Horse Crazy

by Bonnie Bryant

  “Sure,” Stevie said eagerly.

  “Monday at four o’clock?”

  “I’ll be there,” she promised. She took the woman’s name and address and then hung up.

  Raking out from under hedges was not only difficult, but was a job for a small person who could crouch easily to reach the hard places—a younger person, perhaps one who was trying to save up money for a fifty-gallon fish tank. Someone just like her younger brother.

  “Michael!” Stevie called upstairs.

  Her nine-year-old brother appeared on the landing. “Yeah?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Want to make some money?”

  Michael smiled broadly, nodding.

  The phone rang again. “Is this Stevie Lake?” a man asked when she answered. “I need someone to help me clean out my attic,” he began. Stevie knew it was a perfect job for her twin brother, Alex.

  Stevie made the arrangements and gave Alex all the information. By the time she’d finished with that, the phone rang again. She couldn’t believe it. She had begun to think that walking around the neighborhood had been a dumb waste of time, but it seemed that a lot of people had work they wanted done. Stevie was nearly ecstatic.

  The phone kept ringing all day Sunday, too. One woman wanted somebody to dig worms for her six-year-old son to use for fishing. Another needed somebody to till her vegetable patch for planting. Mrs. Ziegler wanted somebody to sit for the twins Wednesday afternoon. It seemed that everybody in the world had something they didn’t want to do themselves. Stevie could understand that. After all, she didn’t want to do her math project.

  On Sunday night, practically exhausted from making plans on the telephone all day long, she fell into bed and closed her eyes. In her dreams, Stevie was riding Comanche proudly along the wooded trail, sleeping bag fastened to the back of the saddle. Only Stevie, Carole, and Max were on the trail, though. Everybody else was back in town: They were an army of kids doing loads and loads of chores for Stevie’s neighbors. Stevie smiled contentedly in her sleep.

  THERE WAS NO riding class on Monday, but Carole had called Veronica on Sunday to remind her that she’d promised Carole she could exercise Cobalt after school. Veronica had forgotten completely. Carole wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t so much the promise to Carole she’d forgotten; it was Cobalt who had slipped her mind again. But she readily agreed that Carole could do the job. Carole had the school bus drop her off by the shopping center and she got to Pine Hollow by three-thirty.

  The outdoor ring was empty, so she’d be able to work with the beautiful Thoroughbred in the large exercise area. Smiling to herself, she entered his stall. He nickered and nuzzled her shoulder when she put her arm around his shiny, silky black neck.

  “Poor old boy,” she whispered into Cobalt’s ear. “Your problem is that you’re too pretty. If you weren’t so good-looking, Mr. diAngelo would never have bought you and you’d never belong to Veronica. You’d belong to somebody who would really care about you.”

  Not that Veronica didn’t care about Cobalt, exactly. She cared about him in the same way she cared about her friends. They were part of a collection to her, things that made her feel more important just because they were hers.

  Cobalt was a Thoroughbred stallion. Mr. diAngelo had paid a lot of money for him. But Cobalt wasn’t the right kind of horse for Veronica. His personality didn’t mesh with hers at all, though Carole wondered briefly if anybody’s personality could mesh with Veronica’s. Cobalt was high-strung and powerful. Veronica needed a horse she could control, and she couldn’t control him. She was constantly fighting with him. Carole knew that it couldn’t be much more fun for Veronica than it was for Cobalt, but she felt sorrier for Cobalt than she did for Veronica.

  She slipped on his saddle and bridle and within a few minutes had led him out into the ring. Max was there training a new bay, which he had just bought as a school horse. He smiled broadly when he saw Carole and Cobalt.

  “I always like to see you riding that horse, you know,” he said.

  “And I always like to ride him,” Carole said. “I keep hoping that if I can ride him enough, he’ll develop some confidence in people.”

  Max shook his head a little sadly. “He’s a fine horse, and always will be. Veronica can’t change that. But she can damage him as a riding horse. I mean, look at this one I’m on, Diablo. He was named that because of his short pointy ears.” Carole looked at the ears and laughed. They did look a little devilish. “Anyway, this is a nice horse and he’s gentle enough for most of the new riders. But his mouth is a little tough.”

