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As everyone started down the path, Manning and I pulled up the rear while one handler took the lead. Hannah and the other instructor rode alongside the kids.
Manning cleared his throat and asked over his shoulder, “Are you comfortable?”
My chest was mashed against him, my butt awkwardly pushed out to keep just a little distance between us so he wouldn’t think I was trying to get too cozy. Worst of all, I couldn’t see over him since he was so tall, and I didn’t know where to put my face. It didn’t matter. I sighed. “Yes.”
“Did you fall off a horse as a kid or something?”
“No. I never even got on one.”
“So this is like the Ferris wheel?” he asked. “It’s not really a height thing.”
“No. My friend had a treehouse growing up and I went in there sometimes. I get on the roof at home.”
“The roof?”
“From my room. I can climb out the window.”
“Hmm.” His hum vibrated my body. “So it must be things that move. Not being able to control what could happen. Have you ever been on a plane?”
Those were worst of all. Talk about having no control. You could die a million different ways on a plane and most of it wouldn’t be instant. If it started to fall out of the sky, you’d have to sit there, knowing you were going to die. Just waiting. I shuddered. “I had to as a kid when we took vacations. I didn’t have a choice. I think I cried through my entire first flight and after that, my parents just gave me something.”
“That surprises me,” he said. “I know you’re brave.”
Me, brave? I wasn’t so sure. “Why do you think that?”
“Just little things. Like when we went to that party before the fair, and Tiffany pressured you to go in. You said no when most teenagers would’ve done the opposite.”
“That wasn’t bravery,” I said. “I just don’t like those things—drinking, flirting, acting stupid because they think it’s cute or funny.”
“A lot of people don’t like those things, but they do them anyway. Because people make them think it’s cool. They back down. They’re the cowards.” Manning placed his hand over mine as I held onto his stomach. My throat went dry, my body tingling in places I didn’t know could tingle. “Take the reins a minute,” he said.
“I can’t even see.” That was a lie. I saw Manning, and Manning was all I saw.
“You don’t need to, because I can.” He removed my hand to place a rein in it, then did the same with the other. “There you go. You’re a pro.”
I wasn’t doing a single thing but holding the reins. He could’ve been steering me into the lake, and I’d have no idea. For some reason, it was important to him that I do this on my own.
“Hey, Jake,” Manning called out. “Mike. Stop screwing around. This isn’t a videogame. These are real animals.”
“Sorry, Manning,” a couple boys said.
“You’re good with them. I can tell they look up to you.” My back started to ache from keeping some distance between us. “Do you want kids?”
He took the reins again. “Not really. No. Not right now.”
I had nowhere to put my hands. “I do, one day.”
“You’re still a kid yourself.”
“Just because I’m younger than you doesn’t mean I’m a kid.” I wrapped my arms around him again, this time pulling myself forward until we were snug, hardly any space left between us. “And I’m getting older every day.”
He straightened up, and I rested my cheek against his back, closing my eyes, inhaling the scent of the pine trees around us. We rocked together with the steady bump-and-grind of the horse’s hooves on the dirt path. The fresh morning air kept me cool, even while my body warmed where we touched. My jeans caught on his, but his t-shirt was soft under my bare arms. Based on what I’d heard from kids at school, this was the way I imagined it felt to be drunk or high, to reach a level of happiness and bliss that could only be achieved with help. Arms, chest, cheek. My entire self pressed against Manning’s solid body—that was my drug of choice.
Was sixteen too young to fall in love? I might’ve thought so before Manning. Could he love me back, a man seven years older? I was sure if he did, he’d never admit it. But I would wait for him. Even I understood that for a while, ours ages mattered. There was no right now for us. Eighteen was a lifetime away. That was two more whole school years, another long summer. It was millions of breaths that would inevitably catch in my throat around him and thousands of pages read across so many books and hundreds of long, sun-soaked California days. But the wait would be, without a doubt, worth it.
