Shying at Trouble

by Bonnie Bryant

  Mrs. Atwood laughed uncomfortably, not quite meeting Lisa’s eye. “We haven’t put any labels on it, sweetie,” she said. “Let’s just say—well—that Rafe and I have been getting to know each other better, and, well—”

  “Okay.” Lisa waved a hand quickly, not wanting to hear any more. She had a pretty good idea what was going on, and it made her feel a little queasy. “Whatever. Your life. Your business.”

  “Lisa,” her mother said, her voice taking on a pleading tone. “Why don’t the three of us sit down, have a cup of tea or something, and talk?”

  “Sorry,” Lisa said, not sorry at all. The last thing she wanted was to take part in some awkward little tea party with the two of them. “I’ve got some studying to do.”

  She picked up her pace, making her escape before her mother could try to stop her, and didn’t slow down until she reached her room. Racing inside, she collapsed against the back of the door.

  I can’t believe this, she thought, still not completely convinced that the scene downstairs had really happened. Mom’s dating someone so young that—that I could be dating him. Except that I could never take someone seriously who actually used the phrase school of life without the slightest sense of irony.… She shook her head slowly. What in the world is she thinking?

  The next morning Carole scurried into homeroom just as the bell rang. Flinging herself into her seat near the back of the room, she sat there panting for a moment as the PA system crackled to life for morning announcements. She could hardly believe she’d made it on time—she’d been sound asleep only twenty-five minutes earlier.

  Her father had left the house very early for a breakfast meeting with one of his clients, so she’d had to get herself out of bed. Monday mornings were always tough—Carole knew she wasn’t the only student who felt that way—but today had been especially difficult. The day before at Pine Hollow, Samson had had some trouble with the tighter turns during his afternoon training session. Normally Carole would have put off working on the problem for another day to give the horse a rest. But with the Colesford show coming up so soon, they didn’t have the luxury of time. She had rushed through her other chores and a quick dinner of a sandwich begged from Max’s wife so that she could work with Samson again in the early evening.

  The later session had gone much better, and Carole had felt very pleased with herself as she gave the big black horse an extra-long grooming to reward him. It wasn’t until she was leaving his stall at seven that she remembered she’d promised Max she would mix all the grain for the next week before she left that day. She had considered just leaving, pretending she’d forgotten, but in the end her sense of responsibility had won out. She’d dragged herself wearily to the grain shed, finally finishing the task at around eight-thirty—after more than twelve straight hours at the stable.

  She smothered a yawn as the principal droned on and on about some upcoming sports events. Carole listened with half her attention, wondering why school announcements seemed to have so little meaning to her this year. Why should she care about football games or the field hockey team’s new uniforms? What difference did it make to her if the cafeteria was changing its menu or the homecoming committee meeting was postponed? She wished she could skip her last two years of high school and move straight on to the next step, an equine studies program at a good college. Why should she waste her time learning about algebra and Spanish and all sorts of other things she’d never need to know?

  The principal’s next announcement broke into her thoughts. “Don’t forget, juniors,” he boomed in his deep voice, “the PSATs are coming up this Saturday. Those of you with last names beginning with the letters A through M, your test will be given in the gymnasium of Creekside Elementary School, right here in Willow Creek. The rest of you will be taking the test in the auditorium of Cross County Middle School over in …”

  Carole didn’t hear the rest of the principal’s instructions. Her mind was racing, and suddenly she felt wide awake.

  The PSATs, she thought frantically. I completely forgot those were coming up so soon! Now that she thought about it, she vaguely remembered Stevie and Alex and Phil mentioning the test a couple of times lately, but she hadn’t paid much attention. There had been too many other important things to think about.

  But Carole knew this test was important, too. The PSATs were the practice run for the SATs—the standardized test that all the colleges looked at when they decided whether to let you into their school. Carole would need a good score if she wanted to get into a school with a competitive equine studies department. Besides all that, she certainly didn’t want a repeat of what had happened with that history test the week before …

  Fighting back a rising wave of panic, she thought about the coming week. Today was Monday, and she had promised Max she would help him order feed that afternoon. For a second she considered asking Ben to take her place so that she could exercise Samson and Starlight and then hurry home to work on those practice sheets her homeroom teacher had handed out. But then she remembered what had happened on Friday. The day before had been Ben’s day off, and for once he had actually stayed away, so Carole hadn’t seen him since their last awkward conversation in the car. This wasn’t exactly a good time to ask him for a favor.