  Carole knew what that meant. If a horse needed very strong signals with a bit to follow commands, he had a tough mouth. If a slight signal was followed, the horse had a soft mouth.

  “Cobalt has a soft mouth. Every time I see Veronica tug at her reins, or ride on them, yanking away, I think about that soft mouth and how much it must hurt.”

  “No wonder he’s so jumpy when Veronica’s riding him,” Carole said.

  “But not with you,” Max assured her.

  Carole knew that was true and she was proud of it. Cobalt responded to the slightest pressure with the reins. In fact, he usually responded just to the pressure of her legs on his sides. Sometimes, it seemed to Carole that Cobalt could practically read her mind.

  “Let’s see how smart you and that horse really are,” Max challenged her. “It’ll give me a chance to test Diablo, too. I’ll lead you on a figure around the ring. See if you can follow it.”

  Carole loved challenges like that. She was sure Cobalt would be up to it, too. Most riding classes were for the students. With a lot of work, and cooperation from the horses they rode, they could learn the basics of riding, and most students were perfectly content with that. Once the rider was schooled, however, the rider’s goal became teaching the horses good manners and good form. This was known as dressage. In dressage competitions, it was the horse as much as the rider who was judged.

  Max wanted to test Diablo and he wanted to give Carole a chance to have Cobalt show off his stuff. As a Thoroughbred, he was fast. Thoroughbreds were bred for racing. But Carole knew that Cobalt was smart, too, and she was eager for the challenge.

  Max led off. He cantered Diablo down the center of the ring, turning him left at the corner. Then he began a figure eight crossing in the center of the ring. As he passed the center of the X, he changed leads, meaning that Diablo’s gait switched from one lead leg to the other when he switched directions. A horse always had to lead with his inside leg on a circle, since all his weight was being thrown in that direction as he leaned into the turn. When the circle changed directions, as in a figure eight, the lead went from one side to the other. With Max on board, the transition was smooth, barely noticeable. Max brought Diablo down to a walk and took him over to the side of the ring, making room for Carole.

  With nearly invisible leg signals from Carole, Cobalt sprang into a balanced canter down the center of the ring. Carole swung Cobalt to the left and began her figure eight. As if he’d known all his life how to do it, Cobalt switched leads at the X both times they went through it.

  “Beautiful, Carole, beautiful,” Max said.

  Carole knew it wasn’t she who deserved the compliment. It was Cobalt.

  Max worked with Carole and Cobalt for more than an hour, teaching both of them good habits and good manners. Never once did Cobalt try to take the bit or get fussy. He seemed as content to follow Carole’s instructions as Carole was to give them.

  “That’s all for today,” Max said. “You two have put in a lot of hard work. Time for a cooldown for both of you and a nice grooming—for Cobalt, that is!”

  Carole dismounted and walked Cobalt in circles around the ring until he was cool enough for his grooming. She took him back to his stall and removed his tack. Then she brought the grooming tools back from the tack room.

  Grooming a horse took a long time, but Carole didn’t mind. When she groomed Cobalt, she thought he was the most beautiful horse
in the world. She crosstied him in his stall and began the job by cleaning out his hooves with a hoof pick. Next, she worked with a currycomb and then a brush all over his body, brushing out dust and sweat. She also used a comb and brush on his mane and tail. Then she used a damp sponge to smooth his coat and make it shiny. Finally, she put a blanket on him to protect his coat and to keep him warm in the cool spring evening that was coming.

  When she was all done with that, she took a sugar lump from her pocket and gave it to him. Usually, Carole didn’t like to give horses treats. They were better off eating their regular meals, and besides, a horse that got treats often began to expect treats all the time. Carole had seen horses who just wanted treats and would nip at their riders. It was a very bad habit horses developed sometimes.

  But with Cobalt, it was different. He seldom got treats from Veronica, so he didn’t expect them. He liked the sugar lumps Carole gave him, and the carrots she sometimes brought, but he always kept his good manners—at least with her. Veronica, however, often complained about how naughty he could be. Carole didn’t think Cobalt was the one who was misbehaving at those times.

  She gave Cobalt one final hug and left Pine Hollow to catch the bus for home at the shopping center.

  When she owned her own stable some day, Carole decided, she wouldn’t let in any owners who didn’t take really good care of their horses, no matter how important the people thought they were.

