Chariot was having the time of her life. The jumping arena lay idle, bathed in floodlights that turned the surrounding darkness into an impenetrable black wall. It was late in the evening, and most teams had finished their training for the day. Though Wednesdays were practice-free for the Games Team, Cellie desperately needed a reprieve with her best friend. After bombing a Behavioral Psychology quiz and being assigned a dull essay topic on B.F. Skinner and his radical behaviorism theories for History of Psychology, Cellie craved an escape. The awkward tension brewing between the Games and Hunt Teams wasn't helping either—Miss Nelson's stern warning still echoed in her mind after the other team complained about some so-called 'instigation,' which Cellie swore she had no part in.
Cellie considered herself peaceable and kind-hearted; if anyone had caused trouble, it was Hannah, Barbara, and Amanda—with their childish antics and misguided revenge schemes. Slowing Chariot to a trot, she felt the mare's neck respond to the subtle cues of the French-link snaffle bit, a rare accessory for Chariot who usually went bitless thanks to Cellie's training in neck rein pressure for gaming. However, over jumps, the pony's enthusiasm made bit control necessary.
Glancing around at the course she'd set up—jumps lowered to just 70 centimeters to ease her pony's effort—Cellie sought a brief escape from her daily stresses. Chariot's flaring nostrils and flicking ears betrayed her excitement as they approached the varied obstacles.
With a gentle squeeze of her legs, Cellie urged Chariot into a canter, guiding her toward a line of verticals. The mare's ears pricked forward eagerly as she accelerated towards the first jump. Clearing it effortlessly, they continued: three strides, another jump; five strides, then a small oxer. Peals of laughter escaped Cellie as she balanced herself like a jockey in the stirrups, bringing Chariot down to a trot and finally to a walk with soft pressure on the bit. The mare jigged impatiently beneath her, ready for more action.
"Excuse me!"
Cellie's heart sank at the familiar voice piercing through her exhilaration. She spotted Miss Carmichael—the Jump Team coach—approaching from beyond the fence. Great; caught red-handed where they weren't supposed to be.
Halting Chariot in mid-arena, she felt the mare's restless sidesteps matching her own anxious pulse as they prepared to face whatever reprimand awaited.
"Uh, hi," Cellie greeted with a nervous flinch, her eyes darting to the neutral expression and the red eyes gleaming behind frameless glasses. The woman before her had dark blue hair, woven into a long braid that hung over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I just saw no one was here, and I really wanted to jump. The only other arena with jumps is the Hunter's, and—" she couldn't even finish the thought of using that one.
"Oh, that's perfectly alright," Miss Carmichael responded, a warm smile softening her features. She stopped beside Chariot, gently stroking the mare's slightly curved face. "She's a beautiful jumper. Did you used to compete with her?"
"No," Cellie replied hastily. "I mean, I did some jumping but nothing serious. Chariot did pony jumper derbies before I got her, but—well, we haven't jumped together."
Miss Carmichael nodded, letting Chariot nuzzle into her hand for a scratch. "Well, she certainly has a lot of talent and speed. She could be quite competitive." Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes and lowered her glasses slightly. "You're Cellie Garcia, right? From the Mounted Games team?"
Cellie felt a blush creep up her cheeks as she nodded. "Yeah—I mean, yes." Diana's advice about showing respect echoed in her mind.
"Cool sport," Miss Carmichael noted with approval. "I wish it had been around when I was younger—I would have loved to be involved. Jumping gives such an adrenaline rush, but games seem to take it to another level."
Cellie grinned in agreement. A compliment to her sport felt personal. "It definitely is! It's so much fun and it's fantastic being part of a team."
After a moment of silently appreciating Chariot's contentment under her touch, Miss Carmichael asked, "What's your pony's name?"
"This is Chariot! Shiny Chariot," Cellie said proudly as she relaxed back in the saddle and scratched Chariot's withers. "I named her after my idol, Chariot du Nord—and her horse Shiny Rod."
Miss Carmichael sharply inhaled and glanced away momentarily before locking eyes with Cellie again. Her reaction seemed oddly shaken to Cellie, who brushed off the confusion.
"I see," Miss Carmichael finally said.
"Did you know her?" Cellie asked curiously. Miss Carmichael seemed young—perhaps early thirties—the same age as Chariot du Nord would have been if she hadn't vanished.
Miss Carmichael hesitated for a moment, slowing her hand on Chariot's neck before quietly admitting, "I… did, yes."
Cellie's dark eyes sparkled with excitement as she squirmed in the saddle. Sensing her sudden change, Chariot sidestepped briefly and snorted through her nostrils. "You knew her? Really? Can you tell me everything about her? Did you go to school with her? What was she like? Did you meet Shiny Rod?" The questions tumbled out of Cellie all at once. She was fully aware of her over-enthusiasm but couldn't contain herself; meeting someone who knew her idol personally was too exhilarating.
"She was—" Miss Carmichael began but then paused, lowering her hand from Chariot's neck and taking a large step back. "You know, we should probably save that for another time. It's getting late, and all the other horses have been fed already. I bet Chariot is hungry, and you shouldn't be riding much longer with curfew approaching."
Cellie's face fell. "Oh." She slid off Chariot's back and started her usual routine of loosening the noseband and throatlatch before removing the bridle and undoing the girth. "You're probably right. Anyway, it was nice meeting you! Thanks for letting me... uh, use your arena." What she really wanted to say was, Thank you for not killing me for using it without permission.
Miss Carmichael didn't respond verbally—she simply offered a polite nod before striding away quickly, slipping through the four-panel fence and vanishing into the shadows.
Strange. Maybe she hadn't liked Chariot that much after all? But who couldn't like her? She had always been so amazing and such an inspiration for young riders like Cellie. With a shrug, she turned to her pony and managed a small smile, giving a gentle scratch on the cheek. "Let's go eat, Chariot," she said softly.
But she'd completely forgotten that Chariot loved her post-ride scratches. Instead of relaxing, the pony threw its head against Cellie's side, sending her sprawling backwards into the sand with a startled grunt.