Track Record

by Bonnie Bryant

  She thought about the other people she knew. There had been a few times when she’d been sure she wasn’t going to like someone but changed her mind after getting to know them better. For instance, Max’s wife, Deborah, had seemed uptight and unlikable when she’d first arrived at Pine Hollow years earlier. But it had turned out she’d just been nervous and in love. As soon as she relaxed, her true personality had emerged and Stevie had been crazy about her ever since. Then there had been Stevie’s ninth-grade English teacher, who had started off seeming like a real dragon lady but ended up being one of Stevie’s all-time favorite teachers at Fenton Hall.

  Of course, sometimes it works the other way around, too, she reminded herself, thinking of Carole’s recent experience with Cam. Sometimes a person seems great at first but turns out to be totally vile.

  Suddenly noticing lights glaring in her rearview, Stevie glanced at the speedometer and realized she’d slowed to near a crawl. Feeling slightly foolish, she pressed down on the accelerator until she’d reached a more normal speed.

  Anyway, she reminded herself, still thinking about Cam’s despicable behavior on New Year’s Eve, I suppose anyone can have a bad night once in a while, like Carole did the other night. I don’t know anything about Maureen’s personal life—for all I know, her boyfriend might have just dumped her and she’s drowning her sorrows. Not the smartest decision in the world, maybe, especially if she keeps trying to get herself run over. But understandable.

  At that, her mind drifted back to her own younger days. Over the years, Stevie herself had made a lot of decisions and done a lot of things that might have seemed stupid to other people. Her parents, her teachers, Max, and many others had sometimes failed to appreciate her exuberance and impulsiveness, which had all too frequently landed Stevie—and sometimes her friends as well—in hot water.

  So maybe Maureen and I have something in common, she thought, staring ahead at the road as it sped by beneath the beam of her headlights. Maybe she’s just being herself, for better or for worse.

  She grimaced as she remembered how Maureen had swayed drunkenly back toward the bar. In this particular case, there seemed to be a lot less better than worse. But whatever was going on with Maureen, Stevie decided to keep an open mind about it, at least until she got to know her better.

  Callie was peering under her bed, searching for her mysteriously missing chemistry notebook, when the phone rang. For all her stalling back at that restaurant with Stevie, she hadn’t managed to avoid coming home to an empty house—her parents were still out, and so was Scott. For a moment she was tempted to let the answering machine pick up. But then, feeling annoyed at her own jumpiness, she hurried to get it. She just hoped it wasn’t Stevie. She already felt bad about lying to her earlier—she had seemed so concerned. But Callie just hadn’t been able to bring herself to admit the truth.

  “Hello?” she said, still a little distracted by the missing notebook. Where could it be? She was almost positive she’d brought it home before the holidays.

  There was a slight pause on the other end. “Hello?” an unfamiliar, slightly high pitched voice responded at last. “Er, is this Callie Forester?”

  “Who’s calling?” Callie said automatically.

  “I’m looking for Callie Forester,” the voice insisted scratchily. “Is this Callie?”

  Callie’s grip on the phone tightened. Suddenly forgetting all about her notebook, she frowned suspiciously. “Who is this?” she demanded.

  “I’m looking for Callie Forester,” the voice replied. “Is this Callie Forester?”

  Without another word, Callie slammed the phone down, her hands shaking. George, she thought numbly. It had to be George, disguising his voice. But why? What does he want with me?

  That was the question of the hour. What in the world was he after? She’d made it clear on more than one occasion that she wanted nothing more to do with him. So why couldn’t he just take the hint and leave her alone?

  She leaned against the wall, staring at the now silent phone and willing herself to relax. There was no point in jumping to conclusions—she didn’t even know for a fact that it was really George. For all she knew it could have been some salesperson calling to try to convince her to apply for a credit card or change her long-distance carrier, but it was a little late for a call like that. Still, there was no reason the call couldn’t have been perfectly legitimate.

  But the more she tried to convince herself of that, the more certain she felt that it had, indeed, been George calling. Maybe he’d just wanted to see if she was there. Maybe he’d been calling from somewhere nearby and was even now sneaking up to peer in through her window. …

  “Don’t be stupid,” she whispered aloud. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself from creeping over to her bedroom window. Pulling back the curtain slightly, she peered out into the dark, moonless night. Was George out there somewhere? Was he looking back at her right that very minute?

  The thought made her jump. She was tempted to race downstairs to the basement and lock herself in. At least there weren’t any windows down there.

  But at that moment she caught a glimpse of headlights turning onto her street. As the car came closer, she recognized it as her father’s dark blue sedan.

  She relaxed immediately, relief washing over her so strongly that her knees felt weak. Hurrying downstairs, she was waiting in the front hall when her parents walked in, flushed from the cold and chatting about the dinner they’d just attended.

  “Callie!” her father said when he spotted her. He shrugged off his wool coat and turned to hang it in the closet. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing much,” Callie said, trying to sound normal. She didn’t want her parents to know how freaked out she’d been—she’d been trying all along not to make a bigger deal of the whole George situation than it deserved. That included not telling her parents a thing about it, though it was getting harder and harder to keep her feelings hidden. “I was just getting my stuff together for school on Monday.”

