Page 81 of Lost Trust

Marina

By the time I walk through the gates to the academy this morning, Ryder is already settled in with Evelyn.

After breakfast, I dropped him off with her, and she promised me she’d take him over to her church, where Ruby goes to day care. She wants to introduce him to the staff, let him meet some of the other kids, and give him a chance to get comfortable there before I leave him for a full day.

My stomach has been in knots since I woke up.

It’s my first day as an instructor.

I find Shelby inside the arena with the other instructors, and we stand together while Bryce addresses the crowd from the center of the dirt.

The academy is buzzing around us. Students’ voices carry from the bleachers. Somewhere nearby, a gate clangs shut, followed by a horse’s impatient snort.

This place is alive.

And now I’m part of it.

Bryce gives a welcome speech, talking about the facilities, the schedule, expectations, and safety. These kids will stay for two weeks before heading out, and then another group will come in.

Two weeks.

Two weeks to make a difference in their lives and their future sports careers.

I look around at the other instructors. Some of them have been doing this for years, recruited from other rodeo schools. Some are former coaches. My eyes fall on Royce. Others are current rodeo stars, sharing their knowledge.

Me?

I’ve spent years learning how to ride and race. Not necessarily how to teach someone else to do it.

When Bryce moves on to the next part of the orientation, I lean toward Shelby.

“I hope I’m going to be a good teacher.”

She looks at me like I just said something ridiculous. “You will be.”

I give her a doubtful look. “How do you know?”

“Because you know what it’s like to be the one sitting in the saddle.” She nudges my shoulder. “Don’t worry so much. Just lean into it.”

I breathe out slowly.

“Most of these kids already have experience,” she continues. “They don’t need someone to teach them how to ride from scratch. They just need a little extra help getting to the next level.”

I nod, listening.

“Watch them ride,” she says. “Really watch them. Figure out what they’re struggling with. Maybe it’s their hands. Their seat. Their timing. Maybe they’re getting in their horse’s way without realizing it.” She gestures toward the arena. “Then break it down for them the way you wanted your own coaches to break it down for you.”

I glance at her. “My coaches were brutal.”

“Exactly.” She smiles. “They were demanding. They expected a lot from us. We should too.”

I look back toward the students gathering along the rail.

Shelby’s voice softens. “But we’re gentle about it. Gentle, but expectant.”

I consider that.

Gentle, but expectant. Not tough and critical like a coach.