Dream Horse

by Bonnie Bryant

  “It’s our welcome-home present,” she said.

  Stevie beamed. She reached in and pulled out the container. Carefully she removed the lid.

  “Eeuuuuuu!” she said.

  “What’s the matter?” Carole asked.

  “What is this?” Stevie said, curling her lip in disgust.

  “It’s going to be your newest favorite,” Lisa said. “It’s almost the same thing you ordered just two weeks ago—”

  “—and loved,” Carole assured her. “Here’s a spoon.”

  “Whatever for?” Stevie asked. “I can’t eat this. Butter pecan and licorice chips? Caramel, marshmallow … I can’t even think about it.” She set the container aside and put the lid back on it. “Maybe next time you could bring me hot fudge on vanilla ice cream,” she suggested.

  Carole and Lisa couldn’t believe their ears. There was a disgusting sundae that Stevie didn’t like? “We’ll remember, I promise,” Carole said quickly, trying to quell the alarm in her voice. She and Lisa looked at one another. The doctor might think Stevie was better, but they knew her best. Her head was still scrambled. They were glad Stevie was going to have more rest. She needed it!

  “So, have you had any more interesting dreams?” Lisa asked, changing the subject quickly as Carole spirited the offending sundae off Stevie’s bedside table. She parked it on the hall table until they could take it downstairs and give it a decent burial.

  “Oh, yes, but it was strange,” said Stevie.

  “They all are,” Carole said, wiggling her sore toe uncomfortably in her sneaker.

  “Actually,” said Stevie, “this dream wasn’t so much about the horse as it was about the horse’s rider.”

  “Who was the rider?” Lisa asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know the name of the rider or the horse. But in this case, it was about the rider and it involved a sign.”

  “A sign, like a mysterious symbol or something?” Carole asked. This sounded exciting.

  “No, not like that at all,” said Stevie. “A sign, like white with black lettering. It said Point and Laugh.”

  “At what?” asked Lisa.

  “Beats me,” said Stevie.

  Carole furrowed her brow in thought. She sat down and took Stevie’s hand. “Listen, there’s something, actually a couple of things, that you should know about your dreams—”

  Lisa didn’t like the sound of this. She thought Carole meant to tell Stevie that her dreams were coming true. First Phil had been thrown from Teddy, and then Starlight had stepped on Carole’s toe. Lisa didn’t think it was a good idea to tell Stevie about these coincidences. Stevie’s dreams were wild enough without any help from her friends.

  “Right,” Lisa interrupted. “What Carole is about to say is what we’re both thinking. We’re having a lot of fun hearing about your dreams. Every time you have an interesting one, be sure to tell us, okay?”

  Carole looked as if she was about to say something, but she shut her mouth.

  “Sure thing,” Stevie promised. Then she stretched and yawned. “In fact, I might have a dream arriving right now …”

  “HI, CAN I come in?”

  It was Phil Marsten.

  “Of course you can,” said Stevie. “I just told Carole and Lisa I thought you were about to walk in here.”

  The girls giggled. In fact, what Stevie had said was that a dream was arriving. They hadn’t realized she meant the personification of a dream, one Phil Marsten.

  Phil came in and perched on the chair at the foot of Stevie’s bed.

  “I’m so glad you’re back from the hospital,” he said. “I guess that means that you can ride on Saturday and we can have our jump-off, right? I hope so because I’m counting on the fact that you’ve had an injury to impair your abilities. I’ll be a shoo-in to win, so I can take back those bribes I paid the judges.”

  Stevie sat up in her bed and frowned in scorn.

  “Phil Marsten, I could beat you in a jump-off even if I were in a coma!” she declared. “It would take more money than you have to bribe any judges into believing that you are actually better than I am, and—”

  “Calm down,” Phil said. “I’m joking.”

  “I know.” Stevie relented, smiling.

  “I actually came by to tell you that maybe it’s a good thing we can’t do our competition this weekend because Uncle Michael says we have to leave early in the morning. We can’t actually go up in the glider until noon, but we’ve got a drive ahead of us, and we’ll have to prepare the glider when we get to Dunstable Field—that’s the airport we’ll use—and he says I’m going to need some preparation before our flight. His glider ID number is thirteen—he says that’s for good luck! Anyway, I think he wants to give me a lesson on the ground first.”

