Every Prince Needs a White Horse

Chapter 1: Prince in Shining Armor

She's talking so quickly and loudly that I can see the spittle flying from her pink lips. If she keeps this up I think she's going to talk my ear straight off.

"And then he rides in," Maya says, "on a white horse! Can you believe it? Like, really. Horses are so eighteen hundreds but they're so romantic!"

I roll my eyes. "He sounds like a fictional prince."

"Well, yeah, that's the point," she replies. "It's just a story I'm writing."

"Sounds good," I say, but personally I think the whole "white horse" thing is super overrated. I mean, really. It's got to be horse racism or something. How come princes can only ride the white ones?

Maya smiles, showing off her coincidentally very white teeth. "You wanna read it?"

"Sure, sometime," I say. "What's it about again?"

"That's what I've been explaining to you for the past twenty minutes! You never listen," she complains.

I shrug. "Sorry."

"No you aren't," she says. "But that's okay." Bored, she changes the subject as quickly as possible. "How long has it been since you went to see India?"

India Ink is my dark bay Thoroughbred mare. I got her when I was nine and she's been mine for seven years now. I used to spend every day at the barn but now, well, there are just other things to do. Guys have actually stated to look at me, and what guy likes a girl who practically rolls in horse poop every afternoon? Besides, the mall is usually calling my name.

"I don't know," I say. "Last Tuesday?"

Maya sighs. "Carley, you know how long that is? Twelve days. You haven't seen your horse in almost two weeks."

"She's fine," I say. "They've been using her in the trail ride program anyway. If I don't go see her she'll still get exercise."

"That's not the point," Maya replies. "You used to love spending time with India."

"And I used to be twelve," I say. "But not anymore."

She bites her lip. "Let's go see her today. Come on, Carley, it'll be fun. She misses you. I know she does.

"No, she doesn't," I say. "There are plenty of other people to look after her."

"Fine," Maya mutters. "Why don't you look into selling her, then? You obviously aren't too keen on spending time with her."

"No!" I say instantly. I would never sell India. I don't like to go see her all the time like I used to but I still love her and she's a piece of my childhood. I can't just sell her. "I mean, okay, we can go see her."

"Okay, great," she says, beaming. "Then mall after?"

"Sure," I say, looking around at the black walls of Maya's room. Black is an odd color for a room but for Maya it's fitting. She's a black sort of girl, although she's not goth or emo or whatever. She just likes black. She's probably the perkiest person I know but she just likes the color black. It's kind of surprising but that's just Maya Rooth. Her bed and desk are made of a sort of white wood, the same color as her more plastic ceiling fan and bookshelf, and it looks refreshing against the black walls.

Maya is the first to stand up, pulling her tight yellow tanktop down over her (of course) black jeans. "Come on. You're so slow," she complains.

"I'm coming," I grumble, standing up and pulling up my regular blue jeans. "I'm supposed to meet Ethan somewhere later, so we don't have too long."

"All the more reason to hurry!" she says.

Ethan is my boyfriend, or something like it. To be honest, I don't know anymore. It seems like we're always fighting or something's going on. He's probably the crappiest guy ever but apparently my heart is too stupid to figure that one out. I swear, my brain knows it, but that's how love is: unexpected and so damn crappy.