Alex answered instead of Phil. “Don’t worry, Stevie. We’ll take care of him while you try to cover up some of those warts that have been popping up on your nose. Also, did you find the lice shampoo where Mom left it for you?”
Just what Stevie was afraid of.
“I’ll be down in a minute, Phil, but don’t you pay any attention to anything my silly brothers say, now, will you?”
“I promise not to,” Phil called back up the stairs. “As long as Alex lets me beat him at Nok Hockey.”
Stevie heard the two boys thunder down to the basement. She was philosophical. There wasn’t anything she could do except finish curling her hair, and she was sure that when Phil saw the final results, he’d be so bowled over that he wouldn’t even remember any of the awful things Alex might say.
Ten minutes later, Stevie walked into the rec room. Phil and Alex were playing an intense game, calling fouls and shouting at one another happily.
Nobody saw her enter.
“Yoo-hoo,” she said.
“Uh, hi,” said Phil, glancing up quickly, then returning his attention to the game.
“Uh—huh?” Phil looked back up, shooting the wooden puck at a wall some fifteen feet beyond the goal on the board. “Stevie?” he asked.
Stevie smiled. It’s probably the curls, she thought. Phil had never seen her with anything but straight hair, usually just hanging down. And now there she was, transformed into a lovely, feminine, and elegant creature.
“Angora?” Phil said, confused.
“Want to pat it?” Stevie invited.
Alex pointed his finger into his throat as if to make himself vomit, but Phil didn’t notice. He couldn’t take his eyes off Stevie. She beamed with pleasure at his gaze.
“Uh, no, um, thanks,” Phil said, embarrassed.
Stevie was a little disappointed. Not that she expected him to take her up on the invitation, but she’d sort of hoped he’d be a little more flirtatious, just the way he’d been with Tiffani. Well, she told herself, he just isn’t used to the new, transformed me. Give him a minute. Maybe five.
Just then Mrs. Lake called the family to dinner. Alex and Phil put the Nok Hockey away, arguing about the final score of their match as they did so.
Stevie got out of their way by going upstairs to help her mother put the food on the table. It wasn’t her night to do that, it was Chad’s, but there were no rules saying a girl couldn’t be kind and helpful when she wanted to be.
“Oh, that’s one of your new outfits,” her mother said. “I never would have thought of you in snowy angora.” She handed Stevie a platter of chicken.
At least Mom knows how to react to a nice outfit, thought Stevie.
When they were seated at the table, Stevie was pleased to find all eyes on her. It even made her a little nervous.
“Papa,” she asked, putting the emphasis on the second syllable, “would you like some chicken?”
“ ‘Papa’?” Chad echoed. “Who’s that?”
“I think she means your father,” Mrs. Lake suggested.
“I know that. I was just wondering who it was who was speaking,” Chad said.
“Stevie,” said Mrs. Lake. “That’s your sister. I think you’ve met her before.”
“Is this a costume party?” Michael asked, staring at Stevie. “Because if it is, can I put on my pirate costume?”
“Just eat your dinner,” said Mrs. Lake.
“Mom, I didn’t think we were allowed to bring pets to the table,” said Alex. “Especially fluffy white kittens?”
Everybody turned to Stevie once again, waiting for her retort. Normally Stevie would have said something about guard dogs or farm animals being allowed at the table, or she would have answered with something more direct, like a blob of mashed potatoes.
“Why, Alex, you surely don’t confuse me with a kitten?” she said instead. “It’s just this soft fluffy sweater. Inside is your usual sweet, loving twin sister. I guess if I’m a kitten, then you’re just a huggable teddy bear.”
Chad choked. Phil stared. Even Mr. Lake couldn’t help gaping.
Stevie smiled, pleased with herself. She’d managed to deflect an impending food fight with her newfound sweetness. It was a little bit like the way a certain member of her class that day had helped Lisa learn a new technique by being nice and encouraging instead of loading on the criticism.
