As she dressed she looked absently at a framed picture of her, Lisa, and Carole on their horses. It had been taken a long time ago. Stevie could tell the picture was old, not just because it had been on her wall forever, but because of the horse each girl was riding. Lisa was on Pepper, a flea-bitten speckled gray that had taught her everything she knew before he’d had to be put down. Carole was on another of Max’s school horses, Barq, the chestnut Arabian, her sometime mount in the days before Starlight. And Stevie was riding Topside, a bay Thoroughbred she had ridden and taken to lots of shows at the time. Mrs. Reg had taken the picture to use up some film and had made a copy for each of the girls. Normally Stevie smiled at the sight of the picture. But today she felt as if it were watching her somehow. “I just hope you guys don’t force me to hang out all afternoon,” she muttered to her friends in the photograph. “I’ve got a vacation to enjoy!”
It wasn’t until Stevie was across the room and halfway into her jeans that she did a complete double take. She glanced behind her at the picture, afraid that Carole or Lisa had overheard her thoughts. She wanted to go to Pine Hollow to “get it over with”? She wanted to spend the afternoon “enjoying” vacation? Since when had riding become a dreaded task? Since when had it ceased being her absolute favorite thing in the whole wide world? Stevie hardly knew what to think. Better not to think at all, she decided. Better to go ride and see if she felt different when she got there. Of course she would feel different! One look at Belle and—and—and she would realize how badly Belle’s mane needed pulling, Stevie thought glumly. With a sigh, she slipped a sweater over her long-sleeved T-shirt. She looked out the window. It was gray out. Again. Just like her mood. Sometimes she wished her family lived in New England instead of Virginia, or out West like the Devines—or anywhere that got a real winter. “What’s the point of winter if you don’t get huge snowstorms?” she grumbled, pulling her hair back with an elastic. Unfortunately, snow made her think of Max. Max was in Vermont. Max would be back from Vermont in two weeks, expecting progress, gray days or not.
“Or Florida! Or California! Why can’t we live in California?” Stevie muttered, pushing open the kitchen door.
Chad and Michael, seated at the kitchen table, wrinkled their noses. “Ugh: horse,” Michael said, sniffing loudly.
“It wouldn’t be that bad if she washed her clothes more than twice a year,” Chad said.
Stevie shot him a withering glance. “I wouldn’t want to go near your gym bag, either,” she retorted.
“Mine?” Chad cried. “Mine’s nothing compared to Alex’s!”
“Yeah, Stevie,” said Michael, grinning. “You’ve got competition in the body odor department now.”
Before Stevie could decide whether that was a compliment or an insult, her “competition” strode through the door, clad in spandex running tights. “Loading up on carbohydrates again?” said Alex, giving the breakfast table a disapproving glance.
“What, you don’t eat toast and cereal anymore?” Chad asked.
Alex seemed to recoil at the notion. “Not before twelve! My Power-Fitness shake gives me all the protein I need for my morning run,” he bragged.
“Great,” said Stevie, scowling at her twin. “Then why don’t you take that run?”
“Yeah, like now,” added Chad. “And leave the rest of us to eat breakfast in peace!”
“Amen!” said Michael.
Stevie felt her scowl fading. Three against one was typical in the Lake household, but she was usually the one, not one of the three! Evidently Alex’s fitness regime was getting to Chad and Michael, too.
Alex ignored the comments. He put a hand on his hip and stretched out his right side. “Sure nobody wants to join me?” he asked. “Just a quick three? Down to the dirt road and back? Chad? Michael? No takers?”
“What about me?” Stevie demanded. “How do you know I don’t want to go running with you?”
Alex gave her a condescending smile. “One, I can see—I mean smell—that you’re ready to go riding. And two, I’m sorry, Stevie, but I’m going running, not jogging and breaking to a walk every five minutes. I’ve got a training schedule to keep to.”
Chad nodded solicitously. “He’s got a point, Stevie. With all that baking you’ve been doing, you’ve put on a pound or two. You might have trouble on the hills.”
