Horse Games (5 page)

When she was sure he was all taken care of, she hefted his saddle and bridle and took them back to the tack room.

“That you, Carole?” Mrs. Reg asked from her office next door. Mrs. Reg was Max’s mother and the business manager of the stable. She was also a sort of unofficial mother to anyone she thought might need mothering from time to time.

“Yes, it’s me,” Carole said.

“Max said you’d disappeared from the practice. Everything okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” Carole told her. “I just had to go visit a friend. She’s sick. And she lives in one of the houses on the other side of the fields.”

“Hmmm,” Mrs. Reg responded.

Carole lifted the saddle and put it on its rack. She straightened out the pad and made sure that the leathers were hanging straight. Then she untangled the bridle and hung it from its hook. As she was doing that, she saw that there was some mud on the bridle. It must have happened in polocrosse practice. She took it back down. It would only take her a second to clean it. She grabbed the saddle soap and a sponge and sat down to do the quick job.

Mrs. Reg came in and sat down beside her. “It’s a good thing you’re cleaning that now,” she said. “If you wait until the next time you ride—”

“I know, I know,” Carole said with a good-natured laugh. “If you clean your tack every day you’ll never have a problem.” She repeated what she had been told hundreds of times by Max and Mrs. Reg. She knew it was a good lesson.

“Well, some things have to be taken care of right away. Some things just take time, you know.” Mrs. Reg picked up a sponge and began cleaning the other end of the bridle for Carole. She talked as she cleaned.

“Reminds me of a horse we had here once,” Mrs. Reg began. She was famous for her stories. They always had to do with horses and riders from long ago, but they usually also had to do with a problem or a situation that was happening right then.

“This horse belonged to the stable,” Mrs. Reg continued.
“Max, my husband, just loved that guy. I sometimes thought it was because they were both stubborn. He was an Appaloosa, bred for the rigors of the plains. Anyway, he was one of the best trail horses we ever had. He’d take riders out for hours at a time and never get fussy or anything. At the end of a long trail ride, when all the other horses would start hurrying to get back to the barn, this old fellow would just walk at his own leisurely pace. Max sometimes even hurried him up, just to see if he would act like the other horses, but it never worked. Then Max would put him in his stall, groom him and everything, and put a bucket of water in there for him. All the other horses would guzzle their water. Not this fellow.”

Mrs. Reg finished the strap she was working on. She put down her sponge and leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

“Max got worried about how he wouldn’t drink after a long ride. Then one day, he asked the vet about it. The vet said, ‘When you get there in the morning, is the water gone?’ Max told him it was. ‘Then what are you worried about?’ ”

Mrs. Reg put her hands on her knees then and stood up. The story was over—at least as much of it as Mrs. Reg was going to tell. One of the most challenging things about listening to Mrs. Reg’s stories was figuring out what they were really about. As Mrs. Reg returned to her office,
Carole thought about the Appaloosa who wouldn’t drink when his bucket was filled.

“Oh!” Carole said, suddenly getting it.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink, and as long as he isn’t getting dehydrated, leave him alone
. That had been easy. Next, she wanted to know how Mrs. Reg had known to give her that message right then.

S
TEVIE BOUNDED OUT
of bed on Saturday morning. This was The Day! It was the day her Pony Club’s polocrosse team would have a chance to show Phil Marston’s team a thing or two—or meet total humiliation and defeat.

She went to the other window of her room. It was a bright and sunny spring day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Stevie’s heart sank. She’d been dreaming all night that it would be pouring rain. Deep down, she had the worst feeling that the only way to avoid total humiliation would be for the match to be rained out.

Quickly, she swept the thought from her mind. That was a loser’s way of thinking and would do her no good at all.

She washed and dressed and then went to the phone. One of the things she had to be sure of was that her best
friends—and the Pony Club’s best riders—would be there.

Unfortunately, she found that she woke up both Lisa and Carole, to say nothing of their parents. More than a little annoyed, they assured Stevie they did plan to be there and they would be on time. Stevie looked at her clock. It was seven-fifteen. She admitted to herself that maybe that was just a little bit early for a phone call on Saturday morning.

She took her polocrosse rule book, went down to the kitchen, and poured herself a bowl of cereal. She combed through the booklet to be sure she understood everything. The last thing she and her team needed was to commit fouls just because they didn’t read this.

“S
HE CALLED ME
at seven-fifteen. What time did she call you?” Lisa asked Carole.

“Seven-ten. It’s a good thing my father really likes her, too, because otherwise he would have hung up on her.”

“And then she called again at eight-twenty to tell me that the only way you can try to get a ball out of an opponent’s racquet is to hit the stick with an upward stroke,” Lisa said.

“Did she tell you about left-handed players? That the team captain has to notify the opposing captain and the umpires in the event any of the players will be playing left-handed? I got that call at eight-thirty.”

“But we don’t have any left-handed players, do we?”

“Not anymore,” Carole said. “Lorraine Olsen is left-handed, but she couldn’t take Stevie’s bullying and dropped out.”

“I can’t say that I blame her,” Lisa said.

“It’s tempting, isn’t it?” Carole asked.

“I just keep reminding myself that Stevie’s got this bright idea and it has to do with Phil and we should try to be understanding. After all, she is our best friend. And once the game is over, everything will change back. Won’t it?”

“I hope so,” Carole said. “I certainly hope so. And so does my dad.”

“Horse Wise will now come to order in Max’s office!” the P. A. barked, ending their conversation. They joined their teammates and the rest of the club in Max’s office.

