“Here, carry this,” she told Staci.
“Carry it yourself,” Staci said. Not for all the palomino ponies in the Western Hemisphere would she do Paisley any favors.
“I need my hands free for my brakes and gears.”
“Tough,” said Staci. That was when Paisley threatened her with the pickle lady remark, and Staci told her not to call her grandmother Dill a pickle.
“Sure, Anastasia. Whatever you say. She’s not a sour cucumber. Not really.”
“And you’re not really parsley, Parsley.”
“But of course you truly are a Russian princess, Anastasia.”
That stung. Staci had reasons to feel sensitive about her fancy name. She knew she was small and bony and dark-skinned, with a plain, thin face and entirely too much nose. She did not feel that she would ever be pretty, much less a princess, and she wished her parents had named her something ugly that would have suited her better.
“Shut up,” she said.
“Soon as you start to carry this.” Even arguing, Paisley was in a good mood. A happy mood. As if she was in love, ever since she had seen Noodles.
“Forget it.”
“You carry it,” said Paisley gaily, “or I’ll tell my sister what you said about her hair.”
“Go ahead,” Staci said, even though she didn’t really want Stirling to know. She felt as if she could kind of like Stirling. Sometime. Maybe.
“And I’ll tell the whole world you’d rather play with baby-toy ponies than help with a real one.”
“Sneak!” Had Paisley been snooping in her room? Looking in the bottom drawer?
“I can’t help it if you’re going to leave that ugly green one lying under the edge of your bed where I can see it from the hallway. Nice braid job you did with the mane and tail. But isn’t that plastic hair icky? Wouldn’t you rather braid a real live pony’s mane?”
“You can take your pony and—”
“And ride,” said Paisley dreamily. “Here. C’mon. Carry this, and I’ll let you ride Noodles sometimes when I get him.”
“I’m not going to even touch your rotten pony!”
“Sure. Whatever you say. But you’re going to carry this roll of wire, or else I’m going to tell your grandmother the things you say about me and Stirling.”
Staci carried the wire over her thin arm. It was heavy and made her arm ache like her heart all the way home. Right after a late lunch, in the hottest part of the day, Paisley went out to start putting up her fence.
Staci and Toni watched from their bedroom window and snickered. One thing about having Grandmother Dill in charge: She might not let girls get away with much, but there were some things she didn’t know. She had never thought to tell Paisley to spray herself with Bug-Off before she went out to the back lot. But Staci and Toni knew: It was the steamiest time of year, and the grass was crawling with chiggers. No-see-ums. The teensy, tiny red bugs with a big, big bite. And Paisley would not notice until it was too late.
From their air-conditioned room the Fontecchio twins watched Paisley McPherson walking around, planning her pasture, and finally starting to drive the stakes into the ground, working hard to hoist the heavy sledge. Paisley stomped when she walked, like a boy. Sweat stuck her dirt-brown hair limply to her head.
“She’ll be going crazy by bedtime,” Staci said happily. She knew how chiggers scooted under clothing to bite in the most personal places. She knew how chigger bites itched like fire and lasted for weeks. Until that morning she would not have wished chigger bites on anybody.
“What did she do to you?” Toni asked in awe. But Staci couldn’t tell her about Noodles. She just couldn’t find the words. It felt odd, having something in her heart that she couldn’t tell her twin.
“She’s a pain, that’s all.” Staci changed the subject. “How did it go with Stirling?”
“Okay. We played rummy. We talked some. Stirling’s okay. It was kind of fun.”
Great.
“She’s not very much like Paisley,” Toni added after a silence.
“Did she say why she didn’t want a pony?”
“I didn’t ask her.” Toni shrugged. “Maybe she doesn’t like horses and stuff.”
“Ask her next time.”
Toni gave her twin a surprised look. “Ask her yourself!”
“I bet she’s scared of ponies,” said Staci grumpily. “She looks like she’d be scared of everything.”
Toni seldom argued with Staci. She didn’t answer.
After a while she said, “Did you know their father had a heart attack a couple years back? Before that he was a real grump, Stirling says. Never did anything but work, never had time, too busy making money. But ever since, he’s been like a different person. He just wants to be with them and do things for them.”