  Mrs. Forester shook her head in amazement. “Is school starting again already?” she said, unwinding her cashmere scarf and tucking it into her coat pocket. “It seems like your school vacations get shorter every year.”

  “Maybe the four of us can go out Sunday night to kick off the semester,” Callie’s father suggested. “I could probably cut my meetings in New York this weekend a little short and get back in time for a late dinner.”

  “You’re going to New York this weekend?” Callie suddenly realized that this could be her salvation. “Can I come?”

  Her mother blinked at her in surprise. “You want to go to New York with your father?” she said. “But I thought you’d want to spend every last precious moment of vacation at the stable, as usual.”

  Callie smiled weakly. “Um, I’ll have plenty of time for training and stuff after school starts. I just thought maybe I could do some shopping while Dad’s working—you know, kick back for a couple of days before the daily grind starts up again.”

  “Hey, I’m not going to argue,” her father said, putting an arm around her shoulders and hugging her. “I’d love to spend a weekend in New York with my favorite daughter. Just promise me you won’t drag me into every shoe store in Manhattan.”

  “Deal.” Callie followed her parents down the hall toward the kitchen, feeling relieved. She knew she was copping out, but she just couldn’t deal with her life in Willow Creek anymore at the moment. A couple of days away might be just what she needed to get a handle on things.

  EIGHT

  That Monday morning, Stevie spotted Callie hurrying across Fenton Hall’s spacious, stuffy-portrait-lined lobby. “Yo! Callie!” she called, waving. She raced to catch up as her friend paused and looked back at her.

  “Hi, Stevie,” Callie said as Stevie skidded to a stop in front of her.

  “Hey.” Stevie noticed that Callie’s face looked a bit strained. “How was the Big Apple?” She’d heard from Scott about Callie’s weekend tri
p to New York City.

  “It was okay. Did some shopping, saw a play. The usual.” Callie’s words were normal enough, but her expression still seemed a little odd.

  She’s probably just bummed to be back at school, just like me, Stevie thought. Another possibility flitted briefly across her mind—This couldn’t have anything to do with George, could it?—but she shrugged it off. Just because Callie hadn’t wanted to hang out with him the other night, it didn’t mean she was obsessed with him at all times.

  “Anyway,” Stevie said, “you missed an interesting weekend at the stable. Somehow Carole convinced Max to buy these two horses they went and looked at—did she tell you about them?”

  Callie shook her head, glancing over her shoulder distractedly. “I don’t think so.”

  “One of them sounds like a nice school horse, but the other one is some terror of a Welsh pony with a bad attitude and next to no training. Naturally, that second one is the one Carole fell in love with.” Stevie smiled and rolled her eyes. “She talked Max into letting her work with this pony, and he—Hey, are you okay?” She blinked at Callie, noticing that she was glancing around the lobby and looking oddly nervous. “What are you looking for?”

  “Huh?” Callie looked at her. “Oh. Um, sorry. I was listening. New pony.”

  “Right.” Stevie couldn’t help noticing that Callie hadn’t really answered her question. Once again George’s face floated briefly into her mind. “Um, anyway, I guess the old owner is bringing the horses over this afternoon. Max is going to have them vetted at Pine Hollow, and if they pass, we’ll have them on a trial basis until he figures out whether the pony will ever—”

  “Stevie! Stevie Lake! Over here!”

  Glancing up, Stevie saw the editor of the school newspaper waving to her from the other end of the crowded lobby. “Hey, there’s Theresa,” she said, suddenly distracted with the thought of all the article ideas she’d come up with over vacation. Getting back to work on her budding journalism career was just about the only good part of coming back to school. She gave Callie a quick pat on the arm. “I’ll talk to you at lunch, okay?”

  Callie was having more and more trouble controlling her nervousness as she made her way through the narrow, crowded second-floor hallway to her homeroom. She’d thought that Stevie would never stop talking—standing there, exposed and vulnerable, in the middle of the lobby like that had been a horrible feeling, though she hadn’t wanted to admit as much to Stevie. Even now that she was free, with just half the length of the hallway standing between herself and her homeroom, she still felt jumpy and uneasy.

  Now I know what a fox hunt must feel like from the fox’s perspective, she thought wryly, ducking around a knot of freshman girls giggling near the water fountain.

  She paused in front of the girls’ bathroom, wondering if she had time before the bell to stop in and splash cold water on her face. Meanwhile her eyes continued to dart around at the other people in the hall, searching for a certain familiar face. Suddenly she caught a glimpse of a wisp of pale blond hair poking up over the heads of some other girls nearby.

  George! she thought frantically. It’s George! I know it!

  Her panic took over, and she spun around like a spooked horse and bolted into the bathroom, nearly bowling over a pair of sophomores who were emerging. They shot her dirty looks, but Callie hardly noticed. She collapsed against the counter, feeling borderline hysterical. She had no idea if that had actually been George out there. He wasn’t the only person at Fenton Hall with that shade of hair, and she hadn’t stuck around long enough to see anything else.

