High Stakes

by Bonnie Bryant

  Probably inviting him to our wedding, she thought with a twisted smile.

  She forced herself to ride around the paddock for a few more minutes, not wanting to insult Mr. Rayburn. Scooby was probably a very good horse, but Callie was sure she was too distracted to pay much attention even if she were riding Pegasus himself.

  Finally she pulled up at the paddock gate. “Thank you,” she told Mr. Rayburn politely as she swung out of the saddle. Once on the ground, she patted Scooby on his spotted side. “He seems great. I’ll have to think about it and let you know.”

  “Fair enough,” Mr. Rayburn replied, already reaching to run up the stirrups. “I’m always here if you have questions or want to try him again.”

  Relieved that Scooby’s owner wasn’t going to try giving her the hard sell, Callie quickly said good-bye and headed back to the car, doing her best to keep her hands from shaking with fury. Behind her, she heard her brother launching into a more elaborate thank you and farewell, covering up her rudeness. She was sure she would be grateful to him later, but at the moment the only emotion she felt was pure, hot, seething rage.

  When she reached Scott’s car, she took a deep breath and spun around. As expected, George had trailed along behind her, huffing and puffing as he tried to keep up. He stopped short and blinked at her, obviously noticing her furious expression.

  “What’s wrong, Callie?” he asked uncertainly. “Didn’t the horse seem—”

  “Shut up and listen to me,” Callie hissed, not letting him finish. “I’m sick and tired of this. When are you going to get it through your thick head that I mean it when I say I want you to stay away from me?”

  George’s eyes were wide with surprise. “But Callie,” he protested. “I was only trying to help. I thought—”

  “I don’t need your help,” she cut him off sharply. “And I definitely don’t need to keep having this same conversation with you over and over again. It’s like you don’t pay any attention at all to what I want or need—how inconsiderate is that? Not to mention insulting.”

  “Okay, I understand, and I’m sorry,” George said quickly, holding his hands up in a gesture of appeasement. “Now, why don’t we just forget about this and I’ll try to do better. Okay?”

  “No. That’s not working,” Callie snapped.

  She was doing her best to keep her voice low, though it wasn’t easy. A quick glance showed her that Scott had managed to steer Mr. Rayburn and Scooby back toward the barn, pretty well out of earshot.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she turned her attention back to George, glaring at him evenly. “So here’s the new rule. There’s only one, so you should be able to remember it. This friendship is hereby officially over. Finished. Just stay away from me, okay?”

  George stood quietly for a moment, his expression blank. Finally he shrugged and sighed, shifting his gaze to a spot somewhere over Callie’s left shoulder. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said, his voice calm and emotionless.

  Callie blinked in surprise. She had been steeling herself for tears, hysteria, begging.… She never would have expected that George would have no reaction at all.

  Before she could decide what to think about that, George turned away. Moving amazingly fast, he walked over to the white car parked nearby, climbed in, and pulled the door shut behind him. Seconds later the car was disappearing around the corner at the end of the drive.

  Callie collapsed against Scott’s car, relief flooding through her. It was over. George could have no question now how she felt. Thinking back over their bizarre friendship, she couldn’t help feeling guilty and a little unsettled. It really had been strange how he hadn’t even tried to change her mind.

  Forget about it, she told herself firmly, standing up straight and looking around for her brother so that they could get going. I’m just glad this whole stupid, pathetic thing is finished at last.

  Lisa picked up her mother’s favorite blue china vase and stared at it for a moment before replacing it in its spot on the living-room mantel. It looked so nice there against the grain of the wood. How would it look in some strange house miles and miles away?

  She glanced around the room, taking in every familiar detail as if seeing it for the first time. This was the house she’d grown up in. The only house she could remember. It was her home. Willow Creek was her home.

  I can’t believe Mom is even thinking about moving, she thought helplessly, rubbing her eyes with one hand. It’s totally unreal. This has got to be one of her passing whims, like the time she started collecting stamps, or last spring when she decided to take up yoga.

