“Don’t forget the sweats,” said Carole.
“We’ll be fine,” said Stevie. Her mother waved good-bye to the girls and pulled the crossword puzzle out of her handbag.
“Okay, jeans first,” said Lisa.
“Nope,” Stevie said. “I’ve got all the jeans I need. T-shirts and sweats, too. No, what I need is some real clothes—like this,” she said, indicating her outfit.
“I thought you hated those pants because they’re too big for you,” Carole said.
“I thought you hated them because they’re ugly,” Lisa added.
“Well, I do hate them, but I want ones that are a decent fit and a nice color. I want clothes that are real clothes. It’s not a rule that I have to look like a slob all the time.”
“I’ve gotten so used to the slob look—” Carole began.
“Not all the time,” Lisa said sharply.
Carole changed directions. “Okay, well, we can find something that isn’t grungy that’ll be good for you. Why don’t we go over to Simpson’s?”
Simpson’s was a store that catered to juniors. It had a wide variety of clothes, and both Lisa and Carole liked the selection. Neither of them had ever thought it would interest Stevie, but perhaps today was an exception.
Stevie considered her friends’ general taste in clothes. She’d always known that the three of them had personal styles as different as their personalities. Lisa always wore clothes that were extremely conservative but still fashionable. Most people would describe them as preppy. Carole’s clothes were simple, never fussy, and always neat and clean. That was surely inherited from her father’s Marine Corps sense of style. Stevie, on the other hand, tended to assemble outfits from among whatever was the cleanest in her closet, and sometimes the results were very interesting—hardly ever stylish, but definitely interesting. Now she was determined to make a change.
When the three of them entered Simpson’s, Lisa was immediately drawn to the rack of skirts and slacks, while Carole headed for the nearby stacks of button-downs. Stevie disappeared to look at the cotton sweaters.
“What do you think she wants?” Carole asked Lisa.
“Nice stuff, I guess. Look, here are some nice navy blue slacks. They’re permanent press, so they won’t wrinkle. But navy shows spills. Maybe something like gray would be better.” Lisa took a couple of pairs off the rack for Stevie to try on. Then she found some nice pleated skirts in soft plaids that might do for Stevie. She took those, too.
“And look at these turtlenecks,” said Carole. “This would go with the slacks, and this one with the skirts. Turtlenecks are great because you don’t have to iron them and they always look neat. Black goes with everything. And this is a nice bright red. That’s a good color for Stevie. You’ve got to have a white. And this hunter green is sharp-looking.”
“Great stuff,” said Lisa. “Now let’s find Stevie.”
Laden with clothes, the two tracked down their friend. It took a while because Stevie had apparently found a dressing room at the far end of the store. It only took a little convincing before the salesperson let Carole and Lisa into the room with Stevie.
When Stevie opened the door for them, she had already put on her first outfit. She was wearing pale yellow wool slacks, a white blouse with a frilly collar, and a matching pale yellow angora sweater.
“Isn’t Phil just going to love this?” she asked.
Carole and Lisa were stunned. This was so unlike Stevie that it overwhelmed them, even more than the curly hair and the strange outfit had the day before.
Before she could stop herself, Lisa asked, “Phil who?”
“Marsten,” Stevie said, surprised that Lisa had to ask. “Is there another Phil who cares what I wear?”
“I’m sorry,” Lisa said. “I never thought Phil particularly noticed what you wore—I mean, not that he doesn’t care when you dress up for something, but most of the time the two of you are at a stable and—”
“Angora?” Carole interrupted
“It’s so soft!” Stevie said. “Here, feel it.” Carole obliged. It was soft. It just wasn’t Stevie. “And look at all these other wonderful clothes I found. I haven’t tried them all on yet, but I know I’m going to love them! Coming to Simpson’s was a great idea!”
She pointed to the stack of slacks, skirts, blouses, and sweaters she’d found for herself. All pastel. There were three other angora sweaters—“Though of course I can’t buy them all,” Stevie confided. “But I know Phil will love everything. It’s just so wonderful to find exactly what I was looking for. Now, stand by while I try it all on and help me decide what I’ve got to have and what I can’t take, okay?”
