Cowgirls Don't Cry

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - KATIE

As I dodged through the bustling halls early Monday morning after the rodeo, I couldn't shake the good feeling Saturday's barrel-racing had given me. It had felt so good to be back working with Marlow, competing and travelling on the circuit, and the challenge of being up against much older girls with far more experience.

Although I'd only placed fifth at George County, I was pretty happy with my time, especially considering my competition. Even so, I had training planned every day after school - well, once I'd finished work, of course, because the sea of ripe tobacco waited for no one.

Momma had had to run some errands in town this morning, so she'd dropped Georgie and I off early on the way to Main Street, meaning the halls were slightly less busy as I made my way to my locker. Unfortunately, it also meant the rest of my friends weren't at school yet, as most of them caught the bus in from out of town.

Even Ben, my locker neighbour, wasn't there to offer some rodeo-versus-football banter before class, so I worked my combination lock in silence, having now learnt the code by heart. The tall metal door popped open, and I leaned in to sort out my books for first period.

I had just about managed to forget last week's notes, so there was only a hint of apprehension as I checked the shelves. However, as I pulled my Chemistry book from the top shelf, a single piece of crumpled notebook paper fluttered to the ground, and my heart seemed to drop along with it.

I quickly bent to pick up the offending paper, and scanned the page briefly, my good mood well and truly vanquished.

Hey cowgirl, hope the red dirt's thick enough to hide that face of yours!

Marina's voice, scornful and mocking, seemed to ring in my mind as I read what was clearly written by her and her friends. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, and swallowed back the wall of emotion rising up within, my throat like sandpaper. Why were they targeting me like this? Why did they write these notes, with the full and only intent to hurt me? Why?

I stood in front of my locker, breathing shakily and trying to steady the world. I thought of my dad, and all his sayings and mantras and words of advice, and one phrase in particular came to mind. When life puts you in a tough situation, don't say 'why me', just say 'try me'. I clenched my jaw and scrunched up the handwritten note, shoving it to the back of my locker beside its predecessors. Marina and her notes would not ruin my day, my mood or my school life. I refused to let them take that hold on me.

With a somewhat shaky sense of determination, I retrieved my books for first period, and pushed my locker door shut, sending the notes into darkness and refusing to give them any hold over me.

Re-locking my combination, I turned away and caught sight of two girls from Zamirah and Marina's table, a pair of blonde cheerleaders. Meeting my gaze, they giggled, looking me up and down before smirking smugly. I returned their expression, lifting my chin and flashing the two girls a bright smile. Whatever their reasons were, I refused to let them get under my skin.

***

The day dragged on, and by three o'clock, I was well and truly tired of the social politics and ready to go home. Finally, after what seemed like a million hours later, I was out in another never-ending row of tobacco in the burning afternoon sunlight. My back ached from bending over the stalks, and my hands were rough and blistered from wielding a cutting knife all afternoon.

From four o'clock that afternoon, almost every afternoon, all the Chandler kids plus Georgie and I were called out to the field to work until five-thirty, cutting and harvesting the heavy stalks of ripe tobacco in preparation for housing in a few weeks. We were expected to complete any homework around working hours, and rodeo training in our own time. We'd get more time off once housing started, but for now, we were stuck working the nine-to-five with school and work.