  She certainly hoped that was the case. Her mother wasn’t known for her follow-through, and Lisa figured there was at least a fighting chance that she’d forget all about the idea of moving to New Jersey by the time she got home from work that night. That was why Lisa hadn’t bothered to call her friends yet to tell them what her mother had said. What good would it do to get them all worked up for nothing?

  “I just wish she hadn’t kept talking about it at dinner,” Lisa muttered aloud, walking over to the coffee table and picking up a crystal bowl full of potpourri. She stared at it blindly, picturing the cramped suburb in New Jersey where her aunt’s family lived.

  “We can find a nice place near your aunt Marianne’s,” her mother had chirped cheerfully as she’d dumped ranch dressing on her salad. “Marianne and I have been talking about this for a long time now—since last summer, actually. I got sidetracked from the idea for a while, but now …” She’d shrugged, clearly not wanting to get any further into the topic of her recently ended romance.

  Lisa had started to protest, listing all sorts of reasons why such a move was a bad idea, starting with the fact that she was halfway through her senior year. But her mother hadn’t seemed interested in a family discussion.

  “It might be good for you to have a change of scenery, Lisa,” she’d said with a slightly disapproving frown. “It could give you a fresh perspective, help you put your life into balance and realize why we’re all so upset about this college situation of yours.”

  Lisa shuddered and set down the bowl of potpourri, wondering how her mother could be so totally wrapped up in her own problems that she couldn’t even see how horrible it would be for Lisa to have to pack up and leave behind her friends, her school, Pine Hollow, and everything else she’d always known.

  “It’s insane,” she muttered, wandering out into the hall. “Totally insane. Of course, Mom hasn’t exactly been Ms. Rational lately.”

  It wasn’t a comforting thought. I’m going to be turning eighteen in just a few months, Lisa thought plaintively. I’m almost a legal adult. Shouldn’t I have some say in my own life by now?

  “Okay.” Stevie took a deep breath and stared at Phil. “Let’s do it.”

  Phil nodded briefly. “Come on.”

  He led the way into the main building of Cross County Stables. Stevie felt her stomach flip-flop nervously as they headed for the stall where Crystal, A.J.’s horse, was housed. She’d been having anxious jitters ever since finding that picture in the old newspaper earlier that day. She had called Phil as soon as she’d arrived home from the Gazette’s office, and the two of them had discussed it for more than half an hour before deciding they should tell A.J. in person.

  By the time they’d reached A.J.’s house, he’d already left for the stable. Not wanting to wait around until he returned, they’d headed over to Cross County to track him down.

  They found him in Crystal’s stall, picking out her feet. “Hey, guys,” he greeted them in surprise, dropping the mare’s left forefoot and straightening up to stretch. “What are you two doing here?”

  “Looking for you,” Phil replied soberly. “Listen, A.J. We have something to tell you. Something we think you should know.”

  Stevie took a deep breath, plunging right in before A.J. could ask any more questions. “Listen, A.J. I found something interesting while I was doing some research today …” She went on t
o describe the photo and explain what she’d thought when she saw it. “There’s no guarantee it’s really your birth mother or anything,” she finished. “But I think it’s worth checking out. This Helen Barrett really looks an awful lot like you. And who knows?”

  She paused for breath, giving A.J. a careful look to see how he was taking it all. He hadn’t said a word since she’d started, though he had moved to the front of the stall. His freckles stood out starkly against his face, which had gone pale.

  “A.J.?” Phil said worriedly. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know,” A.J. said slowly, clutching his hoof pick tightly in one hand. His eyes were troubled and confused. “This is all so—I guess I just need to think about it for a while.”

  Stevie bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from blurting out all kinds of questions: Are you going to try to track her down? Do you think it really could be your mother? But she knew that would be sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. It was up to A.J. to take the next step.

  Phil cleared his throat. “Let us know if you need any help,” he told A.J. “You know.”

