The next morning Dylan, London, Taylor and I were all standing in the cross ties, cleaning bridles, grooming horses, and sweeping up. Dylan snapped her head up and asked “Do you want to swim at my house?” That evening, we all hopped into Taylor’s blue Subaru and drove to Dylan’s house, her backyard overlooking the beach, and the green palm trees swaying in the wind. We quickly ran into the hot tub, the cold cement stinging our feet. Two hours later, we finally got out of the pool, fingers pruny and feeling waterlogged. London picked up her phone and started looking for other things to do that evening, after all it was only 6:00. Taylor peeked over her shoulder and instantly exclaimed “We should go to the fair at the race track!” and hour later when we pulled up to the Del Mar race track parking lot I found out that it wasn’t actually a fair, but instead a drive thru with dozens of sugary snacks like ice cream, deep fried Oreos, cotton candy, funnel cakes, cold brew, popcorn, Kettle Corn, Dole whip and more. As we made our rounds at the fair we piled up more and more snacks in the backseat of Taylor’s car. By the time we were done eating, the once suede black seats were now grey with powder sugar doused on top. The four of us sat in the car, Taylor in the driver's seat, me behind her, London in the passenger seat, and Dylan behind London. Although it was my first time in the seating arrangement, it would definitely not be the last.

 The next month, it turned out to be Mark Conley’s birthday party. Since Mark was London’s father, and it was also his big 60th birthday party, all the girls were coming to the party. We all met in the small courtyard out front, and after half an hour of eating and hanging around, the four of us decided to sneak off and ride the ponies bareback. We pulled their brown leather halters on and tied one end of rope to the right side of the halter, and one end to the left side making makeshift reins. Ditching the saddles completely, we yanked our helmets on and threw ourselves over the ponies backs. I was on Cosmo, a small white pony, Taylor sat on S’mores, another white pony, London rode Henry, a spotted pony with wiggly lips, and Dylan rode Sandra, a big chestnut “hony”, a mix between a pony and a horse. We all cantered around the arena, laughing and screaming, when suddenly the assistant trainer Maribeth drove up behind us in the clattering golf cart. She no doubt had come to squeeze us back into the party before Mark had noticed that we were gone. However, I didn’t have much time to think about what would happen if we were caught, because right then, as soon as Cosmo heard the clattering of the golf cart, he took off, and I, being caught off guard, immediately flung myself down into the rocky dirt floor. My elbow was scratched up from the rough dirt, and the sharp sting of blood started to trickle down my forearm. I sat up and saw a small white blur running around the ring. “Well there goes the pony...” I thought to myself. Maribeth shuffled around and around, chasing the lightning fast white blur. The four of us girls laughed and laughed, until eventually Maribeth caught the pony. We all walked the horses around the back path of the barns to avoid being in sight. After all, we were supposed to be attending the party. As I was unbuckling the halter off of Cosmo I noticed a red spot stained into his coat from my dripping elbow. Even after rubbing off a piece of the blood with my jacket, it refused to come out, remaining stubbornly embedded in the white hairs. I ran to Taylor, loudly whispering in her ear about what had happened. She immediately rushed over to the supply cabinet and yanked out a purple bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Quickly, we returned to the stall and rubbed the spot of blood with rags. After a quarter bottle of hydrogen peroxide, the dark red was now reduced to a baby pink, the best we were going to get for the night. Arms tired and pony upset, we collapsed into the dark cushioned couch in the lounge room. I lifted my head up to look out of the clear door and found a small crowd of people walking towards the parking lot and leaving in their cars. Setting my head back down on the couch, I realized that those were the people from the party, and that Mark’s 60th birthday party was over. 

London and I sat in the laundry room at the barn. Hammers, drills, and more tools adorned the walls, and in the middle of all of this, were two girls and two pairs of very dirty boots. “First off, leather hates water. Take the leather spray” she held up a spray bottle with orange liquid inside “and clean off all of the dirt off of the boots” London explained. We were both in our show clothes, a white shirt and tan breeches. We both took turns with the spray, but waiting for the other person to be done with the bottle took too long. When it was time to hand over the bottle again, I squeezed the bottle and quickly sprayed her white clothes with the orange liquid. “AHH!” she screamed, and her white shirt was now drenched in the leather cleaner, probably never to come out ever again. London turned to me and snatched the spray out of my hands, quickly making my shirt look identical to hers. Suddenly, the boot cleaning supplies looked a little too much like food in a food fight. We both grabbed the boot creams and dye and quickly splattered them on each other, products flying everywhere making abstract splatters on our clothes. I fell to the floor laughing, and a moment later London was right beside me, blonde and brown hair on the floor. However, our laughing fit came to a screeching halt when the room door squeaked open, revealing Mark looking down at the mess we had made. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, turned around, and quickly shut the door behind him. 

After countless weeks of training, it was the morning of the show in Del Mar. It was also the last show of  the circuit, and the end of our time in San Diego. The end of my time with the girls. Fog surrounded us, dampening the mood even further. I had all of my clothes packed up in the duffel bags and luggage cases I had originally brought all those months ago. I dragged my feet through the wet concrete of the parking lot and into the familiar dirt of the barn, looking up to see Quattro staring at me from his stall. I ran over to him, dumping the luggage onto the dark brown dirt. He tossed his blue rubber ball towards me, and I swung it back at him. We had done this hundreds of times before, and yet he never got bored of it. Another familiar face appeared in the stall next door, Gregory. Gregory’s white striped face poked out of his window. Taking a couple steps toward him, he licked my hands looking for treats. Today, I was entered in the 3 foot class for the first time. Although I trusted Quattro, he was most likely the youngest horse in the class. However, on the other hand, I was also in the same class as London for the first time. Whoever came out on top was irrelevant, and we were closer to competing together rather than competing against each other. I put my navy blue helmet on, wrapping my hair up with it. Quattro is led up to the mounting block, where I swing my leg swiftly over his back and sit down. I pat the right side of his neck four times out of habit. Muscle memory. Neat braids line his chestnut neck, arcing from his withers to right in between the two caramel frosting dollops that were his ears.  He starts walking to the show ring, his movement engraved in his head and already knowing where he was going, as if this was not his first time at a show. We went around and around in the warmup ring, barely avoiding traffic as we approached a jump. Around and around until I didn’t know where London and her horse were anymore, and I could barely see straight. Until the mist in the air slowly turned into fat water droplets, raining down on us sideways. London and I walked the horses out of the warmup ring and up to the show ring. The wind swiftly joined the rain, slanting the droplets even further. London stepped into the ring first and jumped eight perfect jumps. I  was next, and Quattro’s caramel ears pricked up at the sight of the jumps. “Ready Quattro?” I asked, and he pawed the ground in response, as if to say Ready. 

Taylor, London, Dylan and I stood in the parking lot. The horses had been trailered back home an hour earlier, and now the only thing left to do was hop in the car and drive back to Los Angeles. Tears dripped down my face, disguised among the other rain droplets. I will never ever forget this moment. It was a scene straight out of a movie, rain and wind tearing away, and the four of us standing in the parking lot, just like the day it all began. 

…

That summer, whether it was getting fair food or swimming in Dylan’s pool, riding through fields bareback or getting scolded together, I saved every moment of it and tucked it into a corner of my heart, a photo album of all our memories spent with each other. That summer, that two months, was when I realised. I wanted to spend every moment of my life like this one, surrounded by friends. We had endless adventures together, feeding the horses cotton candy and visiting the barn at 9:00 at night, Taylor driving, London in the passenger seat, Dylan behind London and me behind Taylor. That was summer 12. The summer of the Three Musketeers.