Horse Blues (7 page)

“That’s nice, Veronica,” Stevie replied. Veronica ignored her.

“I’d offer to study with you—”

“That’s nice, Veronica,” Stevie said, surprised that it was almost true.

“—but since I have my own private tutor, it just wouldn’t be helpful to me to hear all of your errors.”

Stevie bit her lip hard. “That’s nice, Veronica,” she said through clenched teeth. Her surefire plan wasn’t as easy to stick to as she had hoped. It was almost causing her physical pain not to retort to Veronica’s rude comments. Veronica followed her into the tack room.

“You’re probably dying to hear how my lesson with Johannes was. Okay, I won’t keep you in suspense: It was amazing! He thinks I have real talent,” Veronica bragged.

“How much did you pay him to say that?” Stevie muttered.

“What?”

“I said, that’s nice, Veronica,” Stevie replied.

“Johannes thinks that Danny and I are headed for the Olympics,” Veronica gushed.

“Yeah, when pigs fly,” Stevie muttered. Danny,
Veronica’s expensive show horse, might actually have had a shot at the Olympics, but with a different rider—a rider far superior to Veronica.

“What was that?” Veronica looked at Stevie curiously.

Stevie thought about sticking her tongue out at Veronica or pulling her hair. Then she remembered Simon Atherton. Even the idea of sitting next to him in a dark movie theater made her stomach turn. Stevie cleared her throat. “I said, that’s nice Veronica. Very, very nice. Very, very, very, very, very, very nice. Got it? It’s nice, okay?”

“Okay, okay, jeez—you don’t have to yell,” Veronica said.

Stevie grabbed her hard hat and stuck it on her head, hurrying so she could escape to the trail.

“Do you really have time to ride?” Veronica asked. “Shouldn’t you be home studying for the test?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Stevie shot back. She cursed herself for letting Veronica get a rise out of her.

“Me? No, I’ve got plenty of time to ride. My tutor is going to have me ready in no time. I’ll bet you’re dying to know who’s tutoring me, aren’t you, Stevie?” Veronica prompted.

“No, I’m not,” Stevie snapped. Just because she had resolved to be nice to Veronica didn’t mean that she had to be extra polite, did it?

“Fine. But when I get an A on the retest, you’ll be sorry!” Veronica chanted in a singsong.

Stevie forced herself to take a deep breath and count to ten. “That’s nice, Veronica,” she repeated mechanically. As Veronica chattered away, Stevie did her best to block out the noise. So far, Stevie realized, her plan to annoy Veronica was utterly failing. Veronica hadn’t even noticed that she was repeating the same sentence!

“What did you say?” Veronica asked sharply.

Stevie snapped back to attention. “I said that it was nice.”

“That what was nice?” Veronica demanded.

“Whatever you said,” Stevie said, smiling. This was more like it.

“But I don’t understand. I just said that it’s too bad Belle could never be the jumper that Danny is. Otherwise you could take lessons with Johannes Wendt, too.”

Stevie beamed. “That’s nice, Veronica.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Veronica demanded. “ ‘That’s nice’?”

“Yup.”

“But why should you think it’s nice? You sound like a broken record.”

“That’s nice, Veronica.”

“A horrible, scratched, annoying broken record—”

“That’s nice, Veronica.”

“—that ought to be thrown in the trash!” Veronica shrieked.

Stevie didn’t respond. Instead she hunted through the tack room clutter to find her crop. She was so distracted by not being mean to Veronica that she almost didn’t notice what a mess the tack room was. Saddles were hung up every which way, reins and parts of bridles lay on the floor, and there was a pile of bandages that needed rolling.

“What day is today, Veronica?” Stevie asked suddenly.

“It’s Monday. Why? Do you have a date? Ha, ha.”

“Monday? Oh, great. Red O’Malley leads a beginner Horse Wise unmounted session in here on Monday afternoons,” Stevie said almost to herself. Red O’Malley was Max’s head stable hand. A wonderful rider himself, Red preferred exercising horses, teaching, and barn work to competing in shows. He was truly Max’s right-hand man.

“So what if there’s a meeting here?” Veronica demanded.

