Before They Rode Horses (7 page)

After school, Mom made me take a nap. That was probably a good idea. Then we had dinner and I put on my costume. Usually, just putting on that pretty tutu was enough to lift my spirits. Not so that night. It didn’t make me feel any better at all. I was blue as blue could be. Dad drove me over to the school. He said he and Mom would be there for the performance and they’d be sitting in the first row and they just knew they’d be proud of me. There was sort of an awkward silence in the car then, because we both knew that something was wrong. He didn’t say anything else until he pulled into the school parking lot. Then he stopped the car and looked at me.

“Is there something you want to talk about?” he asked.

“Nope,” I said.

“I know you’re worried about something …”

“I can’t talk about it, Dad,” I said. I didn’t have the heart to go into what Larry was doing to the play, especially after Dad and Mom had gone to the trouble and expense of making me so charming!

“Well, darling, I want you to know that whatever it is that’s bothering you, I am very certain you will figure out a way to solve the problem. You are smart, hardworking, clever, kind, and all-around wonderful.” Then he held out his arms and gave me a hug. It was better than any Most Improved certificate I ever could have gotten. I knew he meant every word he’d said.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I said, and I hopped out of the car.

I know this sounds funny, but it was as if there was some sort of energy transfer in that hug. It was exactly what I needed, and it gave me the inspiration to do what I did.

Everything backstage was all confused. Bob Cratchit had lost his hat. Tiny Tim was complaining that his crutch was too short. The Ghost of Christmas Present had a stomachache, and Jacob Marley swore he couldn’t remember any of his lines. Ms. Stevens was running all over the place, trying to help everyone at once. But everyone knew that none of that stuff was going to matter much if Larry was as bad in the performance as he’d been in the rehearsal.

I found Bob Cratchit’s hat in the girls’ bathroom. Tiny Tim had picked up the wrong crutch. It only
took me a minute to find the right one in the box of props. I even got a soda for The Ghost of Christmas Present. It calmed his butterflies in a second.

“You’re wonderful, Lisa,” Ms. Stevens said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Now, if only you could find some way to make Larry Titus into a decent Scrooge!”

She blushed the second she said that. She didn’t like admitting she’d made a mistake in the first place, and she particularly didn’t like to be complaining about one student to another. She apologized and asked me if I could forget she’d said that.

“I’ll try,” I promised. “But it won’t be easy. And besides, it’s my fault anyway.”

She gave me a hug, too, and told me I’d been doing a wonderful job and she was so proud of me.

So, if everybody was so proud of me, how come I couldn’t correct the thing I’d made go wrong? That’s when it came to me.

I looked at the clock. It was five minutes until we were due onstage. We’d start right on time. Everything was ready. Everyone was dressed. Everyone had on their makeup. All the props were in place. The stage was set. The only thing there was to do for the next five minutes was to get more nervous.

“Psst, Larry, come with me,” I whispered. I
reached out and took his hand, but of course not where anybody could see it. I would rather have been caught dead than to be seen holding Larry’s hand.

It wasn’t hard to convince him to come with me. He still had that gooey-eyed look. He’d have followed me right off the edge of a cliff, and that was exactly where I was intending to lead him.

The school auditorium has a back door that goes outside. I took him through that door, hoping no one would notice and no one would follow. I had to be alone with Larry.

His eyes lit up when we got outside. I knew I didn’t have much time.

“We just have a minute,” I said.

“I know,” he answered.

“Look, I had to talk to you before we went on stage. I want you to know that it’s going to be all right anyway.”

“Sure,” he said. But he didn’t sound sure, and that was what I needed to hear.

“I just wanted to reassure you,” I said.

“About what?” he asked.

“That I’m sure you’re going to do a good job. And that I am sure nobody in the audience is even going to notice.”

“Notice what?” he asked nervously.

“There’s no time left. Just do the best you can under the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” he cried.

“Come on,” I said. “We’ve got to hurry.”

Just then, the stage door swung open. It was Ms. Stevens. “Larry? Are you out there? The curtain’s about to go up. Hurry!”

I pushed him into the light so that she could see he was there. He didn’t have time to ask me any more questions I wasn’t going to answer. A second later, he was on stage. A second after that, the curtain went up.

Well, I’m not a mind reader or anything, but when you’ve been the one to write what’s going on in somebody else’s mind, it’s not really hard to read. That night Larry was a mess. All he could think about was what I’d said. He was worried sick about what I’d told him. He didn’t know what people weren’t noticing under the circumstances. But it
was
freaking him out. And that made him go back to his bullying behavior. He snapped at Cratchit. He growled at Marley. He was great.

And by the time I got on stage, he was downright scared—just exactly the way he was supposed to be. He turned in a better performance than he’d managed
in any of the rehearsals. Backstage, Ms. Stevens was wide-eyed and beaming. I was worried because I was afraid he would still be acting mean when he was with the second and third ghosts or at the end, but it worked just right. Before the second act, I clapped him on the back and told him it was working pretty well. That made him feel a little more relaxed, and when he was a little more relaxed, he was nicer, which was exactly what was supposed to happen to him during the play. By the end of it, he was Mr. Nice-Guy. The audience ate it up. They couldn’t stop clapping, and it wasn’t just my parents, either.

When it was all over, I tried to get out of the backstage area before Larry got to me, but I didn’t manage it. He came running over to me.

“What were you talking about?” he asked.

“When?” I asked, batting my big eyelashes at him just the way Miss Martin had taught us.

“About what people wouldn’t notice, probably,” he said.