  Stevie nodded. She really hoped that A.J. would pursue this clue. Maybe finding his birth mother will help him make peace with his past, she thought hopefully. And maybe then he can figure out a way to deal with the present. She thought briefly of Julianna before returning her full attention to A.J.

  “So are you going to—” Stevie began, then stopped herself. No, she wasn’t going to pry. She quickly came up with a save. “Uh, are you going to the CARL thing tomorrow night?”

  A.J. looked surprised at the sudden change of topic, but he shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess so.”

  “Good.” Stevie gave Phil a look. If they could get A.J. out having fun with his friends, maybe that would help him deal with this new information. Because there didn’t seem to be much more they could do for him now one way or the other. Not until he made up his mind about whether or not he wanted to face his true past.

  In the meantime, all she could do was head home for dinner. It had been a long day, and she was starving.

  THIRTEEN

  On her way into homeroom the next morning, Stevie reached down and grabbed a copy of the week’s Sentinel out of the basket just inside the classroom door. She made her way to her usual seat, nodding hello to a few of her classmates as she passed. She noticed vaguely that Kenny Lamb had an even stranger look on his face than usual as he returned her greeting, and Wesley Ward just started laughing when she gave him a quick wave.

  Stevie shrugged. For some reason, people always seemed to get a little wacky on Fridays.

  She dropped her books on her desk and sat down. Unfolding the newspaper, she glanced at the headlines on the front page. Basketball tryouts bring record turnout. New walk-in freezer in the cafeteria. Controversy over some new zoning law in town.

  Stevie rolled her eyes. Give me a break, she thought. I could come up with a more interesting story than these with my pen tied behind my back.

  “Hi, Stevie,” Betsy Cavanaugh said, walking over to her desk with a funny little smirk on her face. “Got today’s Sentinel there, huh?”

  Stevie raised an eyebrow as she glanced up. “No,” she replied sarcastically. “It’s last Thursday’s London Times.” She shook her head as the other girl burst out laughing and hurried away. Betsy had always been kind of a flake, even back in the days when she’d ridden at Pine Hollow.

  Returning her attention to her newspaper, Stevie flipped to the second page and scanned the letters to the editor and the update on the previous week’s PTA meeting. As she glanced at the sports scores on the opposite page, she kept getting distracted by loud snorts of laughter. Glancing up in irritation, she caught several people staring at her, but they all looked away quickly when she caught them at it, hiding their faces behind their own copies of the Sentinel and giggling wildly.

  Stevie frowned. What was going on?

  Suddenly she felt a sharp pang of suspicion. Wait a minute, she thought, flipping quickly through the rest of the paper. I almost forgot. Today is Veronica’s big gossip debut.

  She found Veronica’s column on the second-to-last page. “‘In the Hall,’” the title line read, “by Veronica diAngelo.”

  Skimming the first couple of paragraphs, Stevie started to relax. It was pretty much what she would have expected—boring gossip about who had appeared at the latest hot parties, rumors of breakups and makeups among members of Veronica’s cliquey crowd, and a thinly veiled reference to Mr. Carpenter’s new hairpiece.

  Then she reached the final paragraph. As she read through it, her jaw tightened and her head started to throb. Wondering if she could possibly be hallucinating—maybe Veronica’s boring gossip about her cronies had brought on a stroke or something—Stevie read the last part of the column again.

  This reporter heard another juicy tidbit in the hall this week, it read, Veronica’s smug, superior attitude practically oozing out of every word. Much as it disgusts one to think that a supposedly well-respected member of the Fenton Hall student government could be a repulsive trash picker, this reporter saw a certain female junior pulling a certain item of food out of the Dumpster behind the gym. She then proceeded to shove the whole thing in her mouth and gobble it down like a prisoner gulping her last meal. I won’t give any names to protect the taste-challenged, but suffice it to say that the snack in question was a SuperCrunch granola bar.

  Stevie clenched her fist so hard that the page ripped slightly at the edge. Everyone at Fenton Hall knew that SuperCrunch granola bars were Stevie’s favorite food—she’d passed them out with her picture wrapped around them to advertise her campaign for student government the previous spring. It wouldn’t be hard for most people to figure out the identity of the unnamed student government member in Veronica’s ridiculous made-up story—including, apparently, the majority of people in Stevie’s homeroom.