“Phil, could I have some of those delicious peas?” Stevie asked, reaching for the bowl. As if in a trance, Phil picked up the bowl of peas and passed them over to the girl who was sitting across the table from him.
Most of the rest of the meal was consumed in silence. When Mrs. Lake asked the boys to clear the table, everybody stood up to clear at once. The dishes were stacked in the sink in a matter of minutes. Since Stevie had company, she was excused from putting them in the dishwasher. Grateful, she picked up the platter of chocolate chip cookies and winked at Phil. He picked up his history textbook and followed her down to the rec room.
The two of them settled onto the old sofa where they usually sat and worked and sometimes played. Stevie slipped off her shoes and tucked her legs under her comfortably while she uncovered the cookies.
“Aren’t my brothers just a stitch?” she asked, smiling and blinking flirtatiously at Phil.
“Uh, sure,” he answered. “Very funny.”
It wasn’t what Stevie had expected. She’d thought he’d say something funny in return about how it was nice to have somebody normal in the family—the kind of remark he often made to her.
“And Papa?”
Phil didn’t actually answer that question. He did, however, reach over to Stevie, almost as she’d been hoping he would. But he wasn’t reaching for a hug. He brushed his hand across her forehead affectionately.
No, that wasn’t the word. It wasn’t affectionate, though she wanted it to be. It was more businesslike than that. He’d paused halfway across her forehead, the same way her mother did when she was doing a quick temperature check. Did Phil think she was sick?
“Why, Phil, I’m just fine?” she told him.
“What?”
“I’m just fine?” she repeated.
“Is that a question?”
“No, silly boy. I’m telling you I’m fine. You don’t have to check me for a temperature?”
“I don’t?”
Why does he keep asking me questions? Stevie wondered. What’s going on here?
Oh, of course! It was the cookies. There she was, sitting next to him on the sofa and holding an entire plateful of cookies, and she hadn’t even offered him a nibble of one.
“I bet I know what you’d like,” she said temptingly.
“You do?” he asked, almost a little nervous.
“You want one of these little ole cookies, don’t you?”
“Uh—”
“Chocolate chips. Your favorite, right?”
“Right,” Phil said. “I do love chocolate chips. Did you bake them yourself?”
“All by myself,” she assured him.
“Oh,” said Phil.
Stevie unwrapped the platter, being extra careful not to spill any crumbs on her sweater or slacks.
Phil studied the platter of cookies, and Stevie was pretty sure that he was simply picking the biggest, tastiest cookie for himself. She waited patiently, smiling all the while.
He made his selection, but when he attempted to pick it up, it was attached to all the other cookies around it. He tried for another. Same thing.
“Maybe you should have let them cool before you stacked them,” he suggested.
“I forgot that part,” Stevie said, a little embarrassed that her new, improved self couldn’t remember something that simple.
Eventually Phil managed to break off a chunk of the cookie loaf. He took a bite.
Stevie waited for the approval. It wasn’t exactly forthcoming. The look on Phil’s face was one of concern, and that quickly turned into something else altogether.
He gagged. “Did
you follow the recipe?” he asked when he managed to get the bite down.
“Exactly,” Stevie said. “Is something wrong?”
“Well, they’re a little salty.”
“The recipe does call for salt,” said Stevie.
“But, like half a teaspoon or something, right?” Phil asked.
“Is that what that said?” Stevie asked, realizing that she’d misread the recipe and put in, instead, half a cup of salt. Half a cup! How could she do that? On this, a special night for her and Phil, one that she so wanted to go perfectly, she’d managed to make absolutely everything go wrong. She’d kept him waiting, made him play a game with her brother, forced him to eat dinner with her family. And he hadn’t even noticed her pretty outfit, hadn’t said anything in the slightest bit flirty, hadn’t smiled, hadn’t even held her hand, and now, to make it worse, she’d practically poisoned him!
