Horse Blues (10 page)

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 some
one
. 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,” said 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.

I
F 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.”

According to Lisa, Mrs. Reg understood perfectly what had happened, but if she did, then why didn’t she say something?

“Oh, Stevie, lovely sister dear?” Alex whined outside her bedroom door.

“Go away!” Stevie yelled. For good measure she added, “
Tu es stupide
!”

“You think I’m stupid?” Alex said. “Be careful, or I’ll tell on you to Phil!”

“Tell on me for what?” Stevie demanded, putting her French book down on her desk.

“For dating other guys,” Alex said.

“You really are stupid,” Stevie yelled, annoyed by Alex’s dumb comment. “Or crazy. Probably both.”

“I am? Then who’s your date I see walking up the driveway?”

“Date?” Stevie murmured. “Who could possibly—?” All at once, Stevie remembered. She flung open the door and ran past the astonished Alex. With all of her own postering to do, she’d completely forgotten that Simon Atherton had volunteered to come to her house to pick up his posters.

“Stevie has a new boyfriend! Stevie has a new boyfriend!” Alex followed her down the stairs, taunting her.

“Whoa, Stevie,” said Chad, coming out from the kitchen, his mouth full of grilled cheese sandwich.

“Chad, that’s disgusting, and I don’t have a new boyfriend! Please! Would you give me a little credit? Do you think I’d date a guy like Simon Atherton?” Stevie hissed.

The doorbell rang. Stevie’s youngest brother, Michael, appeared out of nowhere to answer it.

“He doesn’t look that bad,” Chad said, peering through the window.

“Be quiet!” Stevie whispered. “The poor guy is awkward. Very, very awkward. Don’t make it worse for him, okay? Let
me
do the talking! Got it?” Pasting a smile on her face, Stevie flung open the door. Then she stopped. Her jaw dropped. The pile of posters she was carrying fell to her feet. Behind her, Stevie’s brothers snickered.

Simon smiled politely. Stevie stared rudely. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Simon Atherton was utterly gorgeous.

“O
W
!” L
ISA CRIED
. It was late in the afternoon, almost dinnertime, and she had just pricked her finger for the third time. “Mrs. Reg!” she called. “Look what I’ve done!”

Mrs. Reg came hurrying from the kitchen with her apron on. “I pricked my finger and it’s bleeding!” said Lisa.

“Let me get a bandage! Does it hurt badly?”

“Hurt? Oh, I don’t care about that. But the blood is staining the material!” Lisa wailed. She held up a partially finished napkin for Mrs. Reg to see.

“Where? I can’t even see it,” Mrs. Reg said.

Lisa pointed to a minuscule orange spot on the white linen.

“Give me that,” Mrs. Reg commanded. She took the napkin, dabbed at it with her sponge, and handed it back. “There. Good as new.”

Lisa thanked Mrs. Reg, picked up her needle, and started in again. She had come over right after school for a marathon embroidery session. After working hard all week on the sampler, learning stitches and practicing them, Lisa had started the napkin set a couple of days before. She had finished one napkin and was now on her second. Mrs. Reg had helped her with the design. They said
U.S.P.C
. in gray and green, the Horse Wise colors. The border, in brown, was supposed to look like a bridle rein. It actually looked like nothing more than a long, brown line, but Lisa couldn’t go back and fix it now.

“Mrs. Reg?” Lisa said suddenly, looking up from the pattern. Mrs. Reg had remained in the doorway, watching Lisa with an anxious look on her face.

“Yes, dear?”

“I’m not going to finish the tablecloth, am I?”

“No, Lisa.”

“I’m not even going to start it, am I?”

Mrs. Reg shook her head.

Lisa sniffed. She had worked so hard and now she
was going to fail. She felt tears well up in her eyes. “In fact, I’ll be lucky if I get through this napkin by Saturday. Why don’t I learn? I always try to do more than I have time for! Now I’ll let Horse Wise down!”

Mrs. Reg put an arm around Lisa’s shoulders. “Now, now, Lisa. That’s not true. You’ll have the napkins for Horse Wise. They’re beautiful.”

“But if I had learned faster …,” Lisa sobbed.

“You learned embroidery faster than anyone I know,” Mrs. Reg said sternly.

“But what will we do for a tablecloth Saturday?”

“We’ll buy paper tablecloths for heaven’s sakes. Nobody cares one bit! People come to buy the goodies—they don’t even notice what’s covering the table.” Mrs. Reg patted Lisa’s hair comfortingly, but Lisa could not stop sobbing. She couldn’t even tell Mrs. Reg the whole truth about why she was upset—that now she was sure to lose the resolution bet. Carole and Stevie would say she had copped out. Sure, she had learned embroidery, but she hadn’t produced the tablecloth.

The doorbell rang and Mrs. Reg stood up to get it. Lisa wiped her eyes on her sleeve and tried to compose herself. She was too distracted to pay much attention to who was at the door. She heard Mrs.
Reg greet someone, talk a couple of minutes, and then head back toward the living room. Knowing she should try to be polite, Lisa put down her napkin and looked up expectantly, ready to greet whoever it was.

“I told Simon you were here and he wanted to come in and say hello, Lisa,” Mrs. Reg announced, ushering her guest into the room.

“Hello, Lisa,” said a tall boy who looked a little like Simon Atherton but couldn’t possibly be.