  But there was more. Stevie swallowed her anger and forced herself to read on.

  On a lighter note, this reporter is happy to note that love is in the air for a certain popular junior, Miss N, who has been seen locking lips with a certain brown-haired, hazel-eyed basketball- and soccer-playing junior. Kudos to Miss N’s new flame for finally getting some taste! In other romantic revelations, a reputable source reports that everyone’s favorite student body president has an eye for a certain student body—the buzz is, it’s his old campaign manager! I guess it’s true what they say—politics makes for strange bedfellows.…

  Stevie’s face was burning by the time she finished reading. Crumpling the paper into a ball, she smashed it under her Spanish textbook. Veronica had gone too far this time. And Stevie was going to make her pay.

  She fumed through the rest of homeroom, counting the seconds until she could escape and wreak horrible revenge. Strangulation came immediately to mind. Then beheading. As soon as the bell rang, she leaped from her seat and raced out into the hall, heading for Veronica’s homeroom a few doors down. She was waiting when Veronica emerged a moment later, chatting with several friends.

  “Yo, diAngelo,” Stevie snapped. “I want to talk to you.”

  Veronica smirked. “Sorry, no autographs,” she said breezily. “If you want to congratulate me on my column, just get in line.” A few passing students heard the comment and laughed, pausing and looking curiously at Stevie.

  Stevie ignored them and took a step closer to her foe. “Not funny, Veronica,” she said, her voice rising with anger. “How dare you print those stupid lies about me and my friends in your so-called column?” A crowd was gathering as students heading to their first classes stopped to see what all the shouting was about. Within seconds people were jostling for position, craning their necks to see. Stevie noticed that her brother and Nicole were among those standing near Veronica.

  Meanwhile Veronica shrugged, extending one hand and examining her perfectly shaped fingernails as she replied, “It’s not lies, Stevie. It’s gossip. Need a dictionary to understa
nd what that means?”

  “Here’s a dictionary word for you,” Stevie barked. “Libel. Look it up. Then maybe you’ll be ready to print a retraction to that garbage you wrote.”

  “Garbage?” Nicole spoke up with a snicker. “Did you say something about garbage, Stevie? But it’s not even lunchtime yet!”

  Stevie gritted her teeth at the laughter from the crowd. She was vaguely aware that Alex was one of the few people not cracking up at Nicole’s comment. He looked uncomfortable.

  “I mean it, Veronica.” Stevie pointedly ignored everyone else, focusing her glare fully on Veronica. “I want a retraction. A big one.”

  “No way.” Veronica crossed her arms over her chest and turned up her nose. “You can’t control what I write, Stevie. Freedom of the press and all that.”

  Stevie clutched her forehead, feeling like she was going to scream. “What a joke!” she yelled. “The only freedom you need is the freedom to be a total—” Just in time, she spotted Mr. Dewey, the Latin teacher, hurrying toward them. “A total jerk,” she finished lamely.

  “What’s going on here?” Mr. Dewey demanded, wading through the crowd until he reached Veronica and Stevie. Glancing from one girl to the other, he frowned. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  Veronica shrugged. “I don’t know,” she replied coolly. “I was just walking out of my homeroom when she ran up and starting yelling at me.”

  “It’s nothing,” Stevie told the teacher, forcing herself to sound calm. “Just a little disagreement. Sorry if we got loud.”

  Mr. Dewey looked skeptical, but he shrugged and glanced around. “Okay, break it up,” he commanded, shooing the students away. “Get to class, all of you.”

  Veronica started to wander off, but as soon as Mr. Dewey disappeared back into his classroom, Stevie stomped after her and grabbed her by the arm. “This isn’t over,” she hissed. “You’d better go to Theresa right away and tell her you want to print a retraction in next week’s issue, or there’s going to be major trouble.”