She couldn’t help it. No matter how hard she tried to hold it back, a tear escaped from her eye and began rolling down her cheek. She swept it away as quickly as she could, but it was only replaced by another and another.
Stevie reached for a tissue, but of course there weren’t any in the rec room. Phil usually carried a handkerchief, one of his endearing qualities. She looked at him to provide it, but he was preoccupied. His shoulders were shaking in a familiar manner. His eyes were cast down at his lap, surely to avoid meeting hers. Then Stevie realized what was going on. He was laughing—in his own very Phil Marsten way.
“Are you laughing at my cooking?” she demanded, now a little angry.
Phil shook his head. “No, not at all,” he said.
“Then exactly what is amusing you so?”
“It’s relief,” he said, pointing to the plate of cookies. “I’m laughing from relief.”
“What are you talking about?” Stevie asked, truly confused by his bizarre behavior.
“It really is Stevie in there,” he said, looking at her now.
“Of course it’s Stevie,” she said.
“Well, you could have fooled me,” he said. “Until you got to baking. There are some things you can’t hide.”
“What are you talking about?” Stevie asked.
Before he could answer, Alex came clumping down the cellar steps. “Phil, your mama’s here,” he said.
“And she’s in a hurry. My mama said not to come back upstairs without you.”
Phil stood up then and, saying good night to Stevie, carried the plate of cookies over to the stairs.
“Here you go, sport,” he said to Alex. “I think Stevie would like you to have these. Good night, Stevie. If it’s okay with you, I’m coming to Horse Wise on Saturday, and I’ll see you then. And maybe afterward we can have a Saddle Club trail ride—you, me, Carole, and Lisa. Okay?”
“Sure,” Stevie said, though at that moment she was completely unsure about everything, and nothing seemed okay.
She heard Phil reach the first floor and was aware of his speedy exit, but as he left, she wondered exactly who had left and what had gone on while he’d been there.
This was Phil, her longtime boyfriend. They knew one another very well. At least she thought they did. Stevie had anticipated every single reaction that her dear Phil was going to have to her new look and her new self, and she’d been wrong every time. The only thing she’d done that seemed to please him was nearly poison him with salt.
What in the world was going on?
IT WASN’T USUAL for Phil to come to Horse Wise. He belonged to Cross County, the Pony Club in his own town, and, like Horse Wise, they had their meetings on Saturday mornings. The fact that he was coming to Horse Wise meant he was missing Cross County—twice in two weeks. Stevie wondered why he was doing that.
Everything seemed normal at first. He greeted Stevie with his usual smile, informed her that he was still alive after the cookie fiasco (Stevie cringed a little, but he still didn’t seem at all upset about her total failure in the kitchen), and settled down on the floor of Max’s office next to her. Stevie was wearing clean jodhpurs, neatly polished boots, and a pink sweater. She had also curled her hair that morning, even though it meant getting up a half hour earlier than she was used to. Phil didn’t say anything about the way she looked. Stevie wondered if she ought to get to the drugstore to buy some new makeup or perfume. She’d read about something called Magnolia Nights that sounded very alluring.
“Horse Wise, come to order!” Max called out in his usual manner. The room was quickly quiet. He welcomed everybody, especially Phil, and then made the usual bunch of announcements about horse events in the near future, impending competitions, and the next round of tests that would be administered for Pony Club ratings. When he was done with his announcements, he turned the floor over to Carole and Tiffani.
Carole opened up an easel, and Tiffani loaded a bunch of charts onto it.
“Horses have been around for a very long time,” Carole began. “They are found on all the continents—except Antarctica.”
“As soon as humans began domesticating horses, they found that some were better at certain kinds of tasks than others,” Tiffani said. “That was when they began breeding horses to improve the skills that were important to them, and before too long they had helped nature create separate breeds. Some breeds are known for their strength, some for their speed, some for their gentle personalities, and some for endurance. These are skills developed in nature but refined by humans. In the next few minutes, we will examine just a few of the breeds that can be found all around the world today. Carole?”
