“Well, we’re counting on you and your background and experience to help us all on that score, Veronica,” she said with all the sincerity she could muster.
“I’ll do my best,” Veronica said. Then, suddenly suspecting that Stevie didn’t mean every word she’d uttered, Veronica backed down a bit. “Naturally, I can’t teach you everything—there are some things that you just have to know.…”
“Naturally,” Carole said. “Survival of the fittest and all that.”
“Exactly,” Veronica said, as if she knew what it meant.
Prancer began dancing uneasily then, shifting quickly from left to right. Lisa pulled back on the reins to calm her, but it didn’t seem to work.
“I think we’d better untack now,” Carole said, realizing that Lisa ought to be getting off Prancer before the mare began acting up again. Since untacking meant work, Veronica took that line as an opportunity to make her exit. She would not want to be expected to help.
“That girl,” Stevie said when Veronica seemed to be out of earshot. “Do you believe her?”
“I never have,” Carole said, dismounting. “She’s one of a kind, and that’s just fine with me.”
Carole held Prancer’s reins while Lisa dismounted. The mare stood relatively still, and Lisa was finally safely on the ground.
“You okay with untacking her?” Carole asked.
“Of course I am,” Lisa assured her. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“Yes, we do,” Stevie said seriously.
“Not you and me. Me and Prancer,” Lisa said. Then, without hesitation, she led the Thoroughbred mare to her stall.
Stevie and Carole exchanged looks. “Later,” Carole said ominously. Stevie agreed.
Lisa clipped Prancer to a set of cross-ties by her stall and began untacking and grooming her.
“I’ll do better by you over the next two weeks,” she whispered to the mare as she worked. “I won’t forget to tell you what to do. You’re such a wonderful horse; you’re probably used to better riders. Right now I’m what you’ve got, but I promise to make it possible for you to win blue ribbons at the horse show. Really.”
For the first time since Lisa had gotten into Prancer’s saddle, the mare seemed to relax. Lisa was sure her words had soothed the animal. Now if only she could make her actions match those words.
Around the corner of the stable, Carole gave Starlight’s rump an affectionate slap. He nodded in return. She removed his saddle and when she saw him in his bridle alone, it made her think of a lunge line. That, in turn, made her think of Cam. She’d meant to tell her friends about Cam, but then Mrs. Reg had interrupted and she’d forgotten to get back to the subject. It seemed odd to her now that she was actually going to meet Cam—meet the girl who knew so much about horses. Did she know more than Carole? Carole didn’t even like asking herself the question, so she asked Starlight as she began his grooming.
“What do you say, boy? Is Cam a better rider than I am?”
At first there was no answer at all. Then a fly landed on Starlight’s ear. He twitched it. The fly didn’t budge. Starlight shook his head vigorously.
Carole smiled to herself. “Good answer,” she said. She returned to her brushing, barely aware that the fly now circled her own head.
She wasn’t sure Starlight had exactly answered her question, but she thought maybe it was a sign. Starlight, however, seemed much more interested in how good the brush felt on his coat.
Stevie was out in the ring with Topside, who had seemed to need a cool-down walk when they got back from their ride. The two of them were circling the schooling ring at a gentle walk. Stevie checked his respirations periodically. He was fine—just needed to walk a little longer. Stevie had something on her mind and needed to talk.
“Now listen up,” she said to her horse. “You don’t have to take anything old Veronica says seriously. She thinks she’s bound to win it all at the horse show because she’s got this beautiful horse named Garnet. Well, so what? Everybody knows Garnet is beautiful, but she’s not as well trained as you. Veronica hasn’t worked for what she’s learned, and she’s not going to start, much less finish her training in the next two weeks. You and I have worked long and hard together. We’re going to see some blue for our efforts. I promise,” she said.
Stevie knew that she was a good rider. She had a good chance to succeed at the show. She also had the advantage of riding a first-rate horse. She would surely do well at the show. She might even do better than her friends. Then she stopped to think about how that would make her feel. Carole and Lisa were her best friends in the whole world. Did she really want to beat them at Briarwood? Yes, she realized. She did.