  Sighing, she thought forward to the rest of the week. Tuesday she was supposed to help Red O’Malley, the head stable hand and assistant instructor, teach an adult riding class. Wednesday she had volunteered to take on the beginning riders herself for the first time—she didn’t want to back out of that. Maybe if she just took Samson for a quick hack along the road near the stable to accustom him to strange sights, sounds, and scents, she could get home in time to start studying before dinner. Thursday one group of intermediate riders had their lesson. After she helped Red get the class started, she would only have to take care of Samson and Starlight, along with her regular chores, so she should be able to leave a little early then, too, instead of putting in extra time practicing for the Colesford show as she’d planned.…

  She sighed again. Why did everything always seem to happen at once?

  As she left school on Tuesday afternoon, Stevie was feeling a little restless. It had been a long day, starting with a pop quiz in her first-period Spanish class and ending with a tedious, argumentative meeting of the Fenton Hall student council, featuring a seemingly endless debate on how to spend the proceeds of the last school fund-raiser. Stevie had hardly been able to hold her tongue as the student body president, a perky, intensely popular senior named Trina Sullivan, had insisted that the cheerleading squad definitely needed new pom-poms to go with the new uniforms it had gotten the month before.

  But now Stevie was free at last. The rest of the sunny afternoon stretched before her, and while she knew she ought to go home and put in some more time studying for the PSATs, she couldn’t quite work up a sense of urgency about it. A good education was of the utmost importance to both her parents, so they had made sure that Stevie’s sometimes haphazard study habits didn’t slop over into her PSAT preparations. She and Alex had both had to endure weekly study sessions, supervised by one or both parents, for the past month, as well as a weeklong preparatory course that summer. At the PSAT review on Sunday afternoon, Stevie had been pleasantly surprised to find that it had all paid off—she and Alex had both been in much better shape for the test than most of the other students who’d showed up.

  I think that deserves a little reward, she thought smugly as she headed for the student parking lot. She had the car that day, since Alex was getting a ride home with one of his teammates after soccer practice. That made Stevie feel even more inclined to take advantage of the beautiful autumn day and do something fun.

  On impulse, she decided to drive over to Cross County and see if Phil was home. She hadn’t seen him since Saturday—she’d wanted to give him plenty of time to spend with A.J.—and she’d only spoken to him on the phone briefly a couple of times.

  She cranked up the radio as she headed out of town
toward the highway, singing loudly to cover the static from the ancient speakers. She was feeling good. Annoying, pom-pom—obsessed student council presidents aside, her life was really going well these days. The PSATs were going to be a breeze. She was entered in the Colesford Horse Show. A.J. was starting to work on his problems. She was even pretty sure she’d aced that pop quiz in Spanish.

  “Yo soy muy inteligente,” she said aloud with a grin. “¡Muy lista!”

  When she reached Phil’s street—more of a country lane, really, with no sidewalks or streetlights and very few other houses—she slowed down and coasted past his driveway, checking for his car. It was parked in its usual spot, and a second later she spotted Phil himself. He was in the side yard between the slightly ramshackle detached garage and the Marstens’ tiny orchard, kicking a soccer ball around with A.J.

  Stevie smiled and swerved, parking the car haphazardly in the grass along the side of the road. Hopping out of the driver’s seat, she pocketed her keys and hurried toward the two boys, who were looking her way.

  “Hey!” she called. “Surprise! Thought I’d drop by and see what you were up to.”

  Phil came forward to meet her with a quick kiss. “Hi, Stevie,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Stevie grinned at him and turned toward A.J. “Hi,” she said. “How are you?”

  A.J. shrugged. He wasn’t really frowning, but he wasn’t exactly smiling, either. “Fine,” he said, dribbling the soccer ball between his feet. “How are you?”