Stunned to silence, Carole and Lisa sat down on the little seats in the dressing room and watched while Stevie put on and critiqued outfit after outfit. Lace, chenille, wool, crisp cotton. Iron, iron, dry clean, iron. Nothing wash-and-wear, and nothing that could ever be worn more than once before cleaning.
There was nothing wrong with any of the clothes. They were of good quality, and Stevie had found outfits that went together very nicely. They just didn’t go with Stevie—or at least with the Stevie her friends thought they knew.
As Stevie closed in on her choices, she sent Carole and Lisa out in search of her mother and her mother’s credit card.
“We’d better give her some warning,” Lisa said as they approached.
“About how Stevie’s body has been taken over by a pastel-loving alien?” Carole asked.
“We might try to find a nicer way to put it,” Lisa suggested.
Mrs. Lake looked up when the girls arrived at the table. “Is she done already?” she asked.
“Almost,” Carole said. “But I think she may surprise you a little bit.”
“She already has,” said Mrs. Lake. “I’ve never known her to actually want to buy anything other than jeans. I’ve sort of prepared myself that this is going to be a more expensive shopping trip than most.”
“Well, there’s that,” said Lisa. “And then …”
“Yes?”
“Well, there’s what she’s chosen,” said Carole. “It’s not her usual.”
“What good news,” said Mrs. Lake. “Isn’t it about time Stevie actually took some interest in clothes?”
“Right,” agreed Lisa. She and Carole simultaneously thought it was best to let Stevie speak for herself, and then if Mrs. Lake wanted to make any reports about UFO’s …
MONDAY, STEVIE HAD A ten-minute break between prealgebra and French, just long enough to duck into the girls’ room to make sure her curls were in place and to touch up her lipstick—two things she couldn’t remember ever doing on her class break before. She had started to open the girls’ room door when she heard her name spoken inside.
“Can you believe that getup Stevie’s wearing today?” It was Meg Durham, one of Veronica’s friends, so it was no surprise whose voice answered.
“And the hairdo,” said Veronica. The two of them dissolved into giggles.
“Jealousy,” Stevie said to herself, letting the door close. There was another girls’ room at the other end of the hall. It was empty when she got there, giving her some privacy in which to admire her own reflection while fluffing her curls and replacing the lipstick.
She’d never really thought yellow was her color, but this pale shade seemed to do something for her. It was very ladylike and elegant. Stevie smiled back at herself, brushed some imaginary lint from her shoulder, and returned to the hallway. She was all ready for French. She could take anything today, partly because she liked her new clothes so much and partly because after school she was going to Pine Hollow. Time for sidesaddle lesson number two.
AT THE STABLE, Stevie had to ask Mrs. Reg if she could hang her slacks and sweater in the office rather than in her locker. The locker room was so full of dust that she was sure the clothes would get soiled.
“Whatever you want, Stevie,” Mrs. Reg said, regarding her curiously.
“Thanks,” Stevie answere
d, pleased by the compliment she was pretty sure Mrs. Reg had just given her.
She stopped by the tack room on her way to Belle’s stall and picked up the sidesaddle and Belle’s bridle. Belle welcomed her with almost the same strange look she’d been getting from everybody all day long. In this case, she knew it was because Belle recognized the saddle.
“Don’t worry, girl,” she promised the horse. “I learned a thing or two the last time, and I promise it’ll go better today.”
Belle stood still while Stevie tacked her up. She walked patiently toward the ring, pausing, with Stevie, at the good-luck horseshoe. Stevie managed to mount Belle on the first try. She shifted her weight about on her bottom and her thigh until she was pretty sure she was balanced.
She clucked her tongue and flicked the reins, giving Belle a little nudge with her left heel at the same time.
For Belle, that was a lot of signals at once. She took off at a trot. Stevie reined her in a little. The mare halted. Stevie signaled her to start again just using her leg, and this time Belle moved to the right.