“You all know we’re going to have a match today,” Max began. “I want to tell you it’s not a particularly important match. We’re new at polocrosse and so is Cross County. Winning is nice, but playing our best is more important. We have all been working hard this week, and I know that we will do well, which doesn’t always mean succeeding on the scoreboard. I want to wish all of the players good luck and to assure you that the rest of us will be on the sidelines cheering like crazy.”

Carole thought Max’s talk was just right. After all, they were there to have fun as much as to do well. She
hoped that his words would have an effect on Stevie and help her to put the day into perspective.

“Can I say something, Max?” Stevie asked.

A look of doubt crossed Max’s face, but he nodded his assent. Stevie stood up.

“I know I’ve been mean and awful this week.” She paused because everybody was laughing. She probably didn’t realize how true her words were. “I guess I’ve yelled at a few of you here.”

Everybody’s hand went up. Stevie seemed genuinely surprised, but had the grace to laugh. Carole thought the direction Stevie was taking was positively refreshing. It was hard to believe it was the same girl who’d called her twice before breakfast with “tips” for success.

“Well, it’s true,” she confessed. “Anyway, what happened, between the couple of practices we had, is that we got better. So, although it wasn’t much fun, it worked and I’m beginning to get the feeling that we can really show those kids from Cross County who can play polocrosse and who can’t. Let’s go for it!”

A few of the Pony Clubbers started clapping. Stevie had turned the meeting into a pep rally and, Carole thought, maybe that wasn’t a bad idea. After all, unpleasant as Stevie had been, they had learned some things. Maybe they did have a chance. Maybe.

The Cross County Pony Club was arriving at Pine Hollow with all its members and their horse vans by the
time the Horse Wise members filed out of Max’s office. Max greeted Mr. Baker, their instructor, and all the parent volunteers shook hands with one another and introduced themselves.

The Pony Clubbers stood apart and regarded one another warily. Stevie stood at the front of the pack of Horse Wise, Phil at the front of Cross County.

“Hi, Stevie,” Phil said.

“Hello,” Stevie returned.

Carole noticed that it was almost as if the two of them had never met before. The awkward moment passed quickly, though, because it was time for the teams to tack up and saddle up.

There were six players from Horse Wise. The agreement was that, just before the game began, they would draw numbers to determine squads and positions. Max showed them the cards. They read 1A, 2A, and 3A and 1B, 2B, and 3B. That would determine the A squad and the B squad and which position, Attack, Center, or Defense, would be played.

Max held out the hat with the cards for Horse Wise. Mr. Baker did the same for Cross County’s team of six.

Carole unfolded her slip of paper. It read 3A. She showed it to her friends as they opened theirs. Somehow, it worked. The Saddle Club was on the same squad. Stevie was the Attack, Lisa the Center, and Carole the Defense. They would be playing at the same time. According to what Max said, the A squads would play
the first and third chukkas, the B squads would play second and fourth.

“We’ll have a chance to draw first blood!”

So much for Stevie’s change of heart.

Stevie, Lisa, and Carole lined up across from Phil and two of his teammates, waiting for the umpire, Max, to toss in the ball, beginning the first six-minute chukka.

“Begin play!” Max announced. He threw the ball right between the rows of riders.

Phil picked it up first. He was the Attack for his team. He tossed it to his Center. Stevie was closest to the Center. She rode after him, reaching across the Center’s horse to try to hit the Center’s stick from below.

“Foul!”

Play stopped.

“Stevie, you can’t reach across another rider’s horse to try to get the ball out of an opponent’s racquet,” Max said.

“Oh, yeah,” Stevie said, recalling the rule she’d read that very morning.

“Penalty free throw!” he announced.

The Cross County Center took the ball, tossed it to Phil across the penalty line, and he neatly tossed it right through the goalposts.

“Score!” Max called out.

“Huh?” Stevie said. It had happened so fast. First she’d made a mistake, then Phil’s team had scored. Her own team hadn’t even tried to defend against the goal attempt.

“Carole!” Stevie shrieked in anger. “What were you doing? You should have been there, and stopped it!”

“One nothing. Let’s begin play!”

This time, Lisa managed to swat her racquet at the ball as it whizzed toward her. She did succeed in getting it down onto the ground, just in time for Cross County’s Defense player to pick it up and pass it to their Center.

Carole saw trouble coming and headed for the goal area as fast as possible. Since Attack probably wasn’t going to be a very important part of this game for her team, she suspected most of the work would be done by her as Defense—and not necessarily well.

She galloped Starlight down to the goal she was to defend, placed herself within the eleven-yard semicircle that surrounded the goal, and prepared for Phil’s attack.

Preparation didn’t do her much good. Carole admired the way Phil handled his horse with one hand and his racquet with the other, easily dribbling the ball down the field, dodging the ineffectual efforts of her teammates to stop his progress. Just before he reached the penalty line, he picked up the ball, bounced it over the line, picked it up again, and tossed it right between the goalposts.

“Score!” Max called out.

Carole was stunned at the speed with which the goal was made. Phil was really good.

“Did you see that?” she asked Stevie before she had a chance to explode. “He’s really good—and smooth! I
can’t wait to have a chance to try to do what he was doing. I like that technique!”

Stevie glared at her. “If we don’t ever get the ball away from them, none of us will ever have a chance to try their techniques, much less hope to score!”

“Begin play!” Max called out to his riders. The Saddle Club returned to the middle of the field to try again.

This time, Phil got the ball on the toss-in. Carole attacked him immediately, head-on, swiped her stick upward, and the ball went careening out of his racquet. Carole was really pleased with herself. That was
good
technique.

“Way to go!” Lisa called over to her. With that, the ball landed on the ground near Lisa. She leaned down to pick it up, but not before the other team’s Defense swooped across the field, scooped up the ball, and tossed it to Phil, who caught it in his racquet.