“So look at the place!” Stevie exclaimed. “It’s a complete mess. If Max sees this, he’ll want to forget about the trial period and end Horse Wise today!”

Veronica’s expression changed from smugness to shock. “End Horse Wise? What are you talking about?”

Stevie looked at Veronica. It seemed impossible, but Veronica actually seemed serious. “You mean you don’t know?”

“Know what?” Veronica demanded. “Stevie, tell me!”

“At the meeting yesterday, which you missed, Max put Horse Wise on trial. We have to prove to him that we’re dedicated to keeping the club going. Otherwise, he might put an end to the club. We need more members, and more money, too. That’s why we’re having the big bake sale.” At Veronica’s inquiring look, Stevie explained about Mrs. Atwood’s idea for the bake sale. She could hardly believe that she was having a normal conversation with Veronica. But despite Veronica’s lack of interest in most of Horse Wise, she seemed genuinely concerned about Max’s threat to put an end to the club. “Anyway, the sale is on Saturday in two
weeks, at the shopping center,” Stevie concluded. “Lisa is going to embroider a tablecloth and napkins to raffle off at the end of the sale.”

“A bake sale?” Veronica sneered. All at once she sounded like her true, snobby self again. “Embroidery? Isn’t that kind of small-town?”

Stevie was about to turn away, disgusted, but something—Horse Wise, her resolution—made her try again. “We
live
in a small town, in case you’ve forgotten. And it would be great if you could help. We need every last person if we’re going to keep this club alive.”

With that, Stevie picked up the nearest saddle and replaced it neatly on its rack. She could feel Veronica’s eyes on her as she began to clean up the tack room. It was almost as if Veronica wanted to help but didn’t know how. Strangely enough, Stevie didn’t feel as annoyed by her as she usually did.

“Stevie?” Veronica said. “I’ve got to go meet a friend for a ride now, and I don’t know how to bake anything, but I’ll talk to my father. He could donate something to raffle off—something really good, not just some embroidered tablecloth. Hey, I know: a helicopter ride over the city like the one I took on New Year’s Eve.”

Stevie paused in the middle of rolling a bandage. In the space of about ten seconds, Veronica had managed to be rude and thoughtless as well as polite and generous. Stevie hardly knew how to respond. Then she thought of the perfect answer. She grinned and said, “That’s nice, Veronica. Very nice.”

W
HISTLING
, C
AROLE JOINED
the hot-lunch line in the cafeteria. It was always a relief when the morning was over and it was time for lunch period—especially when she spotted Lisa, as she did just then. Lisa had finished loading her tray and was heading toward an empty table. “I’ll save you a seat!” she called when Carole got her attention.

“Great!” Carole called back. Because Lisa was in a grade higher than Carole, the two girls had different groups of friends. But Lisa’s lunch period had recently been switched to the same time as Carole’s, so now they liked to eat together when they could. The Saddle Club was a stronger bond than Willow Creek Junior High, after all.

“Boy, am I glad this day is half over,” Carole said, sitting down next to Lisa.

“Tell me about it. All my teachers are piling on
extra work. It’s like they want to make up for the free time we had over vacation,” Lisa commented. “And my mom had me up early this morning to help her make calls about the bake sale.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to tell you that we’re bringing lemon squares and double-chocolate chippers,” Carole said, giggling. “My dad is planning an all-day bake-a-thon.”

“The next two weeks are going to feel like a bake-a-thon to me,” said Lisa. “My mom is going crazy organizing it.”

“How’s the embroidery going?” Carole asked, picking up half a hamburger. The minute she asked it, Carole wanted to take the question back. She and Lisa had been having a nice, friendly talk. Why did she have to go and bring up the subject of resolutions?

Lisa fiddled with her napkin. “It’s going fine,” she said briefly. “Just fine. How’s not eating junk food going?”

Carole finished chewing her bite and swallowed. Was it her imagination or was Lisa staring at her hamburger? Maybe a hamburger wasn’t the best thing in the world, but what else was she supposed to eat? The other choice for hot lunch was
macaroni and cheese! Was that less “junky” than a hamburger? “I guess it’s going fine,” Carole said tentatively. “Do you think—I mean, should I—Look, am I breaking my resolution by eating a hamburger?”