“Why, Larry, I just don’t remember,” I said. I scratched my head as if I were trying to stimulate my brain. “I wonder whatever could I have been thinking of?” I did the eyelash thing again. Then I dashed out the door to meet my parents. Larry tried
to run after me, but he was surrounded by his parents and their friends, who wanted to tell him what a wonderful job he’d done. He couldn’t run away from them. I was free!

My parents were great. Daddy gave me another gigantic hug. Mom did, too. She told me she’d known that all I needed was confidence and she thought we could thank Miss Martin for some of that.

I laughed. “Oh, Mom, you don’t know how right you are!”

“W
AIT A MINUTE
,” said Deborah. “I’m sure the play was such a success, but you promised that this was going to end up being a story that would give me an example of how to be a good mother. I was waiting for that, and now that we’ve reached the end, I’m still waiting.”

“You didn’t get it?” Stevie asked her.

“Are you telling me that if Max and I have a daughter, I’m supposed to send her to some silly lady to teach her to be a wimpy boy-chaser? Or how to be sneaky?”

The three girls laughed.

“No, that’s not the point at all,” said Stevie. “Although I must say I’m impressed. I didn’t know that Lisa had it in her to be that sneaky before she met me. I could learn a thing or two from
her
.” She patted Lisa on the back. “Good job,” she said. “I’m proud of you, too.”

“Back to the subject,” said Deborah. “Exactly what is it that I’m supposed to learn from that story?”

Carole took her hand. “Deborah,” she said, “you forget that Lisa learned the art of storytelling from Mrs. Reg, your mother-in-law. Don’t tell us she never told you a story?”

“Oh, she does it all the time,” said Deborah. “When she finishes one of her stories, I often find myself wondering why on earth she told me that particular story, and I always know that if I work at it long enough, I’ll get the message. But as I think about this one, I don’t know what I’ve missed.”

The girls laughed because that was exactly the way they always felt about Mrs. Reg’s stories. They were surprised, however, that Deborah had missed the point of Lisa’s story. It was so obvious!

“Easy,” said Stevie. “It has to do with the promise that Lisa exacted from her mother in exchange for going to charm school.”

Lisa grinned. She knew her friends would figure it out.

“I still don’t get it,” said Deborah. “You never told us what it was you made your mother let you do.”

Lisa just kept smiling.

“She didn’t have to tell us,” Carole said, laughing. “It’s easy. You made your mother let you take riding lessons. Right?”

“Of course!” said Lisa. “What could be a better example of really good mothering than that?”

“Incurable. You girls are incurable!” said Deborah. But she was smiling.

And then she stopped smiling. “Oh dear,” she said. “It’s another contraction, and it’s stronger this time.” She massaged her stomach and took a deep breath through her nose, then blew out smoothly through her lips, almost whistling. The girls looked at their watches. It was twelve minutes since the last contraction.

“They’re getting closer together,” Lisa said. “Should we call the doctor?”

Deborah shook her head as the contraction passed. “No, he said there would be no need to call him again until they were five minutes apart. That’s hours and hours away. So, who’s next?”

She looked at Carole and Stevie. Carole and Stevie looked at one another.

“I guess it’s my turn,” Stevie said.

“Let the games continue!” Deborah announced as she fluffed a pillow and put it behind her neck.

Stevie took a deep breath and began.

W
ELL, THE FIRST
thing I should tell you is that my brothers and I have not always gotten along as well as we do today.

Unfortunately, at the moment the words came out of Stevie’s mouth, Carole was taking a sip of tea. She couldn’t help herself when she heard what Stevie said. She snorted, and an explosion of laughter brought forth a spray of tea. She stopped most of it with her hand, but then had to wipe up the rest of the mess while laughing uncontrollably. Lisa was no help. She was rolling on the floor with laughter.

“Oh dear,” said Deborah. “Does this mean that Max and I should only ever have one baby?”

“Yes,” said Stevie.

“No,” said Carole and Lisa.

Deborah rolled her eyes. Stevie continued her story.

Well, the way we got along was different then, because we were littler. Chad was the big brother and he always did everything first. He learned to swim first. He rode a bike first. He lost his teeth first. Everything for him was first. Then came Alex and me. Since we were twins, it seemed like the whole world spent all day every day comparing us. It was “Stevie has lighter hair,” or “Alex can climb trees better,” or “Stevie is a better reader,” or “Alex runs faster, doesn’t he?” Every time somebody made an observation about either one of us, it was a comparison, and one of us came out ahead of the other.

In fairness to my parents, I’ve got to tell you that they didn’t do that. They knew better. They’d just tell me how proud they were that I could read so well, or they’d admire how fast Alex could run. They tried really hard—and they still do—but I know that when they admired my reading, Alex would wonder what was wrong with the way he read. I know it because when they admired how quickly Alex ran, I wondered if they’d noticed how fast I could run. To tell you the truth, it was a no-win situation for them.

The thing I had going for me was that I was the girl in the family. That was how I stood out. People would describe us as “the boys and Stevie,” and I
liked that. My brothers got bunched in, but I got singled out. That made me feel better. Until Michael arrived. First of all, he was cute as a button. That’s what people said all the time. I never saw anything particularly cute about buttons, but apparently my parents’ friends have been admiring buttons for years, and Michael qualified in that department.

I didn’t think he was so cute. For one thing, he couldn’t do anything. He just cried and slept. Every once in a while, he’d gurgle, drool, or spit up, and all the adults around would act as if that were the most exciting thing in the world. If I did it, I’d get sent away from the table!

Now, some people might just decide to give up at this point, maybe join up with the ogling adults or at least stop trying to get noticed. Not me. I decided to be the best possible Stevie. By that, naturally, I meant that I was going to be better than my brothers at everything no matter what.