Ben looked up. “Drain’s clogged,” he reported in his usual succinct manner. His dark eyes shifted to the bucket at Carole’s feet and he shrugged. “You’ll have to use the sink in the tack room for now.”
The plumber glanced up at Carole over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, miss,” he said in a deep, cheerful voice. “It’s nothing serious. I’ll have this baby fixed in no time. Half an hour, tops.”
Carole weakly returned his smile. “Okay,” she said. “Urn, thanks.” With a groan, she reached down and hoisted Starlight’s water bucket once again.
Great, she thought impatiently as she started the long trek back down the aisle. Just my bad luck. Now she had to traverse the entire length of the stable aisle, passing Starlight’s stall halfway down, then cross the entryway and go down another hallway to the tack room. It wasn’t really very far, but just at the moment, with a full water bucket that felt heavier with every step—not to mention a mind full of eager plans for her ride with Samson—it seemed miles away.
She glanced around furtively, suddenly realizing she was alone in this part of the stable. She could move a lot faster if she just dumped out the old water right here. Nobody would ever know. And as she had noted, the water was relatively clean. She was sure Starlight didn’t have any communicable diseases. What would be the harm?
Just as she was about to tip the water onto the dirt floor, Starlight stuck his head out of his stall and pricked his ears toward her. When she saw him, a new idea popped into her head. She glanced once more at the water in the bucket.
It really is almost perfectly clean, she told herself. I mean, it would probably get more dust and dirt and gunk in it in the walk from the tack room than is in there right now. Maybe I should just return it as is and be done with it.
The idea was tempting—very tempting. Max normally insisted on having the water for all his horses changed at least three times a day. But Carole knew that a lot of other horse owners didn’t bother with that. If they didn’t have automatic watering systems, they simply checked their horse’s water supply throughout the day and changed it as necessary.
And right now, it’s not really necessary, is it? she thought, taking another few steps toward Starlight’s stall. Besides, Starlight isn’t Max’s horse. He’s mine. I should be able to judge when his water needs replacing.
She nodded, mostly satisfied with that logic. Ignoring the quivering speck of doubt in the back of her mind, she set the bucket down outside the stall and unhooked the webbing. Then she bent down to pick up the bucket one more time. However, as she lifted it and stepped forward into the stall, pushing aside Starlight’s inquisitive nose with her shoulder, she caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye.
She gulped, suddenly feeling irrationally guilty. Don’t be ridiculous, she assured herself as she hurried across the stall to place the water bucket in its usual spot. You’re not doing anything wrong. Besides, what you saw was probably just another horse sticking its head out over the door.
But as she gave Starlight a quick pat and stepped past him and out of the stall, she saw that it hadn’t been a horse after all. Ben was walking down the aisle toward her, staring her way with a surprised expression on his face.
Carole felt her face grow hot as she swung the wooden stall door shut behind her. She couldn’t believe her bad luck. Ben had seen her going into Starlight’s stall with that water bucket—and he would have known there was no way she could have gone to the tack room and back so fast. He must have guessed exactly what she had done.
“Hi,” he said as he reached her. He stopped and glanced over her shoulder into Starlight’s stall.
“Hi,” Carole muttered in return, not quite meeting his eye. She grabbed the grooming kit, which was still sitting where she had left it. “Well, see you.”
Ben didn’t respond, and Carole was careful not to look back as she fled down the aisle toward the tack room. She wasn’t sure why she was so embarrassed. It wasn’t as if Ben had caught her doing anything truly bad. So why had he looked at her as if he had?
I guess he’s just Mr. Perfect, she thought sullenly. Well, not everybody can be Superstablehand all the time, like him. If he doesn’t like that, it’s his problem, not mine.
She sped around the corner, out of range of what she imagined was his disapproving gaze. Only then did she allow herself to relax and slow her pace. She wanted to forget about the encounter with Ben. There were too many other things to think about. More pleasant things. Starting with tacking up Samson …
FOUR
The clash and clatter of flatware against crockery and the smack of plastic trays against wooden tables filled the air as Stevie strode across Fenton Hall’s cavernous tiled cafeteria. Balancing her tray on one hand, nodding to acquaintances, she headed straight for the table at the far end where she usually sat.