  “OH, IS THIS your house?” Veronica asked on Saturday afternoon as Lisa’s mother drove them up the short driveway. Suddenly, Lisa was sure it was going to be a very long day.

  The two girls retreated to Lisa’s room. Mrs. Atwood said something about bringing milk and homemade marshmallow krispies in a few minutes. Lisa was glad her mother didn’t see Veronica grimace.

  Lisa liked her bedroom and she always had. It suited her very well. The walls were papered in pink flowers on a white background. She had a pink-and-white lounge chair covered in a fabric that matched the bedspread on her four-poster bed. She had a well-loved collection of stuffed animals by her pillow. On the far wall, next to her closet, was a small vanity with a large mirror. On the wall near the windows was the desk where she did her homework. There were two bookshelves containing her favorite books and some games and toys. There was a small rag rug near the bed. The rest of the floor was covered with wide wooden boards, which gleamed in the sunshine that streamed in every morning. As far as Lisa was concerned, it had everything she needed.

  But she could see right away that for Veronica’s taste it was missing a few things. There was no bedside telephone. No sofa. No television. No VCR. No stereo system. No intercom to call the servants.

  Veronica claimed the lounge chair. Lisa lay down on her stomach on her bed, facing Veronica. “I don’t have a lot of the things you do,” Lisa began apologetically.

  “Where’d you get your breeches?” Veronica asked, ignoring Lisa’s apology. Apparently, she and her mother were still arguing about riding pants.

  “Mom and I went shopping at The Saddlery,” Lisa said.

  “Oh,” Veronica said. It was just a sound like any other sound, but the way Veronica said it, it meant more than oh. It meant that Veronica bought her riding clothes at the fancier riding store at the West End Mall. It meant that even though Veronica had admired Lisa’s pants, she wouldn’t get a pair like them because they came from the less exclusive shop. Did it also mean that Veronica didn’t really want to be friends with somebody who had to shop at The Saddlery?

  Lisa began wondering about the type of girl who would make judgments about her friends based on where they bought their riding clothes. Just then, Mrs. Atwood came in with the milk and cookies. That time, Lisa knew her mother saw Veronica’s grimace.

  It was going to be a very long afternoon.

  “STEVIE, ARE YOU working on your homework?” her mother called up the stairs.

  Stevie didn’t like to lie, but she didn’t want to say no. She hated the idea of her mother coming into her room for a lecture right then. She compromised. “What else is a Saturday afternoon for?” she yelled, as if that were an answer. Her mother stayed downstairs.

  Besides, in a way, she was working on her homework—her math project “substitute.” All three of her brothers were in her room—and in on the conspiracy.

  “Chad,” she began, starting with her older brother. Chad was fourteen and very interested in girls. The only way she could get him to take any of the jobs she’d been flooded with was to promise that there were cute girls on the premises. “There’s a lady on Granite Street who needs her grass cut this afternoon. Her name’s Richman. I think she’s Janet’s mother.”

  “Oh, yeah, Janet,” he said somewhat dreamily. “I’ll do it.”

  “I knew you would,” Stevie said, chuckling. “Alex, you want a dog-walking job?”

  “As long as it’s not a toy poodle or some other sissy kind of dog.”

  “I don’t know what kind of dog it is. Just do it, will you?” she asked, a little annoyed. Quickly, her twin agreed.

  “Michael, you did such a good job last week on those beds under the hedges that the lady wants you back for her flower beds.”

  “That lady kept calling me Stevie, you know, and I don’t like to be called Stevie.”

  “Sure, she thinks I’m a boy. But she pays two-fifty an hour and that’s two bucks clear for you.” Stevie was very good at matching needs and skills—or greeds and skills, she thought to herself, laughing.

  “I’ll take it,” Michael agreed.

  “Okay, then, what are you all waiting for?” Stevie asked her brothers. “Go on, do your work.”

  They shuffled out of her room, but she barely saw them go. She had to make notes on her pad about which jobs had been filled and who was doing them. Just as she finished, the phone rang again.

  “Stevie,” a girl whined. “It’s Polly. I can’t do that baby-sitting job on Wednesday. I have an orthodontist appointment—”

  “I’ll call Mrs. Ziegler and see if it’s okay for you to take the twins to your orthodontist,” Stevie said, thinking fast.

