t lost any family members in my lifetime. But I’m sorry anyway.”
“Yeah isn’t everyone? But you’re the first outsiders I’ve told that whole story to.”
“Well don’t I feel special?” I tried to joke. I waited a beat then asked, “Why did you tell me that story? It just reinforces my ideas that being a jockey is dangerous.”
“Maybe it is. But my mom was only thirty when she died. There was so much she still wanted to do. This is your chance Kay. Don’t let it pass you by.”
“What a speech.” I wasn’t really focusing on his point anymore; I was more curious about a very upset and mourning 17-year-old boy. “What happened to you?”
He let out a bitter laugh. “They wanted to put me in foster care. My mom had fought all my life to keep me out of the system. I wasn’t going to let them then just because she was gone.”
“So what did you do?”
“I ran. I had my own car, my own bank account with a little money. My mom had never been to Kentucky but dreamed of riding in the Derby so I figured Churchill Downs was as good a place as any to start over. One stable needed a groom that could stay on nigh duty. So I got a job and a place to sleep. I was too tall to be a jockey but I was still able to exercise some of the horses. Basically, I survived.”
“What about your father?”
The arm that had wrapped itself around my shoulder went rigid. “My father’s dead to me,” Bo said through his teeth.
I hugged his waist until most of the tenseness left him.
“Life’s too short to waste Kay,” Bo said softly. “Take it by the balls and go for it. Pardon my French.”

The next morning my father had me take Centerfold out. He didn’t want the colt to have a bad memory of the track which he undoubtedly did.
“Warm him up and let him out,” my father said. “When we take him back home he’s going to be conditioning. Let him get this last kick out.”
I nodded and handed over my whip, knowing Centerfold wouldn’t appreciate having it near him; he’d already shied at it when he saw it in my hand.
Bo and I hit the track at the same time and began warming up. He was riding a big bay gelding named Bear that ambled along like a goofy mutt, tongue lolling and all.
“That’s the first horse Dad every put me on at the track,” I commented as we trotted towards the first turn. Bear was currently entertaining himself by attempting to put his tongue through the bit.
“If he didn’t run with blinders he’d be really unfocused,” Bo returned.
“You call that focused?” I joked, watching as Bear abandoned the bit to try and stick his tongue up his nose.
“Maybe he needs blinders,” Bo suggested, nodding to Centerfold.
“He runs fine without them,” I responded a little sharper than I would have liked. “Sorry,” I said immediately.
“I’ve had a girl bite my head off before,” Bo said. “Unlike Mik, I’m not good friends with a lot of my exes.”
I laughed. Centerfold tossed his head once, not used to the black mask that was nearly invisible on his black head.
We finished warming up then moved to the inside where we both let our horses gallop. Centerfold flicked his ears and pulled slightly ahead of Bear.
Bear was a graded stakes racer for all his goofiness and didn’t like being outdone. He pulled even with Centerfold.
“Whoa,” I said through the first turn and started gathering him up. When he felt the resistance he snorted and looked back at me, his eyes annoyed.
“Just hold boy,” I murmured as we came out of the turn. We fell back to Bear’s flank and I made sure I had an opening on the rail. We hit the top of the stretch and gained Bear’s saddle. By the half mile pole we were neck and neck again.
I grabbed mane and looked over. “So long Bo!” I called and gave Centerfold an inch of rein. With three bounds we pulled half a length ahead and kept going, the colt fighting for more. I let out another inch and the poles started blurring. It dawned on me then that I had never urged the colt on much. I’d let go and hung on for the ride. Now I let out another inch and started urging him on, rocking my body forward and encouraging him to take the rein. The colt kicked into a whole new gear as we hit the last turn. I let out another finger full of rein and kept urging him on. He switched leads and leaned into the turn. We came out of it and I let out all but a little rein. In no time we flashed past the mile pole.
I let the colt have his head and he dropped back to a canter. I eased him back to a trot, then a walk around the outside rail.
When I reached the gap, my father was grinning from ear-to-ear. “Damn if that horse didn’t just break his own record.”

