Fear of Falling by Laurie Halse Anderson Read Free Book Online Page A

sure we should try those yet,” I say.
    Dad stands with his hands on his hips, feet apart. “Are you afraid of the height?”
    â€œNo!” I swallow. “But Comet needs to build up to that height,” I try.
    Dad’s eyes bore into mine. “Trust me, son. That horse wants to go over these jumps. Look at her—she’s champing at the bit! These jumps aren’t that high, to a horse. But of course you can’t do it if you tell yourself you can’t. Come on, give it your best shot.”
    What am I supposed to do—say no?
    I take a deep breath, press my heels to Comet’s sides, and point her toward the first jump. My nightmare flashes across my mind, and I fight to send it packing. Can’t think about that now.
    Comet speeds into a canter, but her strides are short and jerky. My heart sinks—she can tell I’m nervous.
    When we reach the first jump, her stride is totally off, and she swerves around the jump instead of leaping over.
    â€œWhoa!” Dad hollers out.
    I pull Comet up and glance at Dad. He’s got the look of someone who’s good at something and impatient with those who aren’t.
    â€œSorry, Dad. Comet just wouldn’t go over,” I try to explain, cringing at the whine in my voice. Dad hates excuses.
    He shakes his head. “Comet’s not the problem, David. Never blame your horse.” He sighs. “This is where Quinn would simply lower the bar, and your mother would probably tell you to quit and go home.” He looks me straight in the eye. “But I know you’re not a quitter.”
    I try not to flinch under that commanding blue gaze. I want to say, “Come on, Dad. Let’s go play mini golf or watch a football game—anything but jump!”
    But I can’t. Not with that look on his face. He wants to believe in me—to believe that his son is a champion in the making. I can’t let him down.
    â€œRight,” I say loudly, trying to force some confidence into my voice. I adjust my helmet, wipe my gloves on my pants, and turn Comet back around for another try.
    We halt for a moment while I stare at the jump. Dad once told me that Olympic athletes use mental imagery to help them nail a performance. A gymnast might visualize a little movie in his head of himself running, leaping, hitting the vault, twisting high in the air, then sticking the landing. That’s what they’re doing when you see them on television just standing there, staring at the vault before they start to run.
    So I picture myself and Comet cantering in perfect rhythm, flying over the fences together, landing smoothly like pro jumpers…Dad beaming proudly as I ride up to the winner’s circle. That’s my boy! I imagine him saying.
    OK. I’m ready.
    With a new burst of determination, I approach the first jump again, focusing on my vision of success. Go, go, go!
    Against my will, my pathetic jumps from yesterday suddenly fill my mind, and my confidence seeps away with each hoofbeat as we draw closer to the jump. I feel as if I’m on a runaway train, heading for disaster—and I don’t know how to stop.
    I can’t do this! I’m going to make a fool of myself in front of Dad!
    Comet senses my fear—I can feel the change in her gait. Right before the jump, she ignores my feeble kick, plants her hindquarters, skids to a halt, and sends me flying through the air like a catapult.
    And then I fall, fall, fall…just the way I do in my nightmare.
    Only this time I know it’s for real.
    I hit the ground— oof! —and lie there, wondering why I can’t seem to breathe.

Chapter Seven
    W hen I wake up, I’m not sure where I am.
    In bed, having one of those dreams?
    My shoulder hurts, and I groan.
    A high-pitched whinny splits the air. Trickster? The fog in my head slowly clears. No—it’s Comet.
    The jump…we fell…Comet must be hurt!
    I struggle to sit up, but strong