Stevie glared at her older brother. How dare he change sides on her! “You’re not exactly ready for the marathon, Chad!” she snapped.
Chad shrugged. “Who said I was?”
“Yeah, who said he was?” Michael echoed.
“Copycat!” Stevie spun around to face Alex, her face aflame. “Are you saying I couldn’t keep up with you?”
“ ’Fraid so,” said Alex, stretching out his other side.
“No, I mean, are you saying I couldn’t keep up with you?” Stevie demanded.
“Oh,” said Alex with understanding. “You mean am I daring you to try to keep up with me?”
“That’s right,” Stevie said through gritted teeth.
Alex beamed. “Well, yes. I guess I am.”
Stevie felt herself blanch, but just for an instant. “All right,” she said, her voice perfectly calm. “Then I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”
“I’m leaving in two minutes!” Alex called as Stevie ran up the stairs. She went to the laundry pile and dug out a pair of sweats. In two minutes she was back downstairs, waiting at the front door.
“Aren’t you going to stretch out?” Alex asked, aghast.
“Stretching is for wimps,” she said disdainfully.
“We-ell, all right. Any time you’re ready, then,” Alex said.
“After you,” said Stevie, opening the door.
Outside, Alex paused to look at her. “You’re really going to run the whole way without stopping?” he asked. “Three miles?”
“Oh, is it only three miles? Such a shame.” Stevie shook her head ruefully. “And I was hoping for a real workout. I guess I’ll have to get that later—when I go riding.”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Riding! All you do is sit there! The horse does all the work!”
Stevie stretched out her hands to throttle her brother, but it was too late. He had already sprinted down the driveway. Swearing revenge, Stevie started after him. She had run down the driveway hundreds, thousands of times. But somehow it had never seemed so long.
LISA WAS WHISTLING at her work. She’d had a productive day off, she’d gotten a good night’s sleep, she’d read a few chapters of To Kill a Mockingbird that morning—already—and she loved her new haircut. Rising halfway from her desk, she turned her head this way and that in the mirror. Her shiny, light brown locks swung from side to side, just above her shoulders. Vacation was great. It was so nice to catch up on all the things she needed to do. Even writing the thank-you notes wasn’t so bad.
Dear Mrs. Chambers, Lisa wrote. Thank you for the needlepoint kit. She paused, chewing on the end of her pen. The problem with thank-you notes was that after you said thank you there was nothing else to say. I love the horsey theme. It’s so “me.” Ugh. Now she was really stuck. And she still had three quarters of the page to fill. There was only one solution, one that Stevie had suggested as her method of dealing with lame adult gifts: lie outright. Lisa smiled. I love needlepoint. I find it a relaxing pastime, and I can’t wait to start this particular pattern. Feeling very Stevie-ish, Lisa signed the card with a flourish, sealed and addressed the envelope, and sat back in her chair.
It was nine-thirty in the morning. Probably time to think about getting a ride over to Pine Hollow. On Lisa’s desk was a framed picture of The Saddle Club—of her, Carole, and Stevie with the horses they had ridden when they were first friends, the horses that in a way had brought them together. Lisa loved that picture. It reminded her of the two Saddle Club rules, that everyone had to be horse-crazy and had to be willing to help each other out in any situation. “Too bad needlepoint doesn’t count as a situation,” Lisa mused aloud. She opened her top d
esk drawer and took out the needlepoint kit. It really was a nice pattern. It would make a good pillow covering—maybe as a gift for little Maxi.
As Lisa stood up from her desk, she caught sight of herself in the mirror again. She frowned. It was silly, but she wasn’t looking forward to wrecking her new haircut by crushing it under a hard hat and getting all sweaty. She could wash it later, but it wouldn’t look as good. As she was debating what to do, there was a knock on the door and her mother walked into the room. “I’m heading out to run some errands, dear. Do you want to come?” said Mrs. Atwood.
“Where are you going?” Lisa inquired.
“Post office, dry cleaner’s, but mainly the library. I’ve got to return some books, and your dad wants a new mystery.”
