That’s not going to work, Winsome. We need you in something more polished. And it doesn’t do a thing for your figure. Are you skipping lunch and juicing like I told you to?
I squeeze my hands into fists and try to do what Carly told me helps her when she gets overwhelmed with anxiety. Name five things I can see.
The stall door in front of me.
Rosie’s hay net.
If I look down, my bright pink boots.
Pink is overdone, Winsome. You wore pink last year. We’re going to reach out to one of those designers who follow you online and get something from one of them. In a size down to motivate you.
I know I need to name two more things, but I can’t. My mind is scrambling for coherence and I’m swimming through the memory of my mother tearing apart the gown I’d designedfor the Miss Alabama pageant, and then tearing me down for not being a perfect size 2.
Two more things, come on Winnie, you can do it,I tell myself.
Just then, Rosie’s face pops over the stall door, and she pushes her muzzle against my shoulder. It grounds me because she’s the fourth thing I can see.
I reach out and pat her on the side of her neck. And touch.
She snorts. And hear.
And then she lets out a loud fart and suddenly, Rosie becomes something I can smell, too. It works, though, gross as it is. My mind stops spinning, just a bit, and I start laughing instead.
“Aw Rosie, you just saved me with your fart and you have no idea,” I say, giving her another pat. “Thank you.”
I hear boots clacking against the hard wood floors and I turn to find Candice coming towards me.
“Hey, it’s time for Rosie’s turnout now,” she says. And then she waves her hand in front of her face. “Damn Win, was that you or Rosie?”
“Obviously her! Miss Alabama would never,” I say, grinning. “Can you imagine if I farted like that on stage?”
Candice laughs. “Absolutely. It would have been epic.” She gives me a once over and then asks, “How are you doing?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“You just look a bit pale and shaky, babe.”
I sigh, and turn my attention back to Rosie, trying to hide my face from her. It’s a reflex, from all my pageant training, and from life with my parents. Always smile. Always be happy. Exist to make the lives of those around you easier.
“I read what my parents posted online. You didn’t mention that they think I might be in Montana.”
“I didn’t read the whole thing,” Candice says. “Just snippets from an article. I’m sorry I missed that part.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say. “I would have read it eventually, and none of this is your fault. I just—I thought I had more time.” My voice cracks and pitches higher as I say the words, and Rosie snaps her head up and looks at me, like she knows I’m upset.
I’m not sure what to do, so I just whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“They don’t know you’re here for sure. And they only know my first name. That alone won’t lead them here.”
“How many horse trainers named Candice are there in Montana?” I finally face Candice once more.
“I’ll set up a hundred fake accounts just to lead them astray,” she says to me, though the smile on her face is weak, like she knows it won’t work.
“I don’t know what will happen once they realize I’m here. They’ll probably try to sue me.”
“Do you think that’s something they have the grounds for?” Candice asks.
“Maybe. I’m not sure. I never had a formal contract to work for them or anything. They were happy to let me put brand deals and ads in my own name, as long as they got the money. But my cousin Adam is the executor of my grandparents’ estate and he’s a lawyer. He’ll help me out if I need him to.”
