Hoof Beat (8 page)

“I think what you’re doing is very interesting,” Trudy said.

“You do?” Lisa said, surprised. This was the first time anybody had expressed any interest in what she was doing. “Everybody else is just angry with me. Jealous, you know.”

“No, I think it’s interesting,” Trudy said. “Nobody from my neighborhood could do that, you know.”

“Really? You mean nobody there has the writing talent? I’m sure if they tried—maybe even you …”

Trudy shook her head, making her dangly white and purple earrings click and clatter. “That’s not what I mean. I think it’s a city-country thing.”

That didn’t sound right to Lisa and she told Trudy so. “But the greatest newspapers in the world are in big cities! Investigative reporting began in a big city. For me, this is just practice, until I get my shot at a
real
newspaper. How can you say this wouldn’t happen in a city?”

“I guess I’m not saying this right,” Trudy said. “You see, I don’t think what you’re doing could happen in my neighborhood. In the city, everybody lives very close to everybody else. Here, your neighbors are across a driveway and a garage, maybe a hedge or a flower patch or even a big lawn. Where I’m from, your neighbors are across the hall, maybe on the other side of a wall. You sneeze, they say ‘Gesundheit.’ ”

Lisa grinned.

“We don’t all like each other, but we get along by minding our own business most of the time. It’s a way of adding space between people who are really crowded together. I get along with all my friends because if I see something somebody didn’t want me to see, or if somebody tells me something, I
don’t
tell. I guess because there’s really no privacy, you’ve got to pretend by minding your own business. But out here, it seems, you’ve got the real space between you, and that makes
it real different. You can go ahead and write about private things you only learned because you are somebody’s friend. Things that they might not have said if they’d known you were going to write about it. I guess it’s just different.”

“Oh,” Lisa said, disappointed to learn that Trudy apparently wanted to criticize her, too. She’d thought she was going to get genuine admiration from Trudy, but what she’d gotten was just another lecture from somebody else who didn’t understand what real journalism was all about: to report the truth.

“Trudy! Did you get lost?” Stevie walked into the locker area.

“Oh, no,” Trudy said. “I was just talking with Lisa. Sorry.” Quickly, Trudy walked over to the hook where the lead ropes hung, selected one, and followed Stevie out the door toward the paddock. “See you, Lisa,” Trudy said.

Lisa listened to the footsteps receding down the stable’s hallway and sighed. They hadn’t even invited her to join them. It seemed to be her fate to be misunderstood.

A horse was led past the door to the locker area. That reminded Lisa that before her own class started, Max was giving a private lesson to a beginner. He’d told her she could observe the class for her column. She liked the idea; it would be good for her readers to be able to compare the beginners’ group class she’d written about this week with a beginner’s private
lesson. Quickly, she shoved her things back into her cubby, taking only a pad and pen with her. She would distract Max and the rider if she whispered into the recorder during the lesson.

Lisa thought it was a great idea to be getting back to work. It seemed that the longer she sat in the locker area, the greater risk she had of getting another lecture about how to write a column for the newspaper. Besides, the smell of paint was giving her a headache.

“N
OW THE SECRET
to looking cool is being able to coordinate really different things,” Trudy explained to Stevie and Carole, boldly leading the way through the accessories department of My Way, a clothing store at the local mall.

Trudy picked up one oversize scarf after another, examined each quickly, and tossed each back into the bin. “Not right, maybe—ugh! No way …” she said.

Stevie held a blouse Trudy had already chosen. It was hot pink, buttoned down the back, and was sleeveless with a mock turtleneck. Stevie thought it was very stylish as it was. The scarf Trudy held had some of the same hot pink in it—in blotches. There were also blotches of about forty other colors.

“This is really too go-with-everything,” Trudy said, dropping the latest candidate. “See, what I have in
mind is to wear this blouse with my camouflage pants. The scarf I buy will have to bring the two pieces to gether.”

“About the only thing that can bring this blouse together with a pair of camouflage pants is a can of paint,” Stevie said, thinking out loud.

Trudy’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Just you wait and see,” she said. “You’ll love it.”

“You’re not going to make me wear this outfit when you put it together, are you?” Stevie asked.

“I won’t have to make you wear it,” Trudy said. “You’ll beg me to borrow it!”

“For the Mardi Gras costume party?” Carole teased.

Trudy laughed. “You’ll see,” she repeated, then went back to her furious search.

Stevie watched, fascinated. She couldn’t remember when she’d had more fun at the mall or looking for clothes than she and Carole were having that afternoon with Trudy. She and Carole and Lisa had visited the mall many times, but it seemed that they always visited the same stores and looked at the same things—or at least the same kinds of things. Going to the mall with Trudy meant seeing things she’d never seen before. It would never have occurred to her to buy a pair of camouflage pants. She hadn’t even known where they were sold. She did now. She’d also learned where she could buy sandals with straps that wrapped all the way up her legs to above her knees.

She hadn’t bought any of these things, of course, but Trudy had. And Trudy just loved them.

There was a more serious side to Trudy, too, though. As soon as she’d seen the card table at the mall entrance where the library’s raffle tickets were being sold, she’d insisted on buying a whole book of them. She didn’t care about the prizes; she just wanted to be helpful. Carole and Stevie were both happy she wanted to give money to their town library.

Stevie glanced over to where Trudy was dancing around the scarf bin, humming to herself, and grinned. Sometimes it could be boring going shopping with somebody and not buying anything for herself, but being with Trudy was such an experience that Stevie didn’t mind at all. Being with Trudy meant shopping for things she’d never buy—but it was fun! It was obvious that Carole felt exactly the same way she did. She, too, was watching Trudy’s quest with rapt fascination.

“I think I like having a sister,” Stevie confided to Carole. “Trudy’s a lot more fun than all three of my brothers put together.”