  “Don’t do it,” Stevie said.

  “Right, like I actually think you’re going to be able to ride on Saturday,” said Phil. “I talked to your mother last night after she talked to the doctor, and she said you’re not allowed out of bed until next Tuesday and then only if the doctor says it’s okay. No way I’m missing out on soaring with Uncle Michael anyway. I promise I’ll tell you everything that happens. Uncle Michael says it’s the best experience there is.”

  “No, I mean, don’t do it,” said Stevie. Her face was solemn and serious, something her friends didn’t often see. “Not because of the jump-off, but because something is going to happen.”

  “You bet it is,” said Phil. “What’s going to happen is that we’re going to fly freely for a long time. Uncle Michael says people can stay up for hours—even eight or more at a time. Isn’t that something? And don’t worry about safety, because gliders are very safe. They’re actually safer than airplanes because they don’t have engines.”

  “But an engine is the problem!” said Stevie, suddenly animated.

  “No way,” said Phil. “We’ll fly the same way birds do, using currents and thermals to lift us. That’s why it’s called a glider or a sailplane.”

  “But something’s wrong,” Stevie said, her voice filled with concern. “It’s an engine. I just know it.” Her eyes closed.

  Phil took her hand. “Don’t worry, Stevie,” he said. “There’s no engine. I promise. We’ll be fine.”

  “Maybe,” Stevie conceded, her eyes still closed.

  Lisa, Carole, and Phil exchanged glances.

  “I think she’s going to sleep for a while,” said Lisa. They stood up and whispered good-byes; then they crept out of Stevie’s room.

  Carole picked up the spurned sundae to carry it to the kitchen. She knew better than to offer it to anybody else. She dumped it into the garbage while Lisa described its ingredients to Phil.

  “And she didn’t want to eat it?” he asked. “But that’s right up her alley.”

  “She wanted hot fudge on vanilla,” Lisa said. “Can you believe it?”

  “I hope a week in bed will complete her transformation back to the old Stevie,” said Phil.

  “Me too,” Carole agreed. “Until then, there’s only one word to describe her behavior.”

  “Right,” Lisa agreed.

  And then all three of them said it at the same time: “Weird.”

  “Maybe we should call her doctor,” Lisa said.

  “Sure, we’ll just explain that we’re worried about Stevie because she didn’t want to eat the most repulsive sundae ever.”

  “He’d send us to our beds for a week,” Carole said.

  “And then I’d miss gliding,” said Phil.

  “And we’d miss the chance to nail a crooked horse trader,” said Lisa.

  “What’s this about?” Phil asked.

  Carole explained about their mission with Deborah to Rock Ridge.

  “Oh, I know where that is,” said Phil. “Dunstable Field is right near there. Maybe I can get Uncle Michael to fly over the guy’s field.”

  “Great!” said Lisa. “Why don’t you take a picture of the place when you’re over it. It would be perfect to go with
the story Deborah’s writing!”

  “Great idea,” said Phil. “Uncle Michael always takes a camera with him. I’m sure we can do it. But in return for that, I want to hear everything that happens.”

  “You and Stevie both,” said Carole. “At least her curiosity is still healthy!”

  “Well, then there’s hope,” Phil said, laughing.

  “YOU KNOW, THINKING about butter pecan ice cream with licorice chips makes me hungry,” Carole said.

  “I know what you mean,” said Lisa. “It’s because every other time Stevie’s ordered something that revolting, you and I have gotten something delicious. I don’t know about you, but buying that concoction for Stevie meant the end of my allowance, so we can’t go back to TD’s.”

