Show Horse (7 page)

Lisa was still on cloud nine when she took Prancer back to her stall for her final grooming of the day. It was also Lisa’s final chance to practice grooming for the show. She wanted to make her horse look perfect.

Stevie finished grooming Topside before her friends were done. She went to Starlight’s stall to give Carole a hand with Starlight—and to talk.

“We’ve got to do something,” she said.

Carole didn’t need to ask what she was talking about. The problem was Prancer. She was a wonderful horse, but she wasn’t ready for a horse show and Lisa seemed totally unaware of her shortcomings.

“We certainly have to try,” Carole agreed. “But what can we do?”

“Talk,” Stevie said. “We’re going to talk to Lisa now.”

Carole was willing to go along with that. Together they finished their work on Starlight. Then Stevie and Carole went to find Lisa.

The threesome met up in the hallway of the stable where Prancer was cross-tied. Stevie and Carole each picked up a grooming tool to give Lisa a hand and so they could talk without Mrs. Reg complaining that they weren’t working.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Lisa asked.

Stevie and Carole couldn’t argue with that.

“She is, definitely,” Carole said. “And she’s got the makings of a great competition horse.” Carole was approaching her topic gingerly. She suspected that Lisa wasn’t going to be very receptive.

“In exactly one week,” Lisa said, confirming Carole’s suspicions.

“Yes, well, that’s when Briarwood is, all right,” Stevie said. “It’s going to be a tough show, you know. A lot of the riders there have been practicing for it for months. Most of them will have had plenty of other show experience, too. We’re unusual that way, you know. I mean, you and me. Carole’s been in shows before.”

“But not like this one,” Carole said. “Being in a small show in a small town-well, it’s not the same thing as Briarwood.”

A dreamy look came over Lisa’s face. It made Carole
and Stevie nervous. It meant she wasn’t listening at all.

“Max said your mother did sign the permission form,” Carole said.

“Oh, sure. One look at Prancer and she knew just how I felt. She’s really a good person. She misses the point sometimes, but at least she came to the right conclusion—finally. It was a lot of work, I’ll tell you. I had to do some serious convincing. I was almost as good as you would have been, Stevie!”

Stevie laughed. “I’m always glad when the good stuff rubs off!” she teased.

“Speaking of good stuff, how about Max’s idea for putting our personal goals for Briarwood in sealed envelopes?” Lisa asked.

“I think it’s great,” Stevie said. “Only problem is, it means thinking. And thinking takes work. Work means time away from focusing on Briarwood and daydreaming about how exciting it’s going to be.”

“That’s totally illogical,” Carole told her. “The more time you spend thinking about how you’re going to make it wonderful, the more wonderful it’s going to be.”

“You’re right, of course. But I still think it’s a lot of work. I just hope it pays off.”

“It will,” Carole said. “I promise you. Have you decided what your goals are going to be yet?”

Stevie dropped a brush in Prancer’s grooming bucket and picked up the mane comb. She tugged at
the mare’s mane thoughtfully. “Not yet,” she said. “See, first I have to work at it. How about you?”

“I’ve been working at it,” Carole said. She was rubbing Prancer’s coat until it gleamed. It was a very satisfying task since the results were so nice. “In a way, though, my goals for the show are going to be a lot of the same goals I’ve had for Starlight ever since he became mine. He needed so much additional training, and I’ve given it to him. Now it’s paying off. I know there’s a lot more work to do. A horse’s training can go on for all of his active riding life. I just need to be sure that I use all the skills I have to bring out the best in my horse.”

“Oh, Carole, you put it so well!” Lisa said.

When Stevie gave Carole a dirty look, Carole realized that Lisa was still blaming herself for all of Prancer’s failings. She tried to adjust what she’d said.

“I mean, that’s what’s true for me and for my horse. It’s not true for everybody. I mean, in the case of a horse who is completely new to pleasure riding and competition, it might be a totally different story.…”

“For some horses, maybe,” Lisa said. “But you’ve really given me something to think about.” She punctuated that sentence by dropping the brush she’d been using into the grooming bucket. “There. I’m done,” she announced. She unclipped Prancer from her cross-ties and led her to her stall. She checked that there was fresh hay and water and then latched the door behind her.

“I think I’d better get the envelope and the paper from Max and hurry on home,” Lisa said. “Sorry to dash off, but I’ve got some homework to do. I’ll talk to you guys this week, a lot, okay?”

“Okay,” Stevie said. “Good luck with the work you have to do.”

“Thanks. Bye.” And then she was gone.

“What was that all about?” Stevie asked.

“It’s about trouble,” Carole said. Stevie certainly agreed with her on that.

“What do you think she’s going to put down for her goals?”

Carole shook her head. “I don’t know, but unless a miracle happens in the next seven days, I know what her goal
ought
to be.”

“What’s that?”

“
Staying
on Prancer through five classes.”

Considering what they’d seen in practice, Stevie had to agree.

S
TEVIE STARED AT
the five blank pieces of paper in front of her. Homework was just about her least favorite thing in the whole world, and it seemed to her that what Max had asked his riders to do was homework. Still, it was also horsework, and anything to do with horses couldn’t be all bad.

