“Good.” Ben nodded curtly.
Carole bit back a sigh, realizing how crazy her previous thoughts had been. How could she even imagine Ben as a confidant, a true friend? Yes, he was just as wrapped up in horses as she was—but that was just the problem. He wasn’t interested in anything except horses, and that included other people.
“Carole.”
She had been so involved in her thoughts that she almost didn’t hear him. Suddenly realizing that Ben had spoken her name, she looked up quickly. “Huh?” she said. “Uh, I mean, what?”
Ben took a step toward her and then stopped. “I, ah, wanted to say something,” he said gruffly, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “About, well …”
“Yes?”
He glanced from side to side, looking almost as trapped as that unlucky cat had been a few minutes earlier. But just when Carole thought he was going to mutter an excuse and hurry away, he cleared his throat and spoke again. “I’ve been wanting to say something.”
His voice was so low that she automatically stepped toward him until they were standing face-to-face in the middle of the wide stable aisle. Carole felt her heart pounding, though she wasn’t exactly sure why. For some reason, she was suddenly certain that he didn’t want to discuss Prancer’s special grain ration or whose turn it was to hose down the manure pit. She waited for him to go on.
“About Colesford.” Ben tossed his head to get his thick dark hair out of his eyes. For the first time, he met her gaze directly. “About you and—and Samson.”
“What about us?” Carole asked, sensing that he had something important on his mind.
“I’ve noticed you.” Ben blinked and coughed, looking uncomfortable. “Uh, I mean, I’ve noticed how much you—”
“There you are!” a frazzled voice interrupted. Max had just rounded the corner into the aisle where they were standing. He hurried toward them. “So this is where you two are hiding out. Traitors.”
Ben took two quick steps back from Carole and turned to face his boss. “Sorry, Max. I was—”
“We were just on our way back—” Carole began at the same time. Laughing awkwardly, she glanced at Ben and then shot Max a contrite smile. “Sorry. We were just checking on the horses.”
“Uh-huh.” Max looked bemused. “Well, you’d better get back in there before those little heathens decide to toss a couple of saddles on Red and Denise and turn them into bucking broncos.”
Carole giggled at the image, though she couldn’t help wondering what Max was thinking. Something in his expression made her worry that he was jumping to some wrong conclusions about her and Ben. “We’re going, we’re going,” she hastened to assure him, doing her best to sound as cheerful and normal as possible.
Shooting a quick glance at Ben as they followed Max down the aisle toward the indoor ring, she wondered what he’d been about to say. But whatever it was, it would have to wait. She could already hear the shouts and laughter from just ahead.
Lisa still felt oddly unsettled as she walked the half block from the Lakes’ house to her own. She and Alex hadn’t talked much on their way home, and even though he’d kissed her good-bye as tenderly as ever, their conversation back at TD’s had left her distracted and slightly upset. She wasn’t sure what to think about what they’d said to each other, though she was glad that she’d finally managed to tell him about Thanksgiving. That was important.
Noticing that her mother’s car wasn’t in the driveway, she paused at the mailbox by the curb. She pulled out a thick stack of mail and headed for the door, flipping through the catalogs and advertisements and absently wondering if her mother got any joy out of being on absolutely every mailing list in the world.
She paused on the walkway when she spotted a creamy white, business-sized envelope with her own name on it. Pulling it out of the stack, she clenched it in her teeth and stuck the rest of the pile under one arm. Then she grabbed the long white envelope and checked the return address.
“NVU,” she murmured under her breath, her eyes widening. “That was fast.” She had sent in her application to Northern Virginia University a little over a month before, knowing that as a state resident she would receive priority treatment. In fact, the school had an early-action program, which meant that they would notify her as soon as they made a decision about her application, but she wouldn’t have to respond until May, once she’d heard from all the other schools she’d applied to and made up her mind where she wanted to go.
She slit the envelope with her fingernail and pulled out a small packet of papers. Flipping it open, she saw that the top sheet was a letter with the school’s crest emblazoned across the top.