“Oh dear,” said Stevie.
After such a rotten beginning to the lesson, there was nowhere to go but up. Experience had taught Stevie that sometimes when a ride began really badly—and this one had all the earmarks of that—the best thing to do was to start again.
Reluctantly she slid out of the saddle, walked Belle back to the mounting block, and climbed back onto the horse.
Belle stood quietly, waiting for instructions.
“Walk,” said Stevie, putting some ever-so-gentle pressure on her left side with her leg and on her right side with the riding crop. Miraculously, Belle walked.
Stevie was annoyed with herself for forgetting about the riding crop in the first place.
The rest of the hour was just about as successful as the first ten minutes had been. Right turns were easy. Left turns were hard. Gait changes were a nightmare when Stevie forgot to use the crop and merely ragged when she remembered. She hadn’t felt so much like a rank beginner since the day she’d been one. And none of it was Belle’s fault. The two of them were learning together—willing pupils, but pupils nonetheless.
Both pupils were nearly exhausted by the time Stevie led Belle back into the stable and gave her a well-deserved grooming. She was halfway home before she remembered she was still wearing her riding clothes and had left her lovely new yellow outfit in Mrs. Reg’s closet.
If it hadn’t been her favorite of all her new outfits, she might have just left it there. But it was her favorite, and Pine Hollow was no place for good clothes. Exhausted but determined, she returned and carried the pale yellow outfit back home.
The good news that helped her all the way home was the knowledge that she had a riding class on Wednesday, when she and Belle would ride the usual way, the normal way, the right way—astride. She sighed in anticipation.
ON WEDNESDAY, she asked Mrs. Reg if she could leave her angora sweater in her office.
“Don’t worry,” said Mrs. Reg, looking at the sweater with a furrowed brow. “It’ll be safe here. Nobody will steal it, that’s for sure.”
Stevie wondered briefly why Mrs. Reg was so sure about that, but that wasn’t why she was leaving it with her. It was that the locker room was totally dusty and would mess up that pretty, pure white.
“Thanks,” said Stevie.
When Stevie and Belle reached the schooling ring, she found that Lisa and Tiffani were already there. They’d apparently arranged to meet before class so that Tiffani could give Lisa some help with her sidesaddle riding.
Some of the other students were there, too, watching. Carole and Starlight were over to one side. Stevie joined them.
“Okay, now, Lisa, I don’t think that was what you wanted to do at all? That little ole Diamond is just waiting for a signal from you? He’s gonna do anything you tell him? So why don’t you go ahead and tell him to go to the left?”
Lisa used her left hand to open the rein on the left side, maintaining a true balance in the saddle. Diamond paused a short moment and then turned to the left.
“Great!” said Tiffani. “That was just about perfect?”
“That wasn’t perfect,” Stevie whispered to Carole.
“Of course it wasn’t,” said Carole. “Lisa knows that and so does everybody else here. Lisa should have been able to give a signal that didn’t confuse Diamond for that little second that he paused before doing what he was told. On the other hand, it was definitely better than her earlier try. And look, Lisa’s smiling, not because she’s done something really good, but because she’s done something better. That’s what learning is,” Carole told Stevie.
Stevie looked around. Everybody was watching Lisa’s lesson, and it couldn’t have been easy for her or even for Tiffani. The two of them proceeded, working on improving Lisa’s turning techniques. It occurred to Stevie that perhaps she could learn a thing or two about sidesaddle riding by listening carefully, but she found her mind wandering—to Tiffani’s clothes.
As usual, Tiffani was wearing pastels. This time her jodhpurs were baby blue instead of the pink of the previous week. She was wearing a pink blouse with a baby blue sweater over it. Stevie didn’t like that sweater as much as her own with the seed pearls, but it was a nice style. On the other hand …
“Look!” Stevie whispered to Carole, unable to contain herself.
“What?” Carole said.
“That blue sweater—”
“Not very practical in a riding ring, that’s for sure,” said Carole.
