Horse Blues

by Bonnie Bryant

  Mrs. Reg sat back on the sofa. She smiled. “We’ll start with the basic cross-stitch,” she said kindly. “If you find it too much of a bore, you can switch, all right?”

  “All right,” Lisa said, dying to try her hand at the sampler.

  Just then the doorbell rang. A puzzled look crossed Mrs. Reg’s face. “Now who could—oh, I remember. It’s the Atherton boy. He’s here to do a little yard work for me. Such a sweet boy. And so generous with his time. Have you called him yet about the Horse Wise sale?”

  “N-no, but listen, Mrs. Reg, I have to go to the bathroom very badly. Will you excuse me?” Before Mrs. Reg could object, Lisa got up and fled the room. She dashed down the hall into the bathroom and closed the door, panting. What a close escape! In another minute or two, Mrs. Reg would have invited Simon in to join them. Then Lisa would have had to sit there making conversation with him all afternoon instead of working on her embroidery.

  Lisa listened to Mrs. Reg thanking Simon. She waited until she heard the front door close. Then she opened the bathroom door and went back to the living room. As she sat down to rejoin Mrs. Reg, she glanced out the window and saw the back of a blond head vanish around the corner of the house.

  “I told Simon that one of you girls will be calling him about the bake sale,” Mrs. Reg informed Lisa. “So don’t waste too much time, because he’s eager to help. Simon Atherton is just the kind of person we want in this Pony Club, don’t you think?”

  “Sure, Mrs. Reg,” Lisa replied, stifling a grin, “whatever you say.”

  AN HOUR LATER, the last thing Lisa felt like doing was smiling. Even with Mrs. Reg’s help, embroidery was one of the most frustrating tasks she had attempted. She kept messing up and having to start over. The back of the sampler looked like a war zone, it had so many mistakes.

  “I’m horrible at this, Mrs. Reg!” Lisa wailed in exasperation.

  “You’re not horrible,” Mrs. Reg reprimanded her. “You’re just a beginner. You’re getting all worked up because you’re in such a hurry to learn. You’ve got to take your time, Lisa. Do a little every day.”

  “But what about the tablecloth?” Lisa said miserably.

  “Forget the tablecloth! You can’t embroider a whole tablecloth in two weeks! Even I couldn’t do that, and I’ve been embroidering for fifty years!”

  Lisa put the sampler down on the table and rested her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do, Mrs. Reg,” she admitted.

  “I know what you should do now: Go home and eat a good dinner, do your homework, and go to bed early,” Mrs. Reg said sternly. “I’ve got to feed the horses, and you’ve done enough for now.”

  Reluctantly, Lisa allowed herself to be talked into quitting for the day. She thanked Mrs. Reg for her help and headed out.

  “Don’t forget to call Simon about the sale!” Mrs. Reg called as she left.

  “I won’t!” Lisa promised. To herself she added, I’ll probably have to ask him out on a date while I’m at it!

  “DON’T YOU WANT some popcorn while you do your homework?” Colonel Hanson asked.

  “No, thanks, Dad. Dinner was great, and I’m really full,” Carole said truthfully. As they often did, she and her father had cooked dinner together—baked chicken and, at Carole’s suggestion, a big salad. Carole felt a little bad about saying no to the popcorn, but she knew she was being silly: If she didn’t want it, she didn’t want it. She shouldn’t say yes just to please her father.

  “Okeydoke, then I’m only going to pop half a cup for myself,” Colonel Hanson said.

  “Enjoy it, Dad,” Carole said, heading upstairs.

  “Will do, honey.”

  Up in her room Carole had a realization: She had told her father no, and he hadn’t minded one bit. Maybe it was that simple. Maybe she just had to be clear about what she wanted and what she didn’t want. And maybe, Carole thought for the first time, these resolutions were a good idea, after all.

  Carole had barely started her math homework when the phone rang. It was Stevie. Lisa had been helping her with her French over the phone. “But my brain is so crammed with le, la, and les that I can’t learn another word!” Stevie said. “So I thought I’d call and bother you instead.”

  “Shouldn’t we conference in Lisa?” Carole asked.

  “Can’t. She’s got tons of homework plus embroidery homework,” Stevie explained.

  “Mrs. Reg gave her embroidery homework?” Carole asked.