Dear Ms. Atwood, it began. I am very pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Northern Virginia University class of …
She scanned the rest of the letter quickly, feeling a mild glow of pleasure sweep over her. This was an unexpected bright spot in her confusing and difficult day. Even though she hadn’t even finished all her applications yet, it was nice to know that she’d already been accepted somewhere. It would make waiting for the other responses a little easier.
Quickly looking through the rest of the packet, she saw another letter, this time from the office of the director of the honors program. Due to your outstanding academic record, it read, you are hereby invited to enroll in the University Honors Program. You have also been awarded a merit scholarship in the amount of three thousand dollars per annum.
Lisa’s eyes widened at the amount. She had almost forgotten the scholarship application she’d sent in along with her other materials—her guidance counselor at school had advised her not to count on receiving any money from the school, since there were only a handful of merit scholarships available.
What do you know? she thought, stuffing the papers back into the envelope and shoving it into her jacket pocket. A chilly breeze lifted her shoulder-length blond hair, making her shiver, and she wrapped her arms around herself and hurried toward the house. That money will definitely come in handy if I decide to go there.
But her mind was already shifting back to her earlier thoughts about Alex. She would have plenty of time to figure out what to do about college once all her applications were in. It wasn’t going to be an easy decision, but fortunately she still had months and months before she had to make up her mind.
FOUR
As she emerged from homeroom the next morning, Callie spotted Stevie strolling down the hall, chatting animatedly with a thin, intense-looking girl named Iris who was in Callie’s history class. “Stevie,” Callie said, hurrying forward so fast that her crutches almost slipped on the smooth tile floor of the hallway. “Got a second?”
“Hey, Callie,” Stevie said cheerfully, watching as Iris wandered off toward class. “Good news. I think I just won over another vote for your brother with my natural wit and charm.” She glanced at Callie and did a quick double take when she noticed her expression. “Whoa. What’s the matter with you?”
Callie wished she knew the answer to that. She couldn’t stop wondering if she’d talked herself into a big mess by agreeing to go to the homecoming dance with George. Why hadn’t she just politely told him she was busy for the next two years? He would have gotten the hint, and she wouldn’t be faced with a date she wasn’t sure she wanted.
She glanced around to make sure nobody else was listening. “It’s about George.”
Stevie’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Oh?”
“He called me last night, and I told him I’d go to the dance with him tomorrow.”
“But that’s great!” Stevie exclaimed, giving Callie’s arm a quick squeeze. “He really likes you, you know.”
“I know.” Callie hesitated, not even sure what she wanted to say. “Um, it’s just kind of weird. I haven’t really gone out with anyone since I moved here, and, well …”
Stevie nodded sympathetically. “It must be tough, you know, especially because you’re still …” She waved her hand a
t Callie’s crutches.
“Well, I guess,” Callie said. That wasn’t what she’d been thinking about—George had never made her feel the least bit awkward about being on crutches, and besides, her leg was getting stronger every day. With any luck, she’d be as good as new before too long.
Stevie seemed to catch on to what she was thinking. “Anyway,” she said, “I’m really glad you’re giving him a chance, Callie. A lot of girls look at a guy like George and just see, you know, kind of a quiet, shy guy. But I’m sure there’s a whole lot more to him than that.”
“You’re probably right.” Stevie’s words made Callie feel a little better. After all, wasn’t that really what she was worried about? That George wasn’t as cool or as good-looking or as popular as the guys she’d gone out with back in her old hometown? So what? That didn’t mean he wasn’t worth getting to know. “Thanks, Stevie.”
“Anytime.” Suddenly Stevie’s eyes narrowed as a tall girl with glasses walked past them, surrounded by a group of other students. “Uh-oh. There goes Valerie,” she muttered. “I’d better go see what she’s talking about.”
Callie smiled as Stevie took off after the other students. Valerie Watkins was running against Scott in the school election. From what Callie could tell, Valerie was a smart, thoughtful girl with some good ideas, and she guessed that was why she was the only one of Scott’s three opponents that he and Stevie were worried about.