“POOR VERONICA,” LISA said, almost sighing, at the dinner table on Friday night. It was about the last chance she was going to have to get her mother to sign the permission slip, and she’d planned her attack very carefully.
“Veronica? What about Veronica?” Mrs. Atwood asked.
“Well, she’s got this idea that she’s going to win everything at the horse show,” Lisa said.
“She’s very good, isn’t she?” Mrs. Atwood asked. Lisa was always surprised that her mother never seemed to get the message about Veronica. Sure, Veronica was a pretty good rider, but she wasn’t anywhere near as good as she thought she was, or as good as she believed her social status made her.
“She’s pretty good, Mom,” Lisa said. “But Garnet, Veronica’s horse, isn’t the best horse from Pine Hollow.”
“Really?” Mrs. Atwood asked. “And just who has a better horse than Veronica diAngelo?”
“Actually, Mom,” Lisa said, “the horse I am going to be riding is a better horse than Garnet.”
“Yours? You mean one of Max’s plain stable horses is more valuable than what the diAngelos bought for their daughter?”
“Sure, and it’s no fluke. Prancer—that’s the horse I’m riding now—is a Thoroughbred. She was a racehorse, and she was having a great career until she broke a bone. That’s when Max bought her.”
“Some run-down old nag?”
“No, Mom,” Lisa said patiently. “Prancer is a young mare with outstanding bloodlines. She just has a weakness in her feet that makes her a poor risk for racing. She’s going to be fabulous in the show ring.”
“Really?”
Lisa liked the sound of that. It indicated that her mother was actually listening to her.
“What are you working on with the horse now?” her father asked. Lisa liked the sound of that, too. It was typical of her father that he would understand there were real issues about being in a horse show, issues more important than comparing the value of her horse to Veronica diAngelo’s.
“Today we were working on trail skills,” Lisa answered. “One of the classes is a Trail class, and although it will all take place in a ring …”
She went on to describe the event as carefully as possible, saying she thought it was interesting that the class tried to imitate natural obstacles in an artificial environment, the ring.
“It’s the same thing with the Jumping class,” she said. “In that, a fox-hunting course is created in the ring. Some of the jumps are made to look like regular natural obstacles, too, with bushes and sometimes even some water. It’s going to be neat.” Then she realized that she’d been doing an awful lot of talking. The idea here was to allow her parents to think about what she’d said, and that was hard to do if she was still talking. Automatically she silenced herself and concentrated on the rice on her plate.
“You’ve done a lot of work on this, haven’t you?” Mr. Atwood asked.
She nodded. “It’s important to me, Dad,” she said truthfully.
“I can tell,” he said. Then he looked at his wife. “Eleanor? I think we need to consider Lisa’s wishes here seriously—at least as seriously as she has.”
“Yes, Richard,” she said. “I mean, if her horse is actually better than Veronica diAngelo’s …”
“Mom, I’ve got an idea,” Lisa
said. This was her trump card, and she was ready to lay it on the table. “Why don’t you come to class with me tomorrow? You can watch me ride and see how safely and well I do it. You can also see Veronica. Her horse is beautiful, but …” She let the thought hang in the air, knowing her mother would jump at the chance to compare Prancer to Garnet. It worked.
“Will Mrs. diAngelo be there, too?” Mrs. Atwood asked.
“Probably, Mom, but I don’t really know,” Lisa said. “See, the car usually picks Veronica up, but it’s got tinted windows, and I can’t see if Veronica’s mother is inside or if it’s the chauffeur.”
“Really…,” Mrs. Atwood said.
Lisa had a feeling that her mother was wondering if they could get the windows on their Ford tinted before tomorrow. But Lisa knew that it didn’t matter, even if she was thinking that. What was important was that her mother was going to watch her ride, and that once Mrs. Atwood saw how beautiful Prancer was—how much more beautiful she was than Garnet—her signature would be on the permission form in a flash. Lisa knew that as surely as she’d ever known anything about her mother.