To start with, she wrote the names of the five classes she’d be entering at the top of each of the pieces of paper: Fitting and Showing, Equitation, Pleasure, Trail, and Jumping.

She growled. That hadn’t inspired her at all. She picked up her pencil again and began chewing on the eraser. She had never understood why having little pieces of rubber in your mouth was supposed to help
you think. She stopped chewing on the eraser and tried thinking about horses and horse shows. That seemed to help.

Fitting and Showing was basically a test of grooming skills. She was good at that. She was about the best in the stable at using a hoof pick, so that couldn’t be a goal. She sometimes got lazy when it came to getting all the tangles out of Topside’s mane. She jotted that down. “Four to go,” she told the wall of her room.

In Equitation, it seemed to her that Topside was so well trained, he was going to do most of the work. Still, if it looked as if she weren’t doing anything, she wouldn’t place. She knew that. In a way, the important thing in that class was going to be keeping up with Topside. That meant making her own movements as smooth and seamless as his. It also meant that she’d have a special opportunity to pay more attention to herself than to her horse. She wanted to work on the position of her hands and being sure that her legs remained supple while she gave Topside nearly invisible aids. She’d had trouble with that in the past, and she hoped she’d be able to do it right this time. She wrote that down. “Three to go.” She turned her attention to the paper marked “Pleasure.”

Carole made a face at the computer screen as she read the message that Cam had left for her.

“No,” Carole mumbled. Talking with Cam probably wouldn’t be any more fun than writing to her. The note went on:

Carole certainly agreed with that. She wondered why it was that Max hadn’t had her class working that way with cavalletti. A wave of uncertainty washed
over her. She’d always been convinced that Max Regnery was the best teacher in the world. What if Mr. Barclay was better? What if Cam was a better rider?

“Whoa, girl,” she told herself. Max
was
the best teacher in the world. Carole had always believed that. Why should she stop believing it now? Had Cam’s precious Mr. Barclay come up with the wonderful idea of personal goals? Carole didn’t think so. She’d show Cam how wonderful Max was.

She tapped at the keys of her computer and brought up a fresh screen.

Carole meant it when she wrote it—she just wasn’t convinced that the drills would be all that helpful in preparing for the competition. She continued.

She sent the message, then turned off her computer, and focused her attention on the five small sheets of paper and the envelope in front of her. She picked up her pen. It was a special pen. It was a pen she’d bought when she and her friends had been in New York, staying with Dorothy DeSoto when Dorothy was competing in the American Horse Show. Since it was connected with all those horsey things, Carole had a weird feeling that it had some special power, even though it was just a tourist’s pen with a picture of the Empire State Building on one side and the Statue of Liberty on the other. Every time Carole looked at it, all she could think of was horses.

She picked up one sheet of paper and wrote “Jumping” at the top of it. Starlight was a naturally wonderful jumper, though he tended to prefer the excitement of jumping high to the structure of proper hunter jumping, where style was the important part. Carole wondered briefly whether Starlight might not have benefited from working with cavalletti the way Cam had. Then she dismissed the thought. If Max had thought that would be good for her, he would have had her do it. Wouldn’t he?

Carole tried to focus on what was important for her and for Starlight in the Jumping class. Beating Cam. That’s what came into her head, and it was hard to dismiss. She wanted to beat Cam. She wanted to be better than Cam. She wanted Max to be a better teacher than Mr. Barclay. She didn’t care if she got a
blue. She just wanted to get a higher ribbon than Cam’s.

This is all wrong, she told herself. Horse shows were about being the best rider you could be for yourself. That was why Max had them write down their goals. It didn’t matter how good, or bad, the other riders were. It only mattered that you did your best. If everybody else in the class was really terrible, a blue ribbon didn’t mean anything unless you thought you’d done a good job. Carole reminded herself of these things and began the job of thinking about her goals all over again.

“Keep an even pace and don’t let Starlight jump too high over the low jumps,” she wrote.

She reread her own words and nodded. Yes, she thought, that was a worthwhile goal—and not an easy one, either, on a horse who sometimes thought he was an eagle.

She reached for her next piece of paper.

L
ISA WASN
’
T CONVINCED
that Max’s idea about personal goals was really a good one. Wasn’t that the reason why there were judges at horse shows? The idea seemed to be that a horse show was an opportunity to compete against other riders of approximately the same skill level and let somebody else decide who was actually the best.

It didn’t really matter, though, what Lisa thought about writing down her personal goals. Max wanted them to do it, so it had to be done.

Lisa put on her pajamas, then grabbed pen and paper, and settled comfortably in bed.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to think about everything she’d learned about horseback riding from the first time she had been on a horse. It was all there—in her mind. She remembered when getting into a saddle seemed like an awkward and difficult task. Now it felt like the most natural motion in the world. At first the horses’ gaits had seemed odd, unfamiliar. Now her own body responded automatically to the movements of the horses at every gait. The first time she’d jumped, she had been amazed to find herself still on her horse after the horse landed. Now she always knew she’d be there. She was a rider. She was a good rider. And she had the best horse in the world.