“Like buy ponies,” said Staci sourly.
“He has a lot of money. Now that he’s married to Mom …” Toni hesitated, but finally said it. “I bet we could have ponies too.”
“I don’t want his stupid ponies,” said Staci.
4
In Which a Good Use Is Found for Oatmeal
“I don’t believe this!” Paisley wailed. “Seventy-three! I’ve got seventy-three bug bites. I counted.”
Grandmother Dill, who seldom showed much feeling, was kneeling on the bathroom floor and looking at Paisley’s bare legs with a shocked expression. Round red welts were everywhere, but crowded thick on the tenderest places, such as the backs of Paisley’s knees. It was bedtime, and Paisley was indeed going crazy.
“They are under my panties and everything!” she groaned, scratching herself.
“Don’t scratch!” Grandmother Dill ordered.
“They itch! What am I gonna do?”
Grandmother Dill stood up. “Antoinette,” she summoned. “Anastasia. Where is the itch ointment?”
“Shoebox in the linen closet.” Toni ran to get it, then turned around with a puzzled look. “It must be somewhere else.… Try the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, Grandmother.”
While Paisley hopped from foot to foot trying not to scratch, they looked there, and in the first-aid kit, and on the bathroom shelf and windowsill. “Perhaps it was used up,” said Grandmother Dill.
“It can’t all be gone!” Toni looked frantic. “We had three kinds.”
“Sure,” said Staci, her voice hard and flat. “There’s got to be some somewhere.”
Grandmother Dill had progressed out of the room, but the tone of her twin’s voice made Toni stop where she stood and stare.
Staci stared back. She had not invited Toni to help her sneak all the itch ointment tubes out of the bathroom, because something told her Toni didn’t hate Paisley as much as she did. And that made her feel more hateful yet, so that dropping the ointments (and the sunburn spray too) down the sump-pump hole in the basement hadn’t even been much fun. Toni was supposed to feel the same way she did about these things … but so what if Toni guessed now? Toni would not tattle. Staci could always count on Toni to side with her, no matter what.
And in fact Toni said nothing as Grandmother Dill swept back into the bathroom, holding a box of—of all things, oatmeal from the kitchen. “Into the tub,” Grandmother told Paisley. “The rest of you, to bed. First thing in the morning, Antoinette and Anastasia, you will go to the drugstore to purchase salve for Paisley.”
Grandmother’s glance was hard and suspicious. Staci didn’t care. She didn’t even care that Grandmother was thinking bad things about Toni as well as Staci herself.
Once the Fontecchio twins were in their bedroom, Toni shut the door behind them both. “You didn’t,” she said to Staci.
“Didn’t what?”
Toni wasn’t smiling or going along with the game. “You’re crazy,” she said. “What’s the matter with you? I’ve never seen you like this.”
Through the door they could hear Paisley in the bathtub, sloshing in her oatmeal bath. Staci felt annoyed that Grandmother had come up with a home remedy. She had want
ed Paisley to itch all night. Grandmother was too smart.
“C’mon,” said Toni, “where’d you put the stuff? We’ve got to sneak it back.”
“No way.”
“Stace, that oatmeal isn’t going to do much good for long! Paisley’s going to be itching like—”
“Let her itch.”
Toni stared. “You’re sick,” she said.
“Cough, cough,” said Staci.
In the tub Paisley had started singing, “Yankee Doodle went to town a-riding on a pony, pony, pon-ie PONY pony …” Paisley sang the way she talked. All noise.
“Pony shmony baloney,” Staci muttered.
Toni was already in her top bunk, pretending to be asleep. Staci went to bed, feeling peculiar because Toni wasn’t talking to her. She even said “G’night,” and didn’t get an answer. She tried to think of something to dream on, but all she could hear was “pony pon-ie PONY!” from the bathroom, and she knew the pony Paisley was thinking about. She could see him as if he were standing in the bedroom with her: a daisy-chewing, sleepy-eyed, soft-nosed, sweet-faced, shaggy palomino pony with the white-gold mane and forelock piled between his ears like a sunrise.
Noodles.