Lisa chewed her lip. She loved going to the library. She liked to settle into the reading room while her mother browsed the adult section. But Stevie and Carole were probably already at the barn. After their day off, they’d be raring to go. They would also be wondering where she was.
“It’ll be fun,” Mrs. Atwood urged. “We can stop at Tastee Delight on the way home.”
“TD’s?” Lisa said. It was the town’s ice cream parlor. She, Stevie, and Carole often went there after riding.
“Yes, I’m going to break my diet and have a sundae.”
“I’m supposed to go to Pine Hollow,” Lisa said reluctantly.
“What time are you meeting the girls?” asked her mother, for once not harping on the amount of time Lisa spent there.
“We didn’t set a time,” Lisa answered. “But usually everyone gets there around now. Max is away, you see, and we’re supposed to be working extra hard—”
Now Mrs. Atwood did interrupt, frowning ever so slightly. “Does it ever occur to that man that there might be other things you have to work on? I mean, other things besides walk, trot, and canter?”
Lisa smiled in spite of herself. “Max gave us a day off—yesterday. It’s just Prancer. I don’t want to let her down.”
“Prancer’s a horse,” said Mrs. Atwood, the way only a nonhorsey person could. “Another day off isn’t going to kill her, for heaven’s sakes.”
Lisa had to admit that her mother had a point. That was the thing about nonhorsey people. They didn’t understand at all, but sometimes they were right. “You know what, Mom? I will come with you. I can go riding this afternoon.” Out of the corner of her eye, Lisa could see the picture of The Saddle Club on her desk. She felt a twinge of guilt. “Stevie and Carole will just have to get along without me,” she said aloud.
“That’s right. As I always say, you don’t have to spend every waking hour there.” Mrs. Atwood turned briskly and left the room.
Lisa tidied up her desk, brushed her hair for the millionth time, and went downstairs. She had a strange feeling. She couldn’t place it until she realized it was relief: She was relieved that she was not going to the barn. “Big deal,” she said aloud. Morning or afternoon—it made no difference when she rode. Except that she wasn’t all that psyched for afternoon, either.
“Bring your riding clothes if you want, Lisa,” Mrs. Atwood suggested. “And I can drop you off on the way home.”
Lisa hesitated. She had pictured herself coming home and lying on the family room couch with a large stack of new books to read. And, oddly enough, she was kind of looking forward to starting the needlepoint. “Umm … That’s okay,” she said. “I don’t want to make you wait.”
“It’s no trouble, sweetheart. Why don’t you run up and get your breeches?”
“No, really,” Lisa said more firmly. “I don’t know if I’m even going to ride at all today. I thought about it and you’re right, Mom: Two days off isn’t going to make a difference.”
Lisa’s mother gave her a funny look. “Are you feeling all right, Lisa?”
“Yes, I’m fine, Mom! I don’t have to hang out there twenty-four/seven, do I?”
“No, dear,” said Mrs. Atwood, “you certainly don’t. But let me just take your temperature anyway. I can’t remember the last time you skipped riding voluntarily.”
STEVIE’S FACE WAS burning up. It was January and she was so hot she wanted to jump into a bathtub of ice. Her ankles were wobbling. She couldn’t feel her right foot. Her stomach felt like lead. Her lips were parched. She wanted to retch. Gasping for air, she turned the last corner before home. Up ahead she could make out a figure—barely. The figure was charging up the driveway like a gazelle. Stevie looked down at the road. She watched her feet hitting the pavement. She had no idea what or who was picking them up and putting them down again. It certainly wasn’t her. She looked back up the driveway. The figure was doing a dance. An odd tribal victory dance of some kind. I. Will. Not. Stop. I. Will. Not. Stop, Stevie chanted in her head. The figure had stopped dancing and was running—running toward her.
“Hey! Stevie! I’ll run the last fifty with you. How you feeling, huh? You look like you’re lagging a little. You want to pick up the right foot, not drag it like that. Come on, sis!”
Stevie looked at Alex. She couldn’t speak; she didn’t have the breath. But mentally she said, You are going to die a horrible death inflicted by me. To herself she chanted, I. Will. Not. Stop. Then all of a sudden she did. She just stopped. Then she walked, at an aching shuffle, holding her side, panting, tasting the acrid flavor of defeat.