  “I’m good.” Stevie took a step toward him. “I’ve been thinking about you, A.J.,” she said, making her voice as kind and understanding as she could. “I want you to know, if you need someone to talk to—you know, besides Phil or whatever—I’m here for you.”

  A.J. glanced at her. “Thanks,” he said shortly. Then he glanced at his watch. “Listen, uh, I’d better get going. I’ve got a history paper due tomorrow.”

  “Wait,” Phil protested. “I thought we were going to work on that together.”

  “Thanks for the offer,” A.J. said, kicking the ball toward Phil, who caught it expertly under one foot, “but I can manage on my own.”

  Stevie watched him go, feeling slightly hurt despite her sunny mood. “Was it something I said?” she asked plaintively as A.J. hopped on his bike and pedaled off down the driveway. “I thought we made a breakthrough the other day.”

  “I thought so too. But now I’m realizing it’s not quite as simple as that.” Phil put a comforting arm around her shoulders as they watched A.J. round a curve in the road and disappear from sight. Then Phil sighed and turned his worried green eyes toward Stevie. “He talked a lot about the whole adoption thing that first day, like I told you. But the more time passes, the less he wants to discuss it. I thought just having it out in the open would help him start to deal with it, you know? But it really doesn’t seem to have changed things that much.”

  They started walking slowly toward the house, Phil keeping his arm around Stevie even as he dribbled the soccer ball between his feet. “At least he’s doing his homework,” Stevie joked weakly.

  “I hope so.” Phil shook his head. “When I stopped by his place after school today, he was just lying in his room listening to music. I practically had to drag him over here to get some fresh air.” He shrugged. “And when I asked if he’d said anything to his folks yet, he practically freaked out, like he was afraid I was going to march downstairs right then and give away his secret.”

  “Wow. So isn’t he ever planning on telling them that he knows?”

  Phil shrugged again. “I guess not anytime soon,” he said wearily. “I think he’s still not that happy about the rest of us knowing. When I tried to suggest he might feel better if he got it all out in the open with his family, he said he was tired of talking about it. He said he appreciates our concern and all that, but he wants to deal with this in his own way.”

  Stevie’s heart sank. Suddenly the day didn’t seem quite as bright anymore. What had really changed because of their efforts? Yes, A.J. had revealed his secret. But it hadn’t made things right. It hadn’t solved his problems or even made him feel much better.

  “It’s so frustrating,” she said, leaning closer into Phil’s embrace. “How can we help him through this if he won’t let us?”

  TWELVE

  Stevie was still feeling a bit gloomy about A.J. as she sat in homeroom the next morning. As Miss Fenton began her morning announcements, Stevie tried to cheer herself up by thinking of new ways to torture Michael about his relationship with Fawn. The night before, after returning from Phil’s, she hadn’t had the energy to do much. Today she wanted to come up with something creative.

  Maybe she could arrange to run into Fawn after school that day. Fenton Hall was divided into three separate sections for the elementary, middle-, and high-school grades. But all three were housed in the same huge, crumbling old stone building, and the middle- and high-school students were dismissed at the same time in the afternoon.

  I could offer her a few handy pointers for getting along with Michael, she thought. Like making sure to ask about that Spider-Man underwear he used to love so much, or bringing him his favorite fresh-baked rhubarb-and-chili-pepper cookies …

  Shivering with anticipation, she tuned back into Miss Fenton’s voice. The headmistress was droning on about that Saturday’s PSATs and various other dull topics. But suddenly her voice changed.

  “Students,” Miss Fenton said over the PA system, her words coming much more slowly, her tone more hesitant and solemn. Stevie raised an eyebrow and sat up a little straighter in her seat, wondering what was coming next. “I have some unfortunate news to share with you now. It seems that one of our most accomplished students is leaving us.”

  Stevie glanced around the room, wondering who it was. Nobody else seemed to have any idea, either. For once, the entire homeroom was riveted on the boxy gray speaker above the classroom door. Even the teacher was staring at it, looking surprised.