When she got there, she found Callie already seated with her bag lunch in front of her. That was no surprise, since Callie sat in the same place almost every day. What was unusual were the other occupants of the table.
“Hi,” Stevie said to Callie, taking the empty seat across from her and shooting a questioning glance at the three girls in the surrounding seats.
Callie rolled her eyes. “How’s it going?” she said. “Um, Betsy and Nicole and Moira decided to sit with us today.”
“Oh.” Stevie gave the trio a polite smile. She had known Betsy Cavanaugh, Nicole Adams, and Moira Candell for years—Betsy had even ridden at Pine Hollow for a while back in junior high. But in her memory, none of them had ever chosen to sit with her at lunch. They generally preferred the more rarefied air of the table in the center of the room, where all the wealthiest, snobbiest, and in Stevie’s opinion most irritating juniors and seniors gathered every day.
Stevie sighed in annoyance. Of all the times for Betsy and her friends to go slumming! she thought sarcastically. She’d been hoping to get some time alone with Callie to discuss Sheila’s arrival that afternoon. Callie had called her just before dinner the day before and admitted for the first time exactly how anxious she was about seeing Sheila again. She had also said that she’d been thinking about Stevie’s comments on Saturday night and had decided to give her advice a try. She wanted to forge a new kind of relationship with her oldest friend, a more honest and open one.
Stevie had been thrilled. She’d spent the next few minutes discussing the best ways for Callie to put this plan into action, and now she was dying to continue their conversation. Unfortunately, even though both of them were juniors, the only class they had together was phys ed, and that was only two days a week. That was why Stevie had had such high hopes for this lunch period. But from the look of things, they weren’t going to get a moment of privacy.
She shot a disgruntled look at Betsy and her friends, who were busy discussing the fat content of Moira’s salad dressing. “Sorry I couldn’t talk long last night,” Stevie told Callie. “For some reason, my brother Michael was totally berserk about using the phone.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s really getting weird lately. Mom says I was just as bad when I was thirteen, though I find that impossible to believe.”
“That’s all right. You told me everything I need to know.” Callie smiled at her, wishing she could say more. Stevie’s brief advice truly had been helpful. Just talking with Stevie had been inspiring in itself. Callie had been really nervous about confiding her thoughts about Sheila, but Stevie had been incredibly understanding. What’s more, she had seemed eager to help coach Callie through the next few days.
Now if these three airheads would just leave us alone, we could get down to business, Callie thought irritably, gritting her teeth as Nicole let out an earsplitting squeal of laughter at something Moira had just said. What in the world are they doing here, anyway?
Normally she would have assumed the girls were hanging around because they were impressed by her father’s job and, by extension, Callie herself. She was used to that. She had put up with that kind of unjustified fawning at her ol
d school back home. But she had purposely kept a low profile since starting the year at Fenton Hall. Of course, most of the students had probably at least heard of her, both because of her well-known last name and also because of the news coverage of the previous summer’s accident. But Congressman Forester had been careful not to let any recent photos of his daughter get into the press, and that had allowed the naturally reserved Callie to retain some anonymity among her schoolmates so far. She had known that would change eventually, though, and now it seemed as though it was happening sooner rather than later.
Of course, Scott might have something to do with it, she reminded herself. He’s never been exactly bashful about getting acquainted, and it won’t take long for all his new friends to figure out that I’m his sister …
As if reading her mind, Betsy suddenly turned toward her with a peppy smile. “So anyway, Callie,” she said brightly. “We were just wondering. Did Scott have a girlfriend back home?”
With considerable effort, Callie held back a snort. She should have known. These girls were exactly the type who were drawn to her brother like moths to a flame. Unfortunately, she also guessed from similar experiences that they were the type who wouldn’t be brushed off easily. Callie could be as cold or as sullen or as openly hostile as she wanted, and they would still hang around until they had the information they wanted from her.