Noodles, the darling … no. If she couldn’t have him for her own, she didn’t want to dream on him. She opened her eyes to try to stop seeing him. It didn’t work as well as she would have liked. The room was dark, and her mind kept making the tormenting pictures.
“PO-ny pony po-neeee …”
“Shut up!” Staci whispered into the darkness. She didn’t dare say it any louder with Grandmother Dill in charge. Why didn’t Grandmother shush Paisley herself? Why was she letting Paisley stay up so late and keep the rest of them awake? Then Grandmother would get them all up bright and early in the morning for one of her horrible, healthy, hot breakfasts. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.
When Staci finally went to sleep, she dreamed of Noodles. She was standing right beside him, but he was ignoring her and nuzzling up to Paisley. It was not a good dream.
The next morning—sure enough—Grandmother Dill woke her early. Woke them all early. It was their last day with Grandmother Dill, thank goodness. Mom and Mr. McPherson would be back by evening.
At the table with the others, Staci noticed grumpily that Paisley looked bright-eyed and cheery in spite of the red chigger bites on her arms and legs and even on her neck and cheeks. “I got half the fence posts in yesterday,” she reported loudly to anyone who was listening. “I’ll get the rest in this morning and start on the wire. Maybe I’ll get the whole pasture done before Dad gets back! Then we can go right over and get Noodles.”
Neither Stirling nor Staci looked up, but Toni did. “Noodles?” she inquired.
Paisley’s eager reply was interrupted by Grandmother Dill. Straight as a soldier, she turned about-face from a search of the cereal cupboard. She was frowning as hard as Paisley was smiling. “Girls. I have had enough of tricks. Who has taken the oatmeal?”
“Oh!” Paisley’s smile sagged into dismay. “Oh, Mrs. Dill, I forgot, I mean, I didn’t know you wanted the rest of that for breakfast. I woke up itchy in the middle of the night and I didn’t want to bother anybody, so I just took another bath with some more oatmeal.”
“I see.” Grandmother Dill relaxed. “You have left it in the bathroom? Bring it here for me, please.”
“I—I can’t. It’s all gone.”
Once again Staci saw Grandmother Dill astonished by Paisley. “You have used it all? My big box of oatmeal?”
Paisley nodded, gulping. “It felt so good,” she said in a voice much smaller than her usual bellow. “I just kept dumping it in.”
“My word,” exclaimed Grandmother, “it is a wonder the drain is not clogged. Perhaps it is!”
“I’m sorry,” Paisley said. She was overdoing it, Staci thought sourly. But in the next moment she understood why. Grandmother had whisked out of the kitchen, running to check the bathtub drain, and Paisley looked up at the other girls with a wicked grin. She winked.
“Oh!” Toni grabbed at her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. Even Stirling giggled. Only Staci could not appreciate how Paisley had rescued them all from another oatmeal breakfast.
“The drain’s all right,” Paisley whispered. “I dumped most of it down the john.”
“Is she always like this?” Toni whispered to Stirling.
“Pretty much,” Stirling whispered back, smiling. “More so lately.”
“I’m superpowered with pony power!” Paisley declared aloud. Loudly, in fact. “Some people have pedal power”—she grinned at Staci, who did not grin back—“and my aunt Caledonia is into horsepower. She’s got about a dozen horses. But I’m gonna have pony power! And pony power lets a person do just about anything.” Still grinning, she stared hard at Staci. “Anything,” she said, full volume.
Staci was saved from replying by Grandmother Dill’s return from the bathroom. Around the corners of Grandmother’s straight mouth, Staci noticed, crinkled a hint of a smile. She seemed careful not to look straight at Paisley.
“Very well,” she said quite gently. “Start making toast, girls. We’re going to have to have toast and jelly for breakfast.”
5
In Which the Best Way to String Fence Wire Is Found
“Paisley,” Grandmother Dill told her after breakfast, “if you are planning to continue work on your fence, there is bug repellent on the shelf in the garage.”
Toni looked up to see her twin hustling down the hallway.
She caught up with Staci in the garage just in time. “No, you don’t!” she exclaimed, snatching away the spray can of Bug-Off from Staci.