  “No, but you know Lisa,” said Stevie. “She wants to work on what Mrs. Reg taught her today.”

  “So the lesson went well?”

  “I guess so. Lisa didn’t give me too many of the details—except for one important one, that is! She barely escaped seeing Simon Atherton. He was at Mrs. Reg’s to do some yard work. Lisa had to hide in the bathroom so she wouldn’t have to talk to him!”

  Picturing Lisa running into the bathroom brought a smile to Carole’s lips, but then she said more seriously, “We can’t avoid it any longer: One of us has to call him to help.”

  “I know. Mrs. Reg and Lisa’s mother were bugging her, but Lisa really doesn’t want to, so I told her I would,” Stevie said.

  “That’s nice of you, especially when Lisa has so much work to do,” Carole said.

  For some reason the response irked Stevie. “We have a lot of work, too, Carole,” she said. “We did those signs all afternoon. Plus I’ve got a French test in a week, you know.”

  “I know, Stevie,” Carole replied. “It’s hard for all of us right now. Anyway, I’ve got to hang up soon.”

  The girls chatted for a few more minutes, but neither one of them wanted to prolong the conversation. When they hung up, Stevie felt restless. She’d studied her French for more than an hour already. Besides, she was still on vacation. She stared at the phone, trying to think up something fun to do. After a minute she giggled to herself. She opened her desk drawer, rummaged around a bit, and found an old list of Horse Wise phone numbers. Atherton was the first name on the list. Hoping the number would be the same, Stevie dialed it.

  “Hello?” a deep voice said.

  “Is this the Athertons’?” Stevie inquired.

  “Yes, it is,” said the voice.

  “Could I please speak with your son?” Stevie asked.

  The voice started to laugh. “Sorry, I don’t have a son. And if this is some kind of telemarketing thing, forget it! My parents never buy anything over the phone.”

  Stevie didn’t understand. She had reached the Athertons’, and somebody who sounded like Simon’s father had answered. “Excuse me, I’m trying to reach Simon Atherton. Maybe you could tell me—”

  “Simon? Why didn’t you say so? This is he.”

  “This is who?” Stevie demanded.

  “This is he—I mean, it’s Simon.”

  “It’s you?” Stevie fairly cried.

  “Yes, it is I,” said the voice.

  It took Stevie a minute to gather her thoughts. The Simon Atherton she knew had a whiny, squeaky voice higher than her own. This Simon Atherton had a low voice. He sounded old. But he did have good grammar. Chad, Stevie’s brother, would have said, “This is him” and “It is me.” Simon had said, “This is he” and “It is I.” So “he” had to be—well—him!

  “Simon? This is Stevie Lake. Stevie from Horse Wise.”

  “Oh, hello, Stephanie,” Simon said.

  Stevie relaxed. That sounded like Simon, too: Simon always called her by her full name. “Simon, how are you? You sound so different!”

  “That’s what everyone says. Puberty, I guess, Stephanie. How are you?” he asked.

  Stevie giggled. Only Simon would use a word like puberty. “I’m okay, Simon. I’ll tell you why I’m calling.” Briefly Stevie explained the dire state of Horse Wise, the bake sale, and the recent effort to recruit members.

  “I know all about it,” Simon said. “Mrs. Reg filled me in today. And I think I saw you and your friend Carole Hanson working on posters for the bake sale, didn’
t I?”

  “You did? You were at the stables today?” Stevie asked. “Why didn’t I see you?”

  “You looked so busy that I didn’t want to intrude. I simply went for a ride and then did a few chores for Mrs. Regnery,” Simon explained.

  “Oh. I see,” said Stevie, although she didn’t, really. The Simon she knew would have come right up and started talking her ear off, intrusion or no intrusion.

  “Listen, Stephanie, it’s great to talk with you. I’d be happy to help out with the bake sale. Perhaps I could hang up some posters for you. I wish I could talk longer, but I’ve got a friend coming over to study with me, so I really ought to go. Do you want to meet me sometime to give me the posters?”

  Half dazed, Stevie managed to say, “Sure. How about next week?”

  “Fine. I’ll talk to you then. Good night.”

