"Amanda was adamant. 'No, I need to anchor for the mug shuffle,' she insisted, pointing at one of the tentative races for the friendly competition. They had a lineup of 20 races out of a potential 25, leaving Cellie clueless about which five would be omitted. She secretly wished the ball and cone race would be excluded, as Charlotte, Susie, and Jasmine always turned it into a disaster. 'Star excels on the straights and I never miss a pole. You should start. Place Charlotte and Jasmine in the middle. Missy's too short for this one and Susie always flubs the poles.'
Cellie nodded in agreement with Amanda's logic. 'Alright,' she conceded. 'You can anchor the socks race too. No offense, but Star's erratic during hand-offs, so this way you won't have to deal with it.'
'Fine by me,' Amanda said, sipping from her whiskey glass. They were perched at the bar rather than a table—just the two of them—making it easier to review their lineup sheet as Cellie scribbled and erased names. Despite the proprietor's wary glance when they arrived, he'd served Amanda her Old Fashioned without hesitation—a drink she believed made her appear more alluring, although Cellie doubted its effectiveness in an empty pub—while Cellie opted for her usual pint of lager.
Amanda interrupted Cellie's thoughts, pointing at Jasmine's assigned position. 'Exclude Jasmine from that one; she can't vault and Cookie's height is a disadvantage for ground pickups. Swap in Missy there instead; Stan's short enough and she won't need to dismount.'
'You're right,' Cellie agreed again, recognizing Amanda's deeper understanding of their teammates' skills. Though Cellie wondered why Nelson hadn't appointed Amanda as Captain—likely due to her quick temper—she accepted Amanda's input gracefully. 'I'll sit out bottles and jousting,' she volunteered. 'I tend to topple multiple targets accidentally and have to reset everything. You skip both flag races.'
Amanda nodded approvingly before fishing out her cherry from her drink and popping it into her mouth whole. 'Sounds good to me, Captain.'
'I'll anchor Windsor,' Cellie continued, finalizing their lineup by writing it down: 'You start, Missy and Susie second and third.''
With no objections from Amanda, Cellie set down her pen and took another sip of her beer before addressing the thought nagging at her mind. In true direct fashion, she asked bluntly, 'Is it true you used to be on the Hunt Team?'"
The American girl exhaled deeply and playfully stuck out her tongue, revealing a perfectly tied cherry stem before tossing it onto her bar napkin. "Damn, here we go with this conversation," Amanda muttered under her breath. She took a long sip, finishing her drink and savoring the ice as it melted in her mouth. "Yeah, I did. And I'm guessing you'll want to know what went down?"
Cellie shrugged casually. "Well, yeah. I'm curious. But if you'd rather not talk about it, that's okay."
"No, it's all good. I'm gonna need more booze for this one." She signaled the bartender, who was idly watching the Arsenal game from behind a pillar. "Two tequila shots."
"You know I don't do shots—" Cellie began to protest.
Amanda fixed her gaze on Cellie's eyes, now a vibrant red against Amanda's sharp green ones. When the bartender popped two limes on the edges of the glasses and handed over the shots, Amanda slid one to Cellie. "I don't do shots alone," she stated firmly. "And if you want me to spill this crap, it's only fair."
Cellie sighed heavily, clenching her teeth as she reluctantly picked up the glass to toast Amanda. Amanda downed her shot with practiced ease and bit into the lime expertly. Cellie followed suit—unfamiliar with the smooth gulp of an American drinker—taking it slowly as it burned its way down her throat, leaving a harsh aftertaste that made her grimace as she slammed the shot glass down. "Ugh." A shudder ran through her as she discarded the lime into the empty glass. "That was horrific."
"I came to Stargate Equestrian for the Hunt Team," Amanda mumbled after ordering another Old Fashioned. Holding the glass tenderly in one hand, she gazed into its dark depths. "I never really enjoyed it much; it was more my mom's passion, but I had top-notch trainers growing up." She shrugged nonchalantly. "That's just how it went—me, Hitchens, Tweedledee, and Tweedledum."
Cellie took a long pull from her beer—still trying to wash away the unpleasant tang of tequila—and kept quiet. She could feel a slight blur creeping into her vision from the potent shot.
"We got along just fine for the most part," Amanda continued thoughtfully. "I mainly hung out with Hannah and Barbara. Hitchens kept to herself and while we didn't always see eye-to-eye, we were cool." She sipped her drink reflectively. "We were gearing up for Internationals with a regional show in Bristol that we cleaned up easily enough—but then we went out to celebrate, and I might've had a bit too much."
Cellie could tell that "a little drunk" actually meant "really smashed." She settled back into her bar stool, avoiding eye contact while twirling her pint glass idly on the polished wooden surface.
"Hannah got pretty wasted too," Amanda added quietly.
Cellie's eyebrows knitted together as she glanced over at the redhead, who was blushing furiously and staring at the glowing light above the liquor bottles lined up across the bar. The pub door swung open, admitting two girls Cellie recognized from the Dressage team, who promptly took seats at a nearby table. Amanda leaned in and lowered her voice.
"Anyway, we..." she trailed off, gazing into her drink and shrugging. "You know."
Cellie's eyes widened. A hot blush crept up her cheeks, prompting her to hide her face behind her beer and take a deep chug. "Oh," she finally managed, lowering her pint and wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. "Got it."
"Yeah." Amanda frowned, her fingers drumming nervously against the bar. "I mean, I thought everything was fine. It wasn't a big deal—or at least I didn't think so—but Hannah started acting really weird, and things got uncomfortable fast. She began avoiding me and became super bitchy—I just don't get it." Amanda licked her lips and picked up a knotted cherry stem, twisting it between her fingers. "So anyway, I heard Stargate Equestrian was forming a Games team. I wanted to have more fun—Hunters was boring—so I sold my horse, bought Star, and tried out. I didn't really want to be on the Hunt Team anyway, and after Hannah... well, there was no reason to stay on a team that hated me and that I didn't enjoy."
"Oh," Cellie repeated uselessly. Words failed her as she wiped her clammy hands on her dirt-stained breeches (they had come straight from the barn) and stared down at her nearly finished beer. She had intended to ask about Diana's situation but felt it would be inappropriate after Amanda's heartfelt admission.
"Could I get two more shots of tequila?" Amanda called out to the bartender.
Under normal circumstances, Cellie would have absolutely refused another shot, but Amanda had just shared something deeply personal. She resigned herself to another throat burn, ensuring she chugged the rest of her beer to cleanse her palate.
"Anyway, uh..." Cellie stared intently at the line-up sheet in an attempt to break the awkward silence. A little bit of spilled beer stained one corner. "I was rethinking this; maybe I should anchor for poles. Chariot's more agile."
Amanda squinted at Cellie, her frown slowly morphing into a characteristic smirk. "No way, Garcia. Star's way faster. There's no chance I'm letting you take that honor."