“Aw, too bad. You were so close,” Alex said. He gave Stevie a whack on the back. “Better luck next time,” he said, sprinting toward the house.
“Rematch!” Stevie yelled after him. Or tried to yell. The words came out in a whisper. “Rematch!” she murmured hoarsely. “I demand a rematch!”
A FEW MINUTES later, Stevie was stretched out on the couch, a cold cloth pressed to her head, a pitcher of ice water balanced on her lap. She had never felt so awful in her entire life. Then Alex came in. “You should never lie down after exercising,” he said. “You’ve got to bring the heart rate down slowly.” He proceeded to do a series of jumping jacks and squat thrusts in front of her.
Stevie didn’t trust herself to engage in conversation, but there was one point that had to be made. “Rematch,” she said, staring stonily at the ceiling.
Alex paused midsquat. “What was that?”
“Rematch,” Stevie repeated, her voice steely.
“You want a rematch? I don’t know. It would be so boring. Well, maybe if we tested, like, overall fitness—strength, endurance, et cetera. I’d still whip you, but at least there’d be something interesting about it.”
“One week,” Stevie said.
“One week? I’d better give you two to try to get into something resembling fitness,” Alex said.
“Ha, ha. I guess you think—” Stevie began, letting her guard down for an instant. Then she stopped herself. She refused to let Alex get a rise out of her. Freezing him out was her only hope of maintaining a last shred of dignity. Silently, though, she groaned. Two weeks! Two weeks! What was it about two weeks? Two weeks to get into shape. Two weeks to prepare a demonstration for Max. Two weeks till vacation ended. Didn’t she have some homework or something? Better not think about it.… Who knew what awful assignments lurked in her backpack? Luckily it was safely zipped and stowed in the back of the closet.
“Look,” Stevie said, finally giving in to an overwhelming urge to snap at her brother, “would you mind taking the fitness parade out to the kitchen so I can watch Priced to Sell? You’re blocking my view.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Alex said. He got down on the floor and began to do push-ups. “One! Two! Three! Hey, aren’t you going to Pine Hollow? For some ‘exercise’?” He snickered. “Won’t Carole and Lisa be wondering where you are?”
Ignoring him, Stevie took the remote and turned the TV up. Normally she had no trouble with snappy comebacks. But this time Alex was right. Carole had probably been there for hours. Lisa would have joined her after breakfast. “What do you care?” she growled. Mentally, however, she was forced to cede round two to Alexander Lake.
CAROLE WAS FAR from Pine Hollow. She wasn’t even in Willow Creek. She was two towns over, speeding along the back roads in Pat Naughton’s sports car. And this, Carole thought happily, was the life.
“So anyway, Dave asked me what I most wanted for our tenth anniversary and I said, ‘A horse.’ I thought he was going to fall off his chair. But he’s gotten used to the idea. He might even try riding himself. If I ever find a horse, that is.”
“That’s great. You guys could ride together,” Carole said. She had always thought that being grown up looked pretty boring. But Pat made it seem fun. Carole was almost sorry when they pulled over to the side of the road and parked in front of the house where their first appointment was.
The two of them had gotten out of the car and started toward the front door when a window was pushed open. A woman with her hair in curlers poked her head out. “Here about the horse?” she called.
“Why, yes,” Pat said, walking toward the window. “I have a ten A.M. appointment to see …”—she consulted her day book briefly.
“I know, I know, you’re here to see Princess. Well, you’re too late. She was sold yesterday,” the woman announced flatly.
“Sold?” Pat repeated.
“Yeah! Sold! You got a problem with that? Sold to a nice little girl over in Baker’s Village.”
Carole was ready to turn around and go, but Pat put her hands on her hips and stood her ground. “Excuse me, but I called yesterday and you said the horse was still available.”
The woman shrugged and gave them a “What can you do?” look. “Hey, I didn’t know if she’d pass the vet check. I mean, if anything fell through, you had a shot at her.”
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