“Carole!” Lisa protested. “I’m not here to tell you what you can’t eat.”

But despite what Lisa said, Carole was sure that she disapproved of the hamburger. All of a sudden, the hamburger didn’t taste very good. Carole put it down on her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Lisa asked.

“I don’t know. I’m just not that hungry anymore,” Carole lied. Actually she was starved. She had been looking forward to lunch practically since breakfast, but she certainly didn’t intend to eat while Lisa watched.

The two girls shifted uncomfortably in their seats and picked at their food for a few minutes. Around them, the cafeteria resounded with lunchtime din.

“You know, I should—”

“I think I’ll—”

“You first,” said Lisa.

“No, you,” Carole said.

“I was just thinking that I should probably get
back to the classroom early. I want to look over my math assignment,” Lisa said.

“Okay, then I’ll see you this afternoon at Pine Hollow,” Carole said quickly.

Lisa stood up. “Right. See you at Pine Hollow.”

“Say,” Carole called, trying to bring a touch of humor into the situation, “is Simon Atherton in your math class?”

Lisa half smiled as she shook her head. “No, I guess he’s moved even farther ahead of the rest of us.” She hesitated a moment and then added, “You know, it’s funny, but I’ve mentioned him to a few kids and nobody seems to know who I’m talking about.”

Carole nodded thoughtfully. “That is funny. He’s so hard to miss: tall, skinny as a rail, tufts of blond hair sticking out in all directions …”

Lisa laughed. “Glasses as thick as Coke bottles. I can’t believe we haven’t spotted him yet.”

“Say, Lisa, maybe you ought to stay and finish lunch with me. Otherwise, Simon might appear and ask if he can sit here,” Carole pointed out.

Lisa was glad of the excuse to stay. She pulled out her chair and sat down again. She didn’t really have to get to her classroom early; she just didn’t want Carole to think she was checking up on her. Lisa
was beginning to think that maybe Carole did have the hardest resolution. These days it was impossible to tell what was junk food and what was health food, especially in the cafeteria of Willow Creek Junior High.

B
Y THE TIME
Stevie finished cleaning up the tack room, it was early afternoon. Lisa and Carole would be arriving in an hour or so to start making an inventory of Horse Wise equipment. The girls were also planning to make signs for the bake sale for members to post around Willow Creek. More than anything, Stevie was dying to tack up Belle and go for a quick ride. But if she rode now, she’d have to leave Pine Hollow early to go home and study her French vocabulary. Her father would expect her to know at least some of it by dinnertime. So Stevie did the only sensible thing. She got her book from
her backpack, found an out-of-the-way bale of hay, sat down, and started to study. Every so often she looked over her shoulder. If she saw anyone coming she would slam her book shut and hide it. It would never do to have people saying that Stevie Lake was becoming a bookworm. She’d lost enough credibility already by being nice to Veronica!

The bale of hay Stevie had chosen was opposite Patch’s stall. The old pinto stuck his nose out to greet her. “Don’t bother me, boy,” Stevie said, her eyes on the page.

Patch pricked up his ears.

“I know,” Stevie muttered. “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done. Studying on my own initiative. I must be sick or something.”

At the sound of Stevie’s voice, Patch’s neighbor poked his head out, too. Out of the corner of her eye, Stevie saw a pretty chestnut face with a long, broad blaze. Forgetting her
français
for a second, Stevie looked up. “Hey, boy. Wow, you
are
pretty. Mrs. Reg was right.” Stevie studied the gelding’s face. It was hard to believe the horse had been a gangly yearling colt with a head that looked too big for his body. Now he was an attractive, bright chestnut gelding, well on the way to maturity.

“What did I tell you? Pretty, huh?”

Stevie started. “Oh, it’s only you, Mrs. Reg,” she said, relieved, as the older woman came around the corner.

“Only me?” said Mrs. Reg.

“I mean, I’m
glad
it’s you,” Stevie corrected herself. “I don’t want anyone else to catch me studying. They’ll think I’ve become a nerd!”