Even at seven in the morning, I knew the day was going to be hot. After the morning workouts, my father had called me to Centerfold’s stall to discuss the colt’s training routine for the next week.
Jaime had the colt already saddled. Instead of his racing tack, he was wearing an all-purpose saddle we would use for some of the lead horses and his legs were wrapped in black polos.
“Long gallops,” my father said before I could ask. “Around the farm, through the fields and woods. Mix it up, keep him interested.”
If my father’s ideas didn’t have a track record of working, I would have questioned his sanity. But my father’s ideas almost always tended to work. I remember once he’d had a gelding of Luke’s that couldn’t break well out of the gate. He’d tried everything and couldn’t’ get any muscle on the horse’s hindquarters. He’d brought in a 3-Day-Even trainer to work with the horse in Dressage and Stadium Jumping. Within a month the horse was breaking faster than any horse in the barn and winning most of his starts. When he retired, the eventing trainer bought him. He was now competing in Open Preliminary eventing.
“You sure about this?” I asked, plopping my helmet on my head.
“Yep. I don’t want to see you back here for at least an hour.”
“You’re just going to send me out galloping alone?” I asked.
“Who says you’re going to be alone?” came a voice from they other end of the barn. Shod hooves rang in the isle as Bo appeared leading Enforcer, one of Luke’s breeding stallions. He’d won The Breeder’s Cup Juvenile as a two-year-old then that winter had coliced and nearly died. Complications from the colic had kept him out of the Triple Crown and most of his three-year-old season. As a four-year-old he’d come back to win five graded stakes including The Breeder’s Cup Mile and lost the Dubai World Cup by a nose.
The stallion didn’t look any worse for the wear. At seven, he had the energy of a two-year-old and liked to be put in a paddock next to the foals after they were weaned and babysit.
“I figured Force would be a good babysitter. And he needs the exercise,” my father said.
I led Centerfold out of the barn and mounted up. Bo followed and we set off through the paddocks.
“I’m not sure if your father is a genius or a moron,” Bo commented.
“Did he tell you about the gelding he had in Dressage and Jumping training?”
“Haven’t heard anything about it.” I told him the story as we warmed the horses up. “Genius I’m thinking now,” he said when I’d finished my story.
While we worked the horses, we talked. About the horses we’d ridden, the barns and trainers, the tracks and cities, the jockeys, the horses we had and hadn’t ridden.
“By Chance’s owners would have had coverings for years with his three-year-olds doing so well.”
“Two colts finish first and second in the Derby, the filly wins The Preakness with her brothers right behind her, then the two colts in an almost dead heat for The Belmont with the filly a head behind,” I agreed.
“Silver’s price shot up with that.”
“Which is why I’ve got to get half ownership of her before one of them goes on to win The Breeder’s Cup or Dubai.”
“Wasn’t your dad having a contract drawn up?”
“Yeah, we sign it next week.”
“What about your jockey’s test?”
“Ten days. Centerfold races in fifteen.”
“Cutting it a little close?”
“Why not? Makes things interesting.”

The next week I was sitting under a tree in Silver’s paddock, reading over the papers that stated that half of the filly belonged to me. It also stated that I was to ride Centerfold in all of his races unless I was injured. A small price to pay.
Silver came over to me and sniff at the paper, playfully lipping it. I gently took it back. “Not a very good idea,” I told her, scratching under her chin.
“Hey there pretty girl.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Bo walking towards me.
“Hey,” I responded.
“I was actually talking to Silver,” he teased, scratching the filly’s withers.
“Oh thanks,” I said as he sat down next to me.
“You’re okay too,” he assured me. “So are those the papers?” he asked, nodding at them.
I smiled. “Yep.”
He draped an arm over my shoulders. “I’d say such an occasion calls for a celebration. How about I take you out of lunch?”
I looked over at him. “Are you asking me out?”
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I guess I am.”
“Where would we be going?”
“Is that a yes?”
“You could call it that.”