“It doesn’t match her eyes at all. She’d need a blue with much more gray in it than that—and paler, too.”
Before Carole could respond, Stevie turned her attention back to something going on in the ring.
Carole picked up her dropped jaw without saying anything, because there was almost no way to respond when Stevie Lake, her very best friend in the world, seemed to have sustained a personality change. First her strange shopping spree and then worrying about Tiffani’s shade of pale blue? Carole made a note to herself to talk with Lisa after class. Something seemed to be terribly wrong with Stevie, and perhaps her mother hadn’t noticed. The two girls might consider convincing her to take Stevie to a doctor, preferably one who might examine her head.
Carole was relieved when Max came into the ring and called the class to order. Perhaps a return to routine would help set Stevie’s mind straight.
Class was great, as usual, and Carole was pleased to see that Stevie was almost completely normal through it, if one didn’t count the fact that she actually raised her hand every time she wanted to speak and that she never interrupted anyone or made any smart remarks, even missing a golden opportunity when Veronica got turned around and rode in the opposite direction from everyone else in the class.
As soon as Veronica did that, the other students glanced at Stevie, waiting for a smart remark. But none came.
At the end of the class, Max reminded the riders, almost all of whom were also in Horse Wise, that they were supposed to be working on their Learn Something New project, and he was willing to help anybody or to pair anyone with a classmate for help if they needed it.
A few of the students had questions, and Max set aside time to answer them after class. Then he looked at Stevie.
“And you, Ms. Lake? Do you need any help with your project—um, whatever it is?”
It was a leading question, but Stevie didn’t follow. If Carole’s eyes didn’t deceive her, Stevie actually blushed, a most un-Stevian mannerism.
“No, Max, I don’t need any help,” Stevie said.
Carole sighed with relief. When Stevie acted like that, it was a sure sign that she didn’t have a project started yet, and the fact that the project was supposed to be finished in three days was only just beginning to bother her. Now, that was Stevie, pure Stevie. It was possible that an alien had taken over a good portion of her mind and body, but the conversion wasn’t total. There was still some of the old, beloved Stevie the
re, and that meant there was still hope.
STEVIE HUMMED ALL the way home from her riding class, barely aware of the confused looks she’d gotten from her classmates on her way out of the stable as she carried her white angora sweater. That night was going to be a very special night. She and Phil had a study date.
Sometimes it happened on a Wednesday night that Mrs. Marsten had a committee meeting in Willow Creek. She was willing to bring Phil and drop him off at Stevie’s while she went to her meeting, as long as the two of them promised to get some work done. They usually found a way to finish an algebra problem or two, or maybe they’d talk a little bit about history, but it was mostly just fun to get together.
Stevie had all sorts of plans for that night. For one thing, she was pretty sure she had time to do some baking for Phil. She wanted to make his favorite cookies, chocolate chip. In the past, Stevie had taken a fair amount of grief from her friends about her cooking, and even she would admit that it wasn’t her greatest skill. In fact, she teased herself, it was even possible that she was better at sidesaddle riding than she was at cooking, but what could be so hard about baking chocolate chip cookies?
The kitchen was empty when she got there. As quickly as she could, she assembled all the ingredients listed on the back of the bag of chocolate morsels. Well, they didn’t actually have all of the ingredients, but they had most of them. She couldn’t find any walnuts, but she decided peanuts would do instead.
It didn’t take long to make the cookies—less than an hour for the whole batch. As soon as they were out of the oven, she put them on a plate, covered them with plastic wrap, and left them on the counter. She plastered the wrap with notes, threatening death and worse if any of her brothers ate so much as one crumb.
Then she hurried upstairs to shower and wash her hair. Time was getting short, and she wanted to be all ready—in one of her new outfits—when Phil arrived.
She was only halfway through the curling process when Phil got there. This wasn’t good news, because if Phil should happen to spend any time alone with any of her brothers while waiting for her, her brothers were likely to say things Stevie wouldn’t want said to her boyfriend. She called downstairs to him.
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