  “Night,” Stevie said. After putting the receiver down, Stevie found herself staring at it again. One thing was clear: Simon Atherton had changed in. Texas. He still used formal, proper English when he spoke, but he sounded older somehow, more confident. Was it just puberty, as he had said? You couldn’t judge a person over the phone, Stevie reminded herself. That would be like judging a book by its cover—wouldn’t it?

  CAROLE FELT STRANGE walking into the Willow Creek Mall by herself. She hated shopping, so she usually avoided the place entirely. When she did go, it was usually because Lisa and Stevie dragged her. But today she had three reasons for being there, and one reason for being there alone. The main reason she had come was to hang up posters for the bake sale. It was hard to believe, but the sale was only two days away. Today was Thursday, tomorrow was Friday—the day she and her father had set aside for the after-school bake-a-thon—and Saturday was the sale. Carole’s father had dropped her off at the mall on his way to the grocery store. He was making a special trip to pick up all the stuff they would need to make the cookies.

  It was also hard for Carole to believe that her New Year’s resolution was now more than a week and a half old. And that was the other reason—the other two reasons—she’d come to the mall: to get away from all the junk food at home, and to pick up some alternative snacks at the new health food store. She hadn’t wanted to come with Lisa and Stevie because then she would have had to mention their resolutions, too. Lately there seemed to be an understanding among the three of them that the subject was taboo. It made conversation hard. Carole had to be careful not to mention Veronica or embroidery, and she’d noticed that Stevie and Lisa never discussed food in her presence. But bringing up the subject would start an argument as to whose resolution was hardest.

  All in all, Carole felt pretty good about hers. In her head she’d changed it from “I will not eat junk food” to “I will try to eat less junk food and more healthy food.” Since the change, she’d hardly cheated at all. Okay, maybe a few handfuls of popcorn. And an old bag of sour cream potato chips she’d found in her desk at school. And there was also the doughnut for breakfast two days ago. But basically, Carole thought with pride, she’d kept her resolution. And that was what counted.

  Armed with masking tape and a pile of posters, Carole walked the length of the mall, hanging up signs:

  INDULGE YOUR SWEET TOOTH AND SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL PONY CLUB. COME TO THE HORSE WISE PONY CLUB BAKE SALE. THIS SATURDAY, 11:00 A.M. TO 5:00 P.M., AT THE WILLOW CREEK SHOPPING CENTER.

  According to Lisa, who’d heard from her mother, there was going to be plenty of baked goods. They’d also managed to find volunteers for Saturday. All of the parents of The Saddle Club were coming, except Lisa’s father, who was going to be away on business until Saturday night. Mrs. Reg was also planning to help. Carole’s only fear was that even with the sale money, they wouldn’t be able to convince Max to keep the club alive. Despite calling everyone they could think of, The Saddle Club hadn’t had much luck recruiting new members or convincing old members to rejoin. So far, Simon Atherton was one of the few takers. But what was truly bothering Carole was a nagging feeling she’d had all week. She felt like a hypocrite. How could she convince people to join the Horse Wise Pony Club when The Saddle Club was falling apart at the seams?

  After both levels of the mall were plastered with bake-sale signs, Carole checked the mall layout plan to find The Health Nut. Walking there, she passed a cute little coffee shop that had also recently opened. A few people were sitting at the tables reading or talking. Carole hardly ever drank coffee, but suddenly she thought a café au lait or a cappuccino might taste good. Now that she was abstaining from junk food, she found she was more willing to try new things. She studied the complex menu and decided to try a café mocha. Waiting for her drink, Carole looked around the café, checking it out as a possible backup hangout for The Saddle Club. It wasn’t likely, but maybe they would get sick of TD’s one of these days. This place looked kind of fun. But then Carole saw something that changed her mind. Or, rather, she saw someone. Seated at a table for two was Veronica diAngelo. If she hung out at the café, then there was no way The Saddle Club would. Hoping to avoid Veronica, Carole quickly paid for her drink. It was too late. As she turned to go, Veronica turned in her seat and saw her. Carole forced herself to stroll over.

  “Hi, Veronica. What are you doing here?” Carole asked, trying to be pleasant.

  “I came to spend my Christmas gift certificates,” Veronica said. Carole looked down and noticed a pile of shopping bags at her feet. “But I’m meeting someone in ten minutes, so I really don’t have time to talk, Carole.”