Callie was still smiling as she turned to make her way down the hall to her first class, but suddenly the smile froze on her face. She had just spotted George. He was taking a drink out of the water fountain halfway down the hall. His shirt had come untucked from his slightly rumpled khaki pants, revealing a swath of pasty white skin above a generous portion of white cotton briefs. Callie felt her cheeks grow hot as she quickly looked away, trying not to notice that a couple of freshman girls were pointing at George and giggling behind their hands.
Maybe going to the dance with him isn’t such a hot idea, she thought as she hurried in the other direction, not even caring that it meant taking the long way around to her classroom. I could pretend I’m not feeling well, or come up with some kind of story about family obligations.…
Thinking about her family made her think about her brother. Recalling how she’d climbed on her high horse with Scott the day before, berating him for not considering Veronica’s feelings, she realized she was just as bad when it came right down to it. Wasn’t she leading George on by agreeing to go out with him when she wasn’t sure she could ever like him in a romantic way? Why was she forcing this, anyway? Just because George was interested in her, it didn’t mean she had an obligation to go out with him. Why hadn’t she turned him down, politely and firmly, the first time he’d approached her?
Because I’m doing what Stevie said, she told herself as she dodged around a crowd of kids emerging from a classroom, nodding at one or two people she knew. I’m giving the nice guy a chance. Nothing ever worked out with any of the cool guys I knew back home; why pass up a chance to try something different?
She wasn’t quite convinced by her own argument. No matter how many ways she looked at the situation, she wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing. She couldn’t seem to figure out if she was taking a chance that could turn out to be the smartest thing she’d ever done or making a total idiot of herself for no reason while simultaneously setting up a really sweet guy for a big hurt.
I hate this, she thought fiercely, feeling her hands clench harder on the grips of her crutches. There’s no way to figure out the right answer. I hate being so wishy-washy!
Still, she thought there was no way around it. She’d already told George she would go to the dance with him, and the only sure thing she could see was that he would be terribly disappointed—and rightfully so—if she backed out. So the only thing to do was to wait for the next night and see what happened.
Stevie had forgotten about Callie’s big date almost as soon as she’d heard about it. She was happy that her friend was giving George a shot, but she had more pressing matters on her mind at the moment than romance. Scott’s triumph in arranging the dance the next night was the talk of the school—Miss Fenton had mentioned him by name in her morning announcement as the primary organizer—and Stevie wanted to savor every moment of it. She was still a little worried about Valerie Watkins, especially since she’d been going to Fenton Hall for years and everyone knew she was a major brain, but for today, at least, Scott was the only candidate anyone was talking about. Stevie liked it that way, even if it still irked her that Veronica had been the one who’d helped make it happen.
“Hey, Stevie!” Betsy Cavanaugh cried gleefully, catching her as they were both heading into Señora Johnson’s Spanish, their first class of the day. “Check it out. Did you get your ticket yet?” She waved a slip of paper in Stevie’s face.
Stevie took a step backward to avoid the danger of a paper cut on her nose. “Not exactly,” she told Betsy. “I can’t go. I’m grounded, remember?”
Betsy looked perplexed for a moment; then understanding dawned on her face. “Oh, right. The party.” She giggled. “Wow, that really bites.”
Stevie gritted her teeth and mentally counted to ten, willing herself not to get annoyed. When she trusted herself to speak again, she pasted a bland smile on her face. “Just remember who made this dance possible,” she chirped, faking cheeriness. “It was all the work of Scott Forester, the action candidate for student body president. He takes action so you can have fun.”
Betsy nodded. “Don’t worry, he’s got my vote,” she promised. She waved her ticket again. “Even if he never does anything else, this is enough!” She giggled and raced past Stevie into the classroom.
Stevie followed more slowly. Everyone was so excited about the dance, and she knew that was a good thing. But it was a little depressing to think that Betsy Cavanaugh and Veronica diAngelo and practically everybody else she knew would be dancing the night away the next evening—while she was home scrubbing toilets and sweeping the garage.