“Hey!” Staci grabbed, too late. Toni had hold of the spray. “Give that back!”
“No way! You’ll just hide it so Paisley can’t use it.”
“Darn right! Give it!”
“Stop it, Staci Fontecchio! Stop being so mean!” Toni looked about ready to cry. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“I won’t tell on you or anything, but I want you to stop playing mean tricks on Paisley! I don’t care what she did to you, she doesn’t deserve getting seventy-three chigger bites!”
“Is that what they are!” came an interested voice. “Chigger bites!” Paisley stood at the outside garage door. Red-faced, panting, and wordless, Toni thrust the bug repellent at her.
“No thanks,” said Paisley. “Hey, no need for you two to fight over me. I like chigger bites. I’m going to go for the world record!” With a boyish swagger and a wave of her hand, Paisley headed toward the back lot and her fence.
Toni’s jaw dropped. It was Staci who hollered after Paisley, “Hey! Grandmother told you to put this stuff on yourself!”
“No, she didn’t!” Paisley called back. “She just told me where it was!”
“Hey!” Staci stopped herself. “Well, shoot,” she muttered to the garage, “I’m not going to beg her to put the stuff on.”
By lunchtime (when Toni and Staci returned from a hot, silent bike ride with three tubes of itch ointments), Paisley was up to 112 chigger bites.
“Some of them are smaller than others,” she admitted.
Grandmother Dill was out of the room, busy with her packing. Paisley showed off her polka-dotted legs, then lifted her T-shirt to show the red bumps lined up along her shorts waistband. All the girls stared. Even Stirling, the princess, seemed impressed. “Good grief, Paisley,” she said, “where are you going to have room to fit any more on you?”
“I’ve got some places left,” said Paisley. “It’s a good thing. I’ve got to get the wire on the posts yet.” She sounded tired.
A little later, loafing in their bunks and watching Paisley through their bedroom window, Staci and Toni saw why Paisley had sounded discouraged. She was having trouble with her fence. The posts were staying in the ground okay, and she had fastened the ceramic insulators to them at pony-chest height, but the wire would not
stay tight while she strung it on the ceramic plugs. She was trying to pull her coiled wire taut with one hand and fasten it with the other, but even though she was a big, strong girl for her age, she could not pull hard enough with just one hand. And she really needed two hands, anyway, to manage the wrapping and twisting. As the Fontecchio twins watched, Paisley dropped the roll of wire to the ground, stamped in frustration, and slapped furiously at her bare, itchy, red-speckled legs.
“She needs help,” Toni said. “She can’t do it all by herself.”
“Good,” Staci snapped.
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Who to, then?”
Toni didn’t answer. She swung down off her bunk and left to find Stirling. Paisley was Stirling’s twin. Toni felt she ought to point out Paisley’s problem to Stirling.
The other McPherson girl, Toni found somewhat to her surprise, was helping Grandmother Dill pack. Stirling was smoothing a cotton skirt with both her small, fawn-colored hands.
“Hey,” Toni told her, “Paisley needs some help with her fence.”
“So?”
“So you should help her!” Toni said.
“Why?” Stirling seemed much more interested in the clothing.
Toni could not believe how stupid Stirling acted. “Because you’re her twin!”
“Just because she’s my twin doesn’t mean we’re joined at the hips.” Stirling turned to another skirt. “I sure don’t want Guinness Book of World Records chigger bites.”
“But …” Toni couldn’t find words. The way Stirling was acting was so far from the way she had always thought twins should be that she felt fuses popping in her brain. She looked at her grandmother for help. But Grandmother Dill was folding blouses without the faintest sign of interest.
“Anyway, it’s going to be Paisley’s pony, not mine,” Stirling added. “I’m not the outdoors type.”
“Don’t you like ponies?” Toni asked.
“Why should I? Do I have to like everything Paisley likes?”
Giving up on Stirling, Toni turned to her grandmother. “Nana,” she pleaded, using the pet name she had not called her grandmother since she was much younger, “would you help Paisley? She’s out there in the heat getting all bitten up, and the dumb wire won’t go straight for her, and—”
The Great Pony Hassle Page 2
