Riding on Air Read Free Page A

fingers as I dumped it on Jinx’s folded rug. Then I carefully climbed in through the rails and went to my horse, making a slow circle around him, peering at his glossy black legs for any bumps or cuts or swellings. Once I was sure he’d survived his little adventure unscathed, I wrapped my arms around his neck, wrists cocked to keep my hands safe, so I could bury my nose in his mane. He bumped my side gently with his muzzle and went back to munching.
    I inhaled, strands of his mane tickling my face, sucking in his unique Jinx smell, which was distinctive from the surrounding scents of horse manure and pee, lucerne and canvas and leather. All good smells—familiar and comforting. I didn’t know exactly how to feel, finding Jinx in his yard. I knew I should be grateful and of course I was, not just to find him safe, but so well looked after. I’d been dreading the thought of getting all his gear off and brushing him down properly with the way my body was aching. But now I felt sort of deflated. Cheated, even. Usually nobody could catch Jinx but me.
    I was fully aware of how ridiculous I was being, but that didn’t change anything.
    Leaning into Jinx, absorbing his warmth and his smell and his solid sense of himself through the bare skin of my arms, I felt like I was reconnecting with him. Reclaiming him.
    William did strange things to my insides. Part of me was thrilled that he’d bothered to unsaddle Jinx and take care of him. The crazy fantasy that he could possibly be interested in me was trying to creep into my brain, doing my head in. But I’d get over that. I just had to look at my twisted hands to get a reality check. Guys like William went for girls like Sally. Pretty girls with straight fingers. Girls a guy could hold hands with.
    But Jinx didn’t care about my hands. If anything, he probably loved the fact that sometimes I didn’t have much in my hands but a fiery weakness. I doubt he minded when I couldn’t hold him, judging by the way he made the most of those opportunities to get away with going faster. Not that I’d admit it, even to my friends, now that I was getting a bit old for that kind of thing, but it was Jinx I loved most in the world. And I wanted the world for him. I wanted the world to know how wonderful he was, like I did.
    So far, the world seemed to see him as a moderately talented thoroughbred who was too hot and too ordinary (aka not an expensive, flavour-of-the-moment warmblood breed) to make a top dressage horse. But I knew better. I knew what he was capable of, what he’d sometimes produced during riding lessons or at home. We were getting there, getting better all the time. I just needed more time.
    But time is definitely not on my side. Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, or JRA as it’s usually known, is a degenerative condition. Eventually my joints will get so bad I won’t be able to ride. There is a chance I might eventually go into remission (JRA is something you can literally grow out of) but I have the polyarticular kind of JRA and the chances aren’t good, even though the doctors never want to admit that. Still, I’m lucky I don’t get all the other crap that can come with it, like random fevers and crushing fatigue.
    My parents get that I’m chasing a dream, but we’re talking real parents here, not fantasy land. There are conditions attached to my riding and we’re all pretty clear on the consequences. During flares (like I was having right now) I’m supposed to skip it, leave Jinx getting fat in the paddock and stick to swimming, which is non-weight bearing and helps keep me active and flexible, blah blah blah. High impact or strenuous sports are a no-no when my joints are actively inflamed and riding ticks both those boxes. If Dad knew I was riding at camp during a flare I’d be in deep trouble and Mum would start nagging again about me spending more time with her in the city.
    Mum thinks