  “Me either,” Carole said loudly. “I have to go finish postering for the Horse Wise bake sale.” It wasn’t really the truth, since she was basically finished, but she wanted to get a dig in at Veronica for not helping more.

  Veronica gave Carole a condescending look. “We all do what we can, don’t we? Isn’t that nice that you’re spending an afternoon hanging up your little signs? Of course, my father is donating a helicopter ride to be raffled off on Saturday. I’m sure it will bring in more money than all of your home-baked chocolate chip cookies combined.”

  Carole felt her face getting hot. “Are you going to be there Saturday?” she asked testily.

  “I’m sure we’ll show up at some point,” Veronica said airily.

  “We? You mean your parents are coming?” Carole asked incredulously. She simply couldn’t picture the snobby, ultrarich diAngelos standing behind a table selling baked goods.

  Veronica seemed to falter. “I—no. No, my parents aren’t coming. They have better things to do.”

  “Oh, well, then I guess I’ll see you Saturday,” Carole said, seizing a chance to hurry out of the café.

  As she headed toward the health food store, Carole had a sudden flash of sympathy for Stevie. Her resolution was tough, there was no doubt about it. It seemed as if every encounter with Veronica turned into a contest.

  Inside The Health Nut, Carole was distracted by the wide array of food. There were fat-free chips, PowerBars, energy bars, protein powder, and soy products, not to mention the largest assortment of vitamins Carole had ever seen. “Nutrient-rich ground meal made from Dead Sea algae,” Carole read off the back of one of the packages. “Do you eat this or wear it?”

  “I think you shampoo with it, actually,” said a voice.

  Carole looked up, giggling. A tall, blond boy about her age was standing there. “Are you serious?” she asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes. My mom buys the stuff in bulk,” he said.

  “Boy, my dad wouldn’t touch any of this stuff with a ten-foot pole,” Carole said. She liked the looks of the boy and felt like continuing the conversation. He had deep blue eyes and a friendly smile.

  “You don’t say? My mother is just the opposite: She prefers health food, health hair care—health, health, health!” he said.

  “Gosh, maybe you could help me, then. I came to buy a few snacks that aren’t junk food, but I don’t know where to begin,” Carole confessed.

  “It would be my pleasure to assist you,” sai
d the boy.

  “Great, I—” Carole stopped suddenly. She looked sharply at the boy. There was something about the way he spoke that had given her the oddest sense of déjà vu.

  “Is something the matter?” the boy asked.

  Embarrassed for staring, Carole apologized. “I’m sorry—I should introduce myself. I’m Carole Hanson.”

  “But, Carole, don’t be silly. I already know you,” the boy said with a laugh. “Don’t you remember me? I’m Simon Atherton.”

  “You’re who?” Carole cried.

  IF THERE WAS one thing Stevie detested, it was having to spend an afternoon with her brothers. She usually avoided them by going to Pine Hollow, but today her father had put his foot down. She was to come home and study directly after putting up posters for the bake sale. Now that Stevie had passed her French retake, Mr. Lake didn’t want her getting behind again. Even the fact that Stevie had beaten Veronica by two points hadn’t carried any weight. “But she had a private tutor!” Stevie had protested.

  “And what do you call Lisa Atwood?” Mr. Lake had countered.

  So, after going to the library, the town hall, and the two banks, Stevie had had no choice but to proceed to enemy territory. Enemy territory was how she thought of her house when Chad, Alex, and Michael were all at home.

  Of course, Fenton Hall and Pine Hollow were also enemy territory now, too, on account of Veronica. All week Stevie had tried to avoid Veronica, and all week she had run into her everywhere she went. Luckily, Veronica had seemed distracted each time they met. She would show off whatever new Christmas outfit she happened to be wearing and then disappear. So Stevie had kept her resolution perfectly—or almost perfectly. Okay, she had snapped at Veronica a few times. And she had started a couple of harmless rumors at school about Veronica’s hair being dyed. And maybe she had tried to get her in trouble with Miss Fenton for her overdue library books. But all in all, she’d been extremely nice to her.

  Stevie hadn’t even confronted her with the tack room incident. She couldn’t figure out a way to do it without kicking, screaming, and attempting murder. “But just wait till this month of resolutions is up, Miss diAngelo,” Stevie muttered ominously to her French book. “Then you’ll find out what happens to those who cross Stephanie Lake.”