  This is ridiculous, she thought. Even if it was him, so what? There were like a million other people out there. What’s he going to do to me? What has he ever done to me, really, when you get right down to it, except be a pest and talk to me when I don’t want him to?

  The image of that pale round face squashed against the window swam into her mind, but she banished it. What proof did she have that that had really been George, either? Maybe the whole incident had been a product of her overactive imagination. Maybe all she’d seen out there in the dark was a large moth beating its wings against the lighted window.

  Callie turned and cranked the handle on the sink, which was just as ancient and creaky as everything else at Fenton Hall. Cold water spurted out, and Callie bent over and splashed it on her face and neck. Standing and glancing into the mirror above the sink, she grabbed a paper towel and dabbed off the moisture.

  “There, that’s better,” she muttered, pushing back a few stray tendrils of her hair. “Much better.”

  She glanced at the door, willing herself to walk over and go through it. But at the thought of the crowded hallway outside, she cringed back against the sink, shuddering. How could she possibly make her way through the hordes of people? George might be right up on her before she could spot him.

  She was the only one left in the bathroom, which meant that it was almost time for the bell. Maybe she should just wait until the bell rang—the hallways would clear out quickly, and she could make her escape then. Of course, if she was more than a few seconds late, her homeroom teacher would probably give her a detention. Still, that didn’t seem like such a bad thing when she considered the alternative. In fact, detention sounded downright safe and cozy right about then.

  The bell rang shrilly, making her jump. Okay, now I’m officially late anyway, she thought, strangely relieved to have the decision taken out of her hands. Might as well hang out for a couple of minutes and regain my composure.

  She walked over to the window and glanced out at the winter sky, which was covered in gloomy-looking steel gray clouds. Leaning against the wall, she concentrated on taking deep, even breaths until she was sure her heartbeat was back to normal. Then she returned to the sinks, checking her hair and repairing her makeup and washing and drying her hands just for something constructive to do. Glancing at her watch, she saw that almost four minutes had passed since the bell. Even the worst stragglers would be safely at their desks by now.

  Walking over to the door, she opened it a crack and peered out. The hallway was empty, and Callie heaved a sigh of relief. She stepped out and made her way toward her homeroom, her footsteps echoing on the tile floor. Just thirty yards now and she would be safe in the classroom.

  One foot in front of the other, she told herself, walking forward steadily. Get past Mr. Carpenter’s room, then the boys’ bathroom, then the language lab, and you’re there. Twenty-five yards. Twenty yards. Fifteen—

  She almost screamed when George stepped out of the boys’ bathroom right in front of her. “Hi, Callie,” he said with a broad smile.

  Once again, she took off without even realizing she was doing it. Her shoes slipped on the smooth floor and she almost fell, but she managed to regain her balance and skidded the last few steps to the open door of her homeroom. She flung herself through, almost crashing into her teacher, who was standing just inside the door.

  “Miss Forester!” Ms. Rourke said, clearly startled at her sudden entrance. “So nice of you to join us.”

  The rest of the class tittered. Callie ignored the laughter and glanced over her shoulder. She was half expecting George to follow her right into the classroom and start babbling at her. But there was no sign of him in the hall outside the doorway. Callie turned back to face the teacher.

  “S-Sorry,” she stammered as she met Ms. Rourke’s disapproving gaze.

  “Take your seat, Callie,” the teacher said, turning and heading for her desk. “And please don’t let it happen again.”

  Callie nodded and collapsed into her seat in the front row, relieved to have escaped with a warning. At least her luck hadn’t totally deserted her. She was safe—for the moment.

  She glanced at the still-open door and froze. George was gliding past in the hall outside, staring into the classroom. His gaze met Callie’s and he smiled. Then he turned and continued on his way, disappearing a second later.

  Callie gulped, then pa
sted an innocent expression on her face as the teacher shot her a suspicious look. It seemed that safe was a relative term.

  NINE

  As Carole approached the school building on Monday morning, she felt herself growing slower and more sluggish with every step, like a barn-sour horse heading away from home. Now that it was over, winter vacation seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye. The second semester of her junior year loomed ahead, stretching so far into the future that she could hardly stand it. Algebra, English, biology—what did she really care about those subjects, anyway? Why should she have to put up with months and months of boring lectures on topics she would never need to use, when she could be at the stable doing what she really loved?

  With some effort, she forced herself to stop thinking about it. It was that kind of attitude that had gotten her in trouble the previous semester. She had a year and a half of high school to go, and she might as well just accept that and make the best of it.

  Once inside the school, she headed straight for her homeroom. At least I have this afternoon to look forward to, she reminded herself as she slung her backpack under the desk and slumped down in her chair, ignoring the other students as they wandered around the room and laughed and called to each other. I can’t wait to help introduce Jinx and Maddie to their new home.

  Smiling with anticipation, she thought about everything she had planned for the two new horses. Madison would be easy—all Carole and the rest of the staff had to do was settle her in and then ride her regularly for a week or so to work out any hidden kinks she might have. With any luck, the lesson kids would be riding her before long.