Now I know how Cinderella felt, she thought grumpily as she flopped into her seat, trying to ignore the students around her, who all seemed to be chattering about what they were going to wear to the dance. Except in my case, there’s no chance a fairy godmother is going to come along and rescue me. Because even if she did show up, Mom and Dad would just hand her a mop and put her to work!
“Yo, Lake!” a senior named Mike Kaminski called as Stevie walked out of her third-period classroom a little later that day. “Tell your action man he’s got my vote. This dance is going to rock!” He waved his long arms above his head and swayed to illustrate his point, making the adoring girls who followed him everywhere giggle with delight.
Stevie grinned and gave him a thumbs-up in return. “Thanks, Kaminski. I’ll tell him,” she promised, trying not to let on how thrilled she was. Mike was one of the most popular guys in school; if he was planning to vote for Scott, a lot of other kids would be sure to follow his lead.
He’s probably psyched because his girlfriend goes to Willow Creek, and now all his buddies from the basketball team will be around to keep him company while she’s touching up her makeup in the bathroom, she thought.
She noticed that one of Mike’s admirers, a pretty, curvaceous junior named Nicole Adams, had stayed behind as the group moved on. She leaned against the wall and pulled out a compact, blinking at herself intently in the tiny mirror.
Stevie decided she might as well do a little more campaigning while she had the chance. Nicole may not be the sharpest pencil in the box, Stevie thought as she strolled toward the other girl, but she has a lot of friends. Plus, she added to herself, running her eyes over Nicole’s clingy sweater, most of the guys in this school would do anything she told them to do.
“Hey, Nicole,” Stevie said with a smile. “How’s it going?”
Nicole glanced up, looking a little surprised. Stevie didn’t blame her—Nicole hung around with the same crowd as Veronica, wh
ich meant that she and Stevie had never exactly been close. “Hi,” Nicole replied. “It’s going, I guess.”
“Good.” Stevie kept her smile as bright and sincere as she could. “I just wanted to see if you’re going to the dance tomorrow night, and if so, to remind you that Scott Forester, the action candidate for student body president, was the one who made it all possible.”
“Uh-huh.” Nicole nodded absently, having returned her attention to her compact mirror as Stevie spoke.
Stevie wasn’t finished. “I also thought you might want to know that Scott has other big plans for our school. Plans that will make your life better. For instance, he wants to hold a separate fund-raiser for the junior-senior trip so that more students will be able to go.”
Nicole looked up from her mirror and blinked. “I know,” she said, tossing her shoulder-length, wavy blond hair and smiling as several of her friends walked by and waved to her. “Veronica already told me all about that days ago. Actually, she said Scott might try to convince Miss Fenton to let us go to Tahiti this year.”
Stevie held back a snort. She was sure that Scott had said no such thing. It sounded like vintage Veronica to her. “Well, maybe,” she said as diplomatically as she could. “Anyway, I hope you’ll remember Scott on Election Day next week.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Nicole had clearly lost interest in the conversation. Snapping her compact shut and shoving it into her purse, she headed off down the hall without a backward glance.
Stevie rolled her eyes and let her go. It figures, she thought sourly. Veronica already thinks she’s Scott’s campaign manager. Pretty soon she’ll probably start thinking she’s running for office herself. Glancing at her watch, she realized she only had a few minutes to get upstairs to her fourth-period English lit class. She headed down the crowded hall, wondering if it would hurt Scott’s election chances if his campaign manager were to murder Veronica diAngelo.
Still, she couldn’t resist the urge to do a little more campaigning as she went. With the election only four days away, every minute counted—especially when it came to the students who might not even bother to go to the dance over the weekend. As she made her way toward the stairs at the end of the hall, Stevie passed Zach Lincoln, a nerdy, angular boy with an uneven haircut and a slight tic above his left eye that had earned him the nickname Blinkin’ Lincoln in elementary school. Ignoring his twitching forehead, Stevie grabbed his arm. “Hi, Zach,” she said in her friendliest tone. “What’s new?”
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