Lisa smiled to herself. She’d won.
THE NEXT DAY there was a big note posted in the locker area for Veronica, Lisa, Stevie, and Carole. It was from Max. He wanted to see them all before class.
“It’s got to be good news,” Stevie said. “I mean, look at the way he signed his name, crossing the x with a flourish. He wouldn’t do that if he was in a bad mood.”
“You are something else,” Carole said. “Before, it was his dimples, and now it’s his signature. How do you know when he’s in a bad mood or has bad news?”
“Easy,” Stevie said immediately. “It’s when he calls me Stephanie. Same with my mother. The minute I hear anybody call me that, it’s sure to be bad news.”
“That doesn’t do me any good,” Carole said. “My real name is Carole.”
“Well, then, I don’t see the difference. If somebody called you Stephanie, it would probably be bad news, too.”
Carole laughed. Stevie laughed, too. Lisa might have laughed, but her mother was there, watching absolutely everything, and somehow that put a damper on any desire to giggle.
In a few minutes the young riders were ready. The four girls and Mrs. Atwood dutifully filed into Max’s office. Max greeted them all, especially Mrs. Atwood, who did not usually come to Lisa’s lessons, and asked them to sit down.
“There’s one other aspect of Briarwood I wanted to discuss with you four. It’s not official from Briarwood’s point of view, but it is from mine. As you know, I believe that my riders must all meet certain standards—nothing unreasonable, mere excellence.…”
The girls smiled a little nervously. They knew that Max was only half joking, and that was one of the reasons they were proud to be his students.
“I believe that excellence comes from within, however. And I also believe that one person’s excellence cannot be judged by another person’s standards.”
That sounded odd, because Max’s own standards were always very high and were consistently used to judge his students. In class he was the one who was always telling each of them what to do. Stevie was about to point this out to him, but he had more to say.
“So here’s what I want you to do. I want each of you to think about what your own goals are for riding, especially for riding at Briarwood. You will each be in five classes, and that means that you should be thinking about your goals for each of those five classes. For instance, in the Fitting and Showing class, one of you may think of her goal as keeping her horse calm. Another may feel that there’s progress to be made on hoof cleaning. When you’ve decided what your personal goal is, you are going to write it down on a piece of paper and put it in an envelope—one for each class. Then you are going to seal the envelopes and give them to me. After the show we’ll meet again. I’ll return the envelopes to you, and you can open them to remind yourself of what you thought was important before the competition. You then get to grade yourself. I am not going to ask you what your goals were; I’m simply going to ask you if, in your opinion, you met them. I will then give you whatever ribbon you tell me you deserve.”
“You mean if I tell you it’s straight blue across the board, you’ll give me blue ribbons?” Stevie asked.
“The purpose here is to learn, Stevie,” Max said. “If you have learned, you have succeeded.”
“And how are you going to break the ties if these other girls think they’ve won blue ribbons at the same time I have?” Veronica asked.
Lisa noticed the way Veronica phrased the question. She made it sound as if she, Veronica, would be winning blue ribbons while The Saddle Club girls would only think they had. Max noticed it, too.
“Whatever anybody thinks is what they are going to get, Veronica,” he said patiently. “Now, all of you, go get ready for class. Think about what I’ve said and think about your personal goals. We’ll have a special session to practice for the show after class today. Can everybody stay?”
Stevie, Lisa, and Carole all nodded. Veronica mumbled something about having to reach her mother on the mobile phone. The Saddle Club wasn’t interested in her excuses. There was plenty of work to do before class. They dashed for the tack room.