“Thank you, Tiffani,” Carole said. She turned over the first chart.
Carole and Tiffani had broken down the breeds into geographical lines and then into groups. They’d done an enormous amount of work, showing the important bloodlines in each of the breeds. Tiffani spent a particularly long time explaining about the Tennessee walker, but Carole also had an opportunity to talk about Thoroughbreds—Starlight was half Thoroughbred.
Stevie and a lot of the other Horse Wise members actually knew much of what Carole and Tiffani were saying. Everybody knew that Friesians—the big black workhorses of Europe—were used to pull hearses. A lot of it was totally new, certainly to Stevie, who’d never heard of some of the Asian breeds that Carole talked about. Stevie knew that Carole had started out knowing a lot, but it was amazing to think what she must have had to study to learn all that she’d put into the report.
Nobody talked or interrupted throughout the whole presentation because it was so interesting and informative. Max sat at his desk, clearly as interested in what his students were saying as everybody else was.
When they were done, the whole room exploded in applause. Stevie clapped, and so did Lisa, but Phil was doing more than that. He was practically whooping, obviously very glad that he’d come to Horse Wise instead of Cross County that morning. Stevie looked at him out of the corner of her eye, clapping away. Then she looked at Carole and Tiffani, both pleased with the response their audience was giving them and bowing occasionally.
Stevie leaned over to Phil and whispered, “I think Carole did most of the work on this. She knows almost all this stuff off the top of her head, you know?”
Phil looked at Stevie quizzically, but he didn’t say anything. He just kept on clapping.
Max then announced the end of Horse Wise, but he told everybody to stay where they were.
“I know a lot of you have been working on your Learn Something New reports. If any of them begin to measure up to the great report we’ve just had from Carole and Tiffani, then we’re all going to be learning a lot of new things today. I thought it would be best if we got our sandwiches and began right here in my office so that those of you who want to make presentations can. Then we’ll go tack up and see what the rest of you have learned.”
Everybody had something to contribute. Lisa was one of the first, giving her report on military riding and its influence on modern riding styles. April had decided to learn about different kinds of tack. She had m
ade charts of English and Western tack and also worldwide variations—like the differences between American and Argentinean cowboy tack, as well as Arabian saddles and bridles.
Adam Levine had prepared a report on horse communication, complete with recordings of different neighing and whinnying sounds, as well as photographs showing variations of body language.
Meg Durham presented a report on braiding styles. Joe gave his report on the Bureau of Land Management. Betsy Cavanaugh read a whole paper on Olympic competitors. Olivia presented a book report on Black Beauty.
When the last presenter was done, the meeting finally broke up and moved to the schooling ring for the riding demonstrations.
There were all sorts of demonstrations. One rider showed how she’d learned to polish her pony’s hooves. Another demonstrated how she made patterns on her pony’s flank when she groomed him. It was a horse show trick, and it was a neat one. May Grover showed that she’d trained her pony, Macaroni, to respond to visual signals—to come when called, sometimes; to change gaits in the field; and to come over for a treat. That last signal was one he never failed to respond to. Veronica diAngelo, having abandoned her report on polo because it required too much work, showed how she’d learned to make her horse stand in absolutely proper form for conformation classes at horse shows.
“Not much of a trick there,” Stevie whispered to Phil. He nodded. They both knew that Veronica’s horse had been trained to do that long before she ever bought him. Nevertheless, the class applauded politely.
Two students had worked on driving. Corey had her pony, Samurai, hitched to the pony cart. He trotted around the ring a couple of times, and Corey showed how he could change gaits and directions. She’d done a good job and deserved the applause she got.
Josh had studied driving, too, but he was using the small carriage. He did just fine, but his pony was in a fussy mood. A fussy pony and a carriage made a bad combination, and Max told Josh to drive him out of the ring, promising to let him show what he’d learned on a day when his pony was in a better mood. People clapped anyway.
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