  “I’ve discussed this phenomenon with my dad,” Carole said. “It seems that the week is about three days longer than my allowance. He was surprisingly unsympathetic. He began to talk about things like ‘fiscal responsibility’ and ‘learning to do without.’ Most of the time he’s the best dad in the world, but every once in a while he’s more Marine than dad—if you know what I mean.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” said Lisa. “That’s as much a dad thing as it is a Marine thing. The last time I asked for a raise in my allowance, my dad started talking about budgets and doing financial projections on a computer. How much projecting can I do with the tiny allowance I get? But all is not lost. I happen to know my mother bought some vanilla ice cream when she went shopping, and we’ll have a choice of chocolate or maple syrups. Okay?”

  “Sounds perfect!” Carole said. “And the price is right!”

  Fifteen minutes later they’d made their decisions. Carole was having a maple sundae. Lisa’s was chocolate. They’d found some peanuts and chopped them up to put on top of the sauces. There was no whipped cream and there were no maraschino cherries. The girls didn’t mind. They thought their concoctions were almost as good as what they’d have at TD’s—if they could afford it.

  Lisa took a drippy, gooey bite from her sundae, and when she’d swallowed, she spoke. “As long as we’re eating sundaes after a riding class, then I think this is a Saddle Club meeting, even without Stevie,” she said.

  Carole agreed by nodding in the middle of her first bite.

  “So then we have to talk about Stevie and her too-weird dreams.”

  “Right, like what was all that stuff about a sign—”

  “Point and Laugh,” Lisa reminded her.

  “On a rider?” Carole asked. It was a question because it didn’t make sense. Why would anyone want to laugh at someone who was riding a horse? Riding took concentration and skill. If somebody was pointing and laughing—“Oh!” she said.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Lisa.

  “The sign!” Carole said. “It’s for Veronica!”

  “Right, like we could get her to point and … oh, no, that’s not it, is it?” Lisa said.

  “The sign isn’t for her to read. It’s for her to wear,” said Carole.

  “How are we going to get her to wear a sign?” asked Lisa.

  “We could sort of attach it with tape?”

  Lisa frowned and took another bite of her sundae. It seemed that she and Carole had been given a Stevian scheme. It was now her job, as the logical thinker, to figure out how to make it work.

  She began to think out loud. “We can’t have it be anything she sees coming, and it can’t be anything she feels on her.”

  “That eliminates paper, which crinkles, and cardboard, which would bounce around.”

  “Cloth.”

  “Right, cloth,” Carole agreed.

  “And I think I know just exactly how to do this. Are you done with your sundae?”

  “I am if you’re ready to wreak revenge on Veronica,” Carole announced.

  The girls put their bowls in the Atwoods’ dishwasher and hurried to Lisa’s room.

  “I have all this felt and stuff left over from craft projects,” Lisa began.

  Carole smiled. She had the two best friends in the world. Together, they could accomplish anything—even if it took a bonk on the head of one of them to come up with the core of a most devilish revenge scheme!

  VERONICA SAUNTERED INTO the locker room on Thursday morning. Class would begin in ten minutes. All of the other students had arrived a half hour earlier to change their clothes and tack up their horses. Veronica didn’t worry about anything as boring as tacking up her horse. That was what stable hands were for. All she had to do was change into her riding clothes.

  “Hi, Veronica,” Carole greeted her.

  “Oh, hello,” Veronica said coolly. She never could understand those Saddle Club girls. Most of the time they were rude to her, but every once in a while they would behave nicely. Veronica supposed it was for the obvious reason. They were rude because they were jealous, and they were nice because they were hoping to get in good with her so that some of her taste would rub off on them. She smiled at Carole, knowing that her greeting was going to be the brightest part in poor Carole’s otherwise dull day.

  “New clothes?” Lisa asked, looking at the zippered bag that Veronica carried.

  “Yes,” said Veronica. “Mother thought my old ones were getting tattered.” Of course Lisa must have noticed that, Veronica thought. She was probably wondering what happened with Veronica’s old clothes. She probably wished Veronica would offer them to her. Veronica knew that her castoffs were actually in better condition than the riding habits Lisa usually wore. And as for Stevie—well, the less said about her outfits the better. Although Veronica had no intention of donating her old clothes to Lisa, it wouldn’t hurt to give the girl a few pointers.