  “No way!” Polly said. “They’re little monsters! They’d probably kill the fish in Dr. Mellman’s fish tank. Get somebody else.”

  “Okay,” Stevie agreed and then hung up. But who? She decided to try the new girl in her riding class. After all, she lived pretty near the Zieglers. Maybe that meant she knew how awful the twins were, Stevie thought, pausing while she reached for the phone. Before she could make up her mind, the phone rang again.

  “Is this Stevie? Would you like a job helping me take all the stuff out of my basement? It flooded in those rains last week and everything needs to be dried, you see …”

  “YOU JUST WOULDN’T believe all the calls I’m getting,” Stevie told Carole on the phone later that night. “I mean, my ear is sore—”

  “Stevie, just exactly what did you put on that flier you handed out?” Carole asked. Their town was full of kids who wanted jobs to do, and she couldn’t understand why everybody was calling Stevie.

  “Oh, I suppose it was kind of a hard sell,” Stevie said vaguely. Whenever Stevie got vague, she was trying to cover something up.

  “ ‘Hard sell’?”

  “Yeah, sort of.”

  “Like what, specifically?” Carole said.

  “Want me to read it to you?” Stevie asked.

  “Yes, I’m dying to know what you said,” Carole shot back.

  “Okay, here goes.” Stevie sighed. “It says ‘I’m desperate for money! Please hire me to do odd jobs for you. Nothing is too big or too small for me. I’ll do any kind of honest work. I must have cash immediately to put a shelter over my head and food on my plate! Signed, A Starving Twelve-Year-Old. Call 555-7823 and ask for Stevie.’ ”

  “Stevie, I don’t believe you! Haven’t you heard about truth-in-advertising laws?”

  “Well, it’s sort of true. I mean, I’m earning the money to pay for the tent and the food on the camping trip, a
ren’t I? And it’s working, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve had dozens of calls—uh, say, would you groom Cobalt on Monday?”

  “Well, sure, I’ll always groom Cobalt, but—”

  “Uh, thanks. Listen, Carole, I’ve got to go. See you,” she said, and hung up before Carole could ask her why she was finding somebody to groom Cobalt. Carole decided that Stevie had agreed to do it for the Original Lazy Bones, Miss V. diAngelo, but had gotten a paying job for the same time. Well, if that were going to help Stevie be able to go on the trip, then Carole was glad to do it. Besides, she was always glad for a chance to groom Cobalt.

  But Carole was still uneasy about her friend’s project as she got ready to go to sleep.

  LISA LAY BACK in bed, watching the half-moon in the clear sky outside her window. The moon was reflected in her vanity mirror—two half-moons a quarter of a million miles apart. If she could put them together, would she have a full moon? Perhaps the halves wouldn’t match. These days, it seemed to her a lot of halves didn’t match.

  Even though she had thought she would hate riding, now that she was doing it, she loved it. She had been wrong about that half. She had thought she wouldn’t ever be any good at it, but Max had praised her today. Max didn’t lavish praise on anybody. She knew that she’d worked hard and deserved it.

  She had thought that it would be fun to be Veronica diAngelo’s friend. But being a friend to Veronica didn’t mean having Veronica be a friend to her. Those were two halves that didn’t match at all.

  Lisa was beginning to realize—no, if she wanted to be honest with herself, she’d have to admit that the signs had been there ever since Veronica had summoned Red O’Malley to help her—that Veronica was a very selfish person. She may have been willing to share her VCR and her parents’ chauffeur with Lisa, but she didn’t seem to be able to share herself. She wasn’t much of a friend, Lisa decided finally.

  Riding was something you did with other people. Riding classes were for groups, not individuals. A horseback camp-out would be really neat—if she had a friend to share it with. But Veronica would have a hard time sharing that, too, Lisa knew. It would be horrible, just horrible, if she couldn’t be friends with anybody at riding class, but that seemed to be the case. And if that were true, she’d have to give up riding. Her mother wouldn’t mind now, not after she’d seen how rude Veronica could be—the “great” Veronica diAngelo. The rich Veronica diAngelo was more like it, since that seemed to be the single most important thing as far as Veronica was concerned.