Home for Christmas by Jessica Burkhart Page A

theirs for a practice every once in a while. Or offer them a chance to try out for the YENT sooner than our chances.”
    I shook my head. “That would never happen. Mr. Conner keeps every grade separate. He’d never let them jump ahead in line, either, no matter how good they are.”
    I finished tying my laces, my mind racing from what Callie had said. Lauren’s background was better than mine. She had a champion pedigree before I had even completed my first double oxer. I swallowed. Next semester wouldn’t bring that kind of change to Canterwood . . . would it?
    Callie stood, helmet in hand. “Ready?”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “Let’s go gather everybody and grabsome breakfast. No more thinking or talking about Lauren until we see her again. Deal?”
    Callie smiled. “Deal.”
    We left my room, and the boys’ door was already open. The smell of bacon, eggs, and sausage lingered in the air.
    Callie and I walked into the kitchen and found Paige at the stove, flitting between pots and pans like a hummingbird.
    â€œMorning!” Paige said, smiling. She was dressed in a pair of my boots and breeches. “Sash, I told your mom that I’d love to cook breakfast for everyone. I wanted to do something since she’s letting us stay here.”
    I grinned. “My parents will never let you leave,” I said. “Not once they’ve tasted Chef Parker’s cooking.”
    With a flick of her wrist and a satisfied smile, Paige flipped a perf omelet onto a plate in front of me.

10
DO YOU SEE WHAT I SEE?
    Lauren
    â€œWELCOME, EVERYONE!”
    My friends and I stood in a warm indoor arena at Safe Haven for Thoroughbreds. I eyed the fifteen or so other volunteers with us—most of them looking like they were in college or older. We had gathered around the volunteer director as she stood on a mounting block to address us.
    â€œI’m Lyssa, a name you might recognize from e-mails from our group,” the petite brunette said. “I can’t thank you all enough for being here this morning and for the time you have offered to dedicate to some very deserving horses.”
    Taylor and I exchanged excited smiles. We’d all gotten here early this morning and signed in—wanting to make a good impression on our first day. The rest of my friends surrounded us and directed their attention to Lyssa.
    â€œAs many of you know, life for ex-racehorses can be extremely challenging,” Lyssa said. “For some, their life begins and ends with the track. I want to make it clear that I am not here to advocate against the sport of horse racing—only to inform you about the reality of what happens to some, not all, ex-racehorses.”
    From somewhere in the stable, a whinny from one horse set off a chorus of neighs.
    Lyssa smiled. “I’m an ex-jockey. I started racing in high school and rode for many years. My career ended about five years ago due to an injury. I knew nothing else but racing. What was I supposed to do with my life? That’s kind of what it’s like for some of our horses.”
    â€œIt’s so cool that she used to be a jockey,” Ana whispered to me.
    I nodded. “She got hurt and she’s still involved with horses. That’s awesome.”
    â€œSome racehorses suffer injuries during their careers and are put down by their owners,” Lyssa said. “Not all earn enough money from races to make valuable studs or broodmares. Those that aren’t put down are sometimes sent to the auction block to be sold and retrained for various uses. Others are sold for practically pennies to slaughterhouses.”
    My stomach turned. I couldn’t even think about or really try to process Lyssa’s last sentence. It wasn’t something that I didn’t already know, but hearing it was different. Maybe the fact that we were surrounded by horses made it harder to think about too.
    â€œSafe Haven,