“That’s not much of a contest,” Carole remarked. “I don’t think I remember you ever saying a thing about your brothers being any fun at all.”

“They aren’t.”

Trudy pulled a scarf out of the box. It was actually olive green and hot pink.

“Yeah!” she announced to everybody within earshot. “Now I’ve just got to try it on!” Stevie was carrying the bag with the camouflage pants in it. Trudy grabbed it from her hand, took the pink blouse as well, and ran off to find a dressing room.

“You know, she reminds me of Samson,” Stevie remarked, watching Trudy wind through the shop in search of a dressing room.

“Sort of like a kid, you mean?” Carole asked.

“Yeah, I guess,” Stevie said. “You know—if you let Samson do what he wants, he’s just so funny! Trudy’s the same way. She’s always up to something.”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. Samson’s just crazy … Hey, wait a minute!” Carole said, regarding Stevie carefully. “What did you mean when you said the thing about letting Samson do what he wants?”

Stevie shrugged. “Every time he does something, it’s like another game. He really loves them. I started to teach him things like peekaboo and tag, but it was like he already knew them. He’s a riot—just like Trudy.” Stevie looked at Carole and saw the very odd look on her face. “Well, not exactly like Trudy,” she said. “But you know, fun loving.”

“You mean, you
taught
him those games?” Carole asked, suddenly beginning to understand what might have been going on.

“I hardly had to teach him,” Stevie said. “He’s a natural. I was going to put the halter on him, see, and we just got to playing …”

“But Stevie, you couldn’t do that!” Carole exclaimed.

“Sure I could. It was
easy
!” Stevie said.

“Of course it was easy,” Carole said, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “You wanted to play, he wanted to play. The trouble is that you went in there with a halter and instead of working with him, you let him play. Now every time somebody goes in with a halter, all he wants to do is to play.”

“And he’s so cute!” Stevie said.

Carole realized that Stevie still didn’t understand what had happened.

“Sure he’s cute, but he’s got a job to do. When you’re teaching a horse something, you have to stick to the work or else he’ll get the idea that playing is okay. Horses forget what they learn very quickly unless you keep reminding them, just like little kids.”

“You mean I shouldn’t have played with him?”

“Not with a halter in your hand—especially not with one that he hadn’t already put on. It’s like you rewarded him for misbehaving. It’s not that he’s ruined for life or anything, but it means we have to begin at the beginning again and make him unlearn all the games just like he unlearned his manners.”

“Aw, come on, Carole. Are you trying to tell me that I can’t play games with Samson?” Stevie put her hands on her hips and glared at Carole. “He’s not just your horse, you know.”

Carole returned the glare. “Games should be a reward
for work
well
done, not a reward for work
un
done!”

“You’re making a federal case out of this,” Stevie said.

Carole could tell Stevie was getting angry. She didn’t care.
She
was angry with Stevie for being so thoughtless about working with the foal. “I’m not making a federal case,” Carole retorted. “I’m just telling you the facts. You didn’t want to work with Samson at all. You just wanted to play with him.”

“Yeah, and you’re just jealous of all the fun I had.
That’s
what’s going on!”

“Jealous? Who’s jealous?” Trudy asked, walking up to where Carole and Stevie were standing facing one another angrily. “Are you talking about Lisa? Because although I don’t know her really well, I think she’s okay and something’s going to make her see that what she’s doing isn’t cool.”

“We’re not talking about Lisa,” Stevie said, still looking straight at Carole. “We’re talking about Carole. See, she’s telling me that what I did, playing games with Samson, was bad to do, and I think she’s just jealous because I had so much fun! What do
you
think?”

Both Carole and Stevie looked at Trudy and for the first time, noticed that she was wearing her new outfit.

“
I
think this scarf was exactly what I needed,” Trudy said, pirouetting so they could admire the effect.

Both were surprised. Trudy was wearing the camouflage pants and the hot-pink blouse. She also had the scarf on, but was wearing it as a belt. The outfit was as flamboyant as anything either had ever seen, but on Trudy, it worked. “Now … if I can get some hair color to highlight the hot pink. Then … ooh, I think I remember seeing some earrings made of empty shell casings. I think they’re in the shop we passed when we first came into the mall. What do you think for shoes?”

“Flats,” Stevie suggested.

Trudy nodded. “Either that or combat boots.”

Carole couldn’t control it anymore. She started laughing. So did Stevie. Trudy laughed, too. When they’d all recovered, Trudy returned to the dressing room and changed back into her own clothes. Then Carole led the way to the check-out counter so Trudy could pay for her new outfit.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Stevie said as they waited in line, aware of the stares of other shoppers who noticed Trudy—what she was wearing and what she was buying to wear. “That’s the weirdest outfit I ever saw, but on you, it’s almost cute. How did you learn to dress like that?”

“My mother taught me,” Trudy said.

“I can’t believe that,” said Stevie. “I’ve met your mother, remember? I saw her at my mother’s office last year. Your mother is the most normal dresser I ever saw. I think she was wearing a pinstripe suit when I saw her. And maybe one of those little bow-tie things.”

Trudy plunked her clothes on the counter and fished her wallet out of the mini-duffel bag that served as her pocketbook. “That’s what I mean. See, my mother would
like
me to dress just like Lisa—everything matched and tailored. But one day, while she was picking out some plaid skirts and pastel blouses, I went into the Surplus Shop and found this really neat coverall outfit. I spent my money on that instead of the skirt and blouse she was choosing for me. One taste of punk and I knew I’d found my style. If my mother hadn’t let me buy my own clothes, I might never have known.”

The salesclerk began adding up Trudy’s purchases. Stevie turned to Carole. “I think there’s a lesson there,” she said, grinning.