  Miss Fenton paused, then continued. “I’m sure you all know Katrina Sullivan, our student body president. I’m sorry to tell you that her family has decided to move. Er, immediately. Katrina will be helping to pack, and so will not be returning to school.”

  Stevie was sitting bolt upright by now. “Trina’s moving?” she cried. All around her, her classmates were expressing their shock as well.

  “Therefore,” Miss Fenton’s voice went on, “the office of student body president will be open effective immediately. I have decided to hold a special election to choose a new president. Since national Election Day is coming up shortly, I thought that would be an appropriate date. Anyone interested in campaigning for the position should stop by the office before the end of the day today so we can begin the process.”

  “Wow.” Betsy Cavanaugh, one of Stevie’s classmates, leaned toward her from her seat across the aisle. “You’re on the student council, aren’t you? What was that all about?”

  “I don’t know,” Stevie admitted. “Trina didn’t say a word about any of this yesterday at our meeting.”

  Betsy chewed on her lower lip, her eyes glowing with curiosity. “Nobody just decides to move overnight like that,” she declared. “There must be more to this story. Maybe Trina’s pregnant or something!”

  Stevie rolled her eyes. Betsy had always loved to gossip. Still, Stevie had to admit that she had made a good point for once. Trina’s sudden withdrawal did seem more than a little odd.

  I’m sure whatever it is, someone will sniff out the story soon enough, Stevie thought idly. We’ll all know all the details before long.

  Her mind was already moving ahead toward the more important part of what Miss Fenton had said. With Trina out of the picture, there was a chance that they could elect someone more qualified to her post. Someone who might actually accomplish something useful as student body president, rather than wasting all sorts of time and money on cheerleading uniforms.

  For a moment Stevie
was tempted to run for the office herself. She had plenty of ideas, and most of the other kids knew her even though she wasn’t a senior.

  But then she had a better idea. Scott! she thought. It’s perfect. Wasn’t I just thinking that he’d make a much better president than Trina? Well, this is his chance. He may be new, but practically everyone knows him already. And he’s such a natural politician, he’ll have no trouble winning them over, despite anything that stupid newspaper article said. This could totally be his chance to redeem himself and his family.

  She grinned, pleased with her plan. Now all she had to do was convince him to run.

  A little later that day, Carole sat in her fourth-period study hall trying to cram as many vocabulary words into her head as possible. It wasn’t easy—a few yards away, a couple of other students were giggling at each other endlessly, stopping only to kiss every time the teacher’s back was turned. On the other side of the room, another student hummed tunelessly as he flipped pages in a car magazine. Besides all that, Carole’s mind kept wandering—first to Pine Hollow or Samson or Colesford, then to the days and hours ticking away until she had to take the PSATs, then to the bleak future she would face if she bombed on the test, was totally unprepared for the SATs, and couldn’t get into any colleges when she applied the following year.

  Enervate. Enervate. Carole’s mind went blank. What on earth did enervate mean? She had no idea. Flipping through the review book to the answer section, she quickly found the word. To enervate, she read. To cause a reduction of mental, physical, or moral vigor. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her brain to soak up and retain the definition. Maybe thinking of it in a sentence would help her remember, she decided. Enervate, she thought. Studying for the PSATs enervates me.

  She sighed, her gaze wandering to her algebra book, which was on the top of the stack of books poking out of her backpack. She knew she should probably put the PSAT book away and review those algebra problems she had to turn in sixth period. The afternoon before, after a group of riding students had finally finished their class and gone away, she had spent quite a bit of time in Max’s office filling out the Colesford entry forms. Max had also wanted to talk to her about Samson’s training schedule, and she hadn’t been able to resist giving him a complete rundown of everything they’d done lately and everything she had planned for him between then and the show. Then after longeing Starlight for twenty minutes or so, she’d still had a few additional chores to do. By the time she’d arrived at home and gulped down the spaghetti her father had made, she had been so exhausted that she’d barely managed to scribble out a few answers to the math problems. She felt guilty about that, especially because of that history test, which seemed to pop into her mind every other second these days.