  “We got these at The Saddlery,” said Veronica. “You know, they’ll put anything out on the rack there, but if you ask, the tailor can make you really first-rate clothes. I used to think we had to go shopping in the city to get quality. But we actually do almost as well with the custom-made things at The Saddlery. I’m sure they could do something for you.”

  “Oh, wow,” said Lisa. “Do you think so? Would they actually be able to make something as nice for me as they do for you?”

  “I don’t see why not,” said Veronica.

  “Well, please do show me your new clothes,” Lisa said eagerly. “I’m always fascinated with the outfits you wear. Such style, such taste, such colors!”

  Lisa sounded almost breathless with excitement. Veronica was pleased. The fact was she’d often thought that Lisa seemed to have pretty good taste in clothes, so it didn’t surprise her to find that Lisa had, apparently, been modeling her own wardrobe after Veronica’s.

  It only took Veronica a minute to pull on her new, soft riding pants. They were an elegant doeskin brown with leather patches inside the knees. They fit her legs sleekly and flattered her figure. Veronica showed Lisa that the skills of the little old tailor at The Saddlery were really quite adequate.

  “I’ve got to say I’m impressed,” Lisa remarked. “Can I see your new jacket, too?”

  Veronica slipped it on. It annoyed her that she had on an old shirt—something she’d already worn twice. When she got into new clothes, she liked to be in new clothes from the skin out. Still, the shirt was good quality, and the jacket’s tailoring complemented it and the new breeches perfectly.

  “Ohhhh,” said Lisa. “The lines! The seams! The fabric!”

  Veronica didn’t even try to hide her pleasure at Lisa’s compliments. “I’m sure that if you tell your mother how good this old man is, she’d consider having him whip one of these up for you, too,” she said.

  “I don’t know, but I sure am going to ask her!” Lisa said. “Now let me see it from the rear. The rear is always so important. It’s the impression you leave people with, you know?”

  “Yes, I know,” said Veronica. She turned.

  “Oh, wow,” said Lisa. “It’s … it’s—uh-oh.”

  “What?” asked Veronica.

  “Oh, nothing,” said Lisa.

  “You sa
w something. What’s wrong?” Veronica asked.

  “Well, I think he left a—here, let me see. Move back here into the light.” Veronica stepped back. “Oh, it’s just a thread or something. I think I can get it. Stand still.”

  “I didn’t see anything when I picked it up,” Veronica said. “I tried it on, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Lisa. “I think I have it …”

  Veronica felt a tug, then some pressure. “What is it?”

  “I’ve got it,” said Lisa. “All done. It was just a thread. It made ever so slight a wrinkle in the jacket. Here, let me smooth it for you.”

  She passed her hands across Veronica’s shoulders several times, smoothing out the wrinkles. Veronica was steaming. How could that careless old man at that second-rate tack shop have the gall to leave a thread on her jacket?

  “Oh, Veronica, it’s just perfect!” Lisa said.

  “You think so?”

  “Well, it is now,” Lisa said. “And don’t worry about that. It was just a tiny thread. It could have happened to anybody.”

  But it shouldn’t have happened to me, Veronica thought. She’d have a word with that stupid old man next time she went to The Saddlery. The thought made her happy. Perhaps it was time to go see if that lazy stable hand had tacked up Danny.

  “Oh, Red, are you finished yet?” she called loudly as she strutted out of the locker area, perfectly dressed—at least as far as Lisa and Carole were concerned. They could barely contain their giggles until Veronica was out of earshot.

  “You were perfect!” Carole said, hugging her friend. “An Oscar-winning performance! ‘Ooooh, Veronica!’ ” she mimicked. “ ‘The lines, the seams, the fabric!’ ”

  “And she actually believed me!” Lisa preened.

  “Of course she did,” said Carole. “That girl’s outsized ego needs constant feeding. She believes every compliment, no matter how outrageous.”

  “Well, let’s see how she likes being the center of attention today,” Lisa said.

  The girls followed Veronica’s route out of the locker area and went to get their own horses, tacked up by their own hands.

  The first snort of laughter came from Meg Durham. The second came from Betsy Cavanaugh.