Lisa’s mind was in a haze while she tacked up Prancer. All she could think of was how wonderful Briarwood was going to be and how she and Prancer were going to do so well. She thought about what her goals were going to be. There were hundreds of things, she realized. She still sometimes had trouble keeping her legs perpendicular to the ground and her heels down. Sometimes her hands slipped on the reins and gave too much slack. Occasionally she lost track of which diagonal she was supposed to be posting on, and she still wasn’t always sure she got her horse to jump at the right distance from the jump. She thought about these things, but she also thought about the horse she was tacking up. Prancer. The horse’s name alone was enough to make her dream of blue ribbons. After all, it was the name of one of Santa Claus’s reindeer, and it was a good name, because this horse could really fly! She could even soar. And that made Lisa’s thoughts soar. With Prancer on her side, she was going to win. There just wasn’t any doubt about it.
“That’s a pretty horse,” her mother remarked, bringing Lisa back to the present.
“She’s the greatest,” Lisa agreed. “I’ll give her a careful grooming after I ride her today, Mom, and if you want to wait around, you’ll see how gorgeous she is when her coat is sleek and clean, but even now you can see what a champ she is.”
“I guess I can,” Mrs. Atwood said. She stepped back a little, though, because Prancer was shifting back and forth uneasily. The mare was much more comfortable and relaxed around young riders than adults, and Mrs. Atwood seemed to be making her a little nervous.
“She won’t hurt you, Mom,” Lisa promised. “She’s just trying to figure out if she trusts you.”
“Maybe, but I’m more interested in whether or not she trusts you,” Mrs. Atwood said. “Which horse is Veronica diAngelo’s?”
“Two stalls down,” Lisa said. “Her name is Garnet.”
“But that’s not Veronica who’s putting on her saddle and bridle, is it?” Lisa’s mother asked.
“No. Veronica usually gets somebody else to do the work for her.” She stood on tiptoe to see who Veronica’s victims were this time. They were two younger girls in the class who were apparently trying to ingratiate themselves with Veronica. They weren’t doing a very good job of it, since they had Garnet’s saddle way too far back on her. That would have to be readjusted during class, and it wouldn’t make Max happy.
Mrs. Atwood stepped away from where Lisa was working on Prancer and walked over to Garnet’s stall.
A few minutes later she reappeared. “Nice horse Veronica has,” she said to Lisa.
“Yes. Garnet’s pretty.”
“But she’s kind of small—I mean, compared to Prancer, here, isn’t she?”
Lisa would never understand what her
mother thought was important, but if the height of a horse was it, she’d go along with it.
“Arabians aren’t known for their height,” Lisa said. “They’re known for their endurance and their beautiful heads.”
“I think Prancer is really pretty.”
“She is,” Lisa agreed, recognizing progress when she heard it. “She’s one of the prettiest horses I’ve ever known.”
“You know, I only care about what’s right for you,” Mrs. Atwood went on.
“Yes, I know,” Lisa said. It was true, too. Her mother sometimes had a skewed notion about what was desirable, but her intentions were always good.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt or anything.”
“I won’t, Mom. I promise.”
“All right. I’ll tell Max it’s okay.”
“You’ll sign the form?”
“Yes, I’ll sign the form,” Mrs. Atwood said. “As a matter of fact, I’ll go to Max’s office right now and do it.”
Lisa wasn’t absolutely sure her mother was beyond hearing when she shrieked with joy. It didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was she’d be in the ring at Briarwood, and she and Prancer would … Could she say it? Yes. They’d win. She just knew it!
“AND YOU ALL have to keep an even pace,” Max said. “It’s extremely important. You can’t have your horses dashing around the show ring in spurts. That goes for all the classes, but especially for the jump—Lisa, did you hear me?”
Lisa tugged at Prancer’s reins. The mare seemed to think this was a race and she wanted to win. She went faster with every step.
“I heard you,” Lisa said. “I’m just not sure Prancer did.”
There was nervous laughter.
“You’d better come to a halt now and then start again,” Max said.
It took another ten steps before Prancer got Lisa’s message about stopping. Lisa decided that poor Prancer had been cooped up in her stall for over six months, and all she wanted to do now was move, fast. Lisa was sympathetic with that, but she also knew it was her job to be in charge all the time.
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