Love Story(30)
Author: Jennifer Echols

“Actually,” Hunter’s voice rose, “Erin got the idea from me to come to school here, not the other way around.”

I had kept a curious distance from this conversation, watching Hunter squirm from a few feet away. But I should have known Hunter would turn it around so he sounded blameless. I plopped down in the seat between him and Manohar, exclaiming, “That’s ridiculous. My grandmother went to school here. She wanted me to go here, and when I did some research and discovered they had a great creative-writing program, I agreed. I planned on this all along. It was only when she insisted on controlling my major and my career and my life that things fell apart.”

“That’s not what happened,” Hunter said again. “When I first met you, you swore you were going back to California.”

“Back to California?” Summer broke in. “Erin, you never told me you moved to Kentucky from California.”

Hunter talked right over her. “You only got interested in New York when I told you how cool it was, and I gave you a magnet with the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building and the other landmarks on it. My grandma gave it to me before I left Long Island, and I gave it to you, and you’re going to sit there and say I stole your life from you?”

I was glad I wore sunglasses and a hat, because I could feel my face burning. Could Hunter really be the source of my treasured New York magnet? The months surrounding my mom’s death were a blur to me now. I really didn’t remember where the magnet had come from. I was embarrassed that I couldn’t say for sure, and even more ashamed that I’d never even considered he might have a grandmother, too.

“What have you done?” Summer murmured to Manohar.

“Hey, kids,” Manohar said, “I was just curious about the timing. I didn’t mean to—”

Stony faced, Hunter told me, “You plagiarized my life. You’re like a seventh-grader. You take notes from the internet, forget where the information came from, and copy it straight into your school paper. You plagiarized my life without even knowing it.”

A bell went off in my head. After a few seconds of staring at Hunter’s hardened face and thinking I was going crazy, I realized the race had started. All four of us jumped up and leaned on the rail.

“Erin, which horse did you tell them would come in first?” Summer asked.

“Number nine,” I said, hoping Hunter couldn’t hear over the noise of the crowd how my voice was shaking with emotion. I cleared my throat. “In the pink-and-white silks.”

“He’s way back in the pack,” Manohar said.

“Wait for it,” I muttered. “I’ve watched that jockey for years. On this horse, he’ll come through.”

“Which one did you say would come in second?” Summer asked.

“Ten, in the yellow,” I told her.

“I guess that’s okay,” she said. “He’s second now. Do the boys win anything if you’re right only about that one?”

Hunter leaned toward me. “Did you tell them to box the horses?”

Hating how my pulse raced when his shirtsleeve brushed my sweater, I nodded.

“So they’ll win some,” Hunter told Summer. “Not nearly as much as if she hits the trifecta.”

“Which one did you say would come in third?” Summer asked.

“Number seven,” I said, “in blue.”

“What are you doing to me, woman?” Manohar exclaimed. “That horse is dead last in a field of fourteen!”

“Wait for it,” I said again. “It’s a big track and a long race.” I tuned them out, tuned the crowd out, focused on lucky number seven. I loved to watch horses run, extending those long muscles and battling past each other in a rush of adrenaline and mud. I would have loved to be a horse—though not a racehorse, bred and trained and prodded and controlled. I would have wanted to run wild on some plain, running because it felt good and I could.

“Erin.” Summer pushed Manohar out of the way and stood between us at the rail. She squeezed my hand. “Erin, here come your horses. Oh my God! What if you were right?”

“Come on, number nine!” Manohar hollered. This was out of character for him. He stood taller on the bottom rung of the rail and pumped his fist in the air. “Number nine! Number ten!”

The pack spaced way out in the home stretch, so there was a good ten seconds at the end when number nine led, number ten ran second, and number seven ran third, and Summer bounced beside me and squeezed my hand harder and harder, and Manohar yelled louder. I expected the number four horse I’d almost put in this trifecta to come from behind, but he didn’t. The crowd noise pitched higher and higher, to a climax as the horses zoomed past us. The crowd noise died off but Summer was still squealing. Manohar was shouting, “Erin Blackwell, I love you and I am sorry for every negative comment I ever made about your lascivious stories.” Way below us at the fence around the field, the other four boys cheered drunkenly.

Hunter chuckled beside me. “Erin,” he said, “you just won Manohar’s fraternity brothers nine thousand dollars.”

AS I’D PREDICTED, AFTER THE RACES the fraternity boys were too drunk to drive. They celebrated their victory with another beer apiece while the losing bettors milled out of the stands. They downed more shots of bourbon back in the limo. Hunter slipped effortlessly into the driver’s seat. The boisterous boys piled into the back. With Manohar and Summer inseparable, that left me in the front beside Hunter.

“Where are you going?” I asked as he passed the entrance for the Cross Island Parkway.

“The bay,” he said. “A little seafood joint I’ve missed.” He glanced over at me. “My treat.”

He must have guessed what I was thinking: dinner out was not in my budget. But I’d be damned if I’d accept it from him, after that business about plagiarizing his life. “No thanks,” I said. “I don’t need your charity, or my grandmother’s, either.”

Shouts of laughter came through the window from the backseat. “The guys owe you dinner out of their nine thousand dollars,” Hunter said.

“Maybe, but they’re too drunk to realize it.”

“Well, you’re not sitting in the limo while we go in and eat.” His voice grew tight. “Somebody will buy your dinner and you will eat it, or I will tell Gabe I am the stable boy.”

I huffed out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve just solved this problem with Manohar. I’ve paid my dues. You can’t hold the stable boy over my head and make me do anything you want.”

He pulled the limo to a stop at a light. “Yes, I can.”

We eyed each other for a few heartbeats. I glared angrily at him. I was mad at him for manipulating me, and madder at myself for letting him see I was angry. He half-smiled back at me, eyebrows raised in question. Then he glanced at his Rolex, a gesture strategically planned to look casual. I knew it was staged and the message was clear: I have your grandmother’s credit card, and you don’t.

Then he cocked his head to one side. The smile fell away, and he lowered his voice to an offended growl. “It’s only dinner.” Horns honked behind us, but he held my gaze for a few more seconds before pulling the limo forward. Then he asked, “How much weight have you lost since you’ve been here? The freshman fifteen refers to gaining fifteen pounds, not losing it.”