I don’t want to be here. My skin prickles like a fast-growing cactus, the second my blueberry blue eyes land on the sign for the horse barn: Grove Station Farms, Piedmont, South Carolina. The AC is turned up all the way so I can breathe. However, it’s useless because that horrendous sun is bleaching my skinny jeans and Grove Station Farms t-shirt. I swear, a sunny day never felt more like a curse than a blessing.
It’s been a good six months since I’ve taught here. I’m nervous, but I have to overcome my fear somehow. My silver Jeep’s tires pick up dust, as I turn into the farm’s driveway. Well, it doesn’t look like it’s changed too much. The blue barn is still ugly as ever and on my left. There are currently only a few cars in the enormous parking lot. Then again, the lesson doesn’t start for another hour, at 4:00. Seriously, in the past six months, the farm could have least paved it. I still have to park at the foot of the petting zoo.
I pull in next to a red