“Not really,” Callie replied, unwrapping the carrot sticks her mother had packed for her and avoiding the other girls’ eager, attentive eyes. “I mean, he dated a few people. But nothing serious.”
“Oh!” Betsy smiled. “Good. Do you know if he’s going to the Willow Creek High football game on Saturday?”
“What’s the matter, Betsy?” Stevie asked sarcastically. “Don’t tell me you got tired of Kenny Lamb already.”
Moira wrinkled her nose and gave Stevie a derisive glance. “Get real,” she drawled. “Betsy dumped that loser weeks ago. Everyone knows that.”
Stevie rolled her eyes, and Callie sighed. She had been steeling herself for Sheila’s arrival all day, but she hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on a last-minute pep talk from Stevie to get her through. Now it was obvious it wasn’t going to happen.
Nicole leaned forward to gaze earnestly at Callie. “So what’s it like living with such a gorgeous older brother?” she asked in her breathy, soft voice. “It must be so awesome. Especially if all his friends are gorgeous, too.”
Moira smirked. “Actually, I heard he’s hanging out with kind of a weird crowd,” she commented, looking at Stevie slyly out of her carefully made-up green eyes. “I even heard he invited Stevie’s boyfriend to play tennis a few times.”
Nicole’s eyes widened. “Really?” she asked, sounding truly amazed. “That is weird. Did you see them there?”
“No,” Moira replied. “But Veronica did. She said that Scott must be doing some sort of charity work with the clueless.” She shot Stevie a fake little smile. “No offense.”
Betsy scowled at her friends. “Who cares what Veronica thinks?” she retorted a bit peevishly.
Stevie held back a snort. She knew that in that particular group of girls, everyone cared what Veronica diAngelo thought. She had been the self-declared leader of the clique for as long as anyone could remember.
Stevie shot Callie a frustrated glance, wishing Betsy and her gaggle of annoying friends would leave them alone to talk. But then she sighed, realizing it was hopeless. I guess Callie will just have to figure it out for herself, she thought. She knew that Callie was more than capable of that, but she still wished she could help. Now all she would be able to do was show up at Callie’s house that night with everyone else and see how it was going.
She grimaced as Nicole and Moira started arguing over whether Scott looked like some hunky TV star or not, and Betsy tried to charm her way into Callie’s good graces. Stevie played idly with her soup spoon and tried to figure out exactly how many days of detention the headmistress would give her if she dumped her lunch tray over Betsy’s head.
Whatever the answer, she decided, it wouldn’t be worth it. I should probably thank my lucky stars that all my brothers are such total nonstuds that I never have to put up with anything like this. Despite her increasingly sour mood, Stevie couldn’t help grinning at the thought. Her smile faded as she glanced at Callie again. The other girl looked miserable. I guess I really am lucky, Stevie thought more seriously. It can’t be easy being Callie sometimes.
A little later that day, Carole was daydreaming about Samson as she walked through the crowded hallways at Willow Creek High School. Their trail ride the day before had been positively wonderful. Samson had really seemed to enjoy the change of pace, and it hadn’t taken Carole long to realize how much she was appreciating the break, too. She had been awfully busy lately. Not only had she been putting in her usual several hours a day at the stable, but her father, a retired Marine Corps colonel, had been away for the past week giving lectures at several corporate retreats in the Midwest. That meant Carole had also been responsible for rustling up her own meals and doing her own laundry.
And of course, there’s always school getting in the way of things, Carole added glumly.
She was so deep in thought that she wasn’t paying much attention to where she was walking as she rounded a corner of the hall. “Hey!” a familiar voice said. “Watch where you’re going.”
Carole looked up, startled, and saw Lisa’s smiling face in front of her. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry. I guess I’m a little distracted.”
“I’ll say.” Lisa turned and walked beside Carole as she continued down the hall. “Thinking about anything interesting?”
Carole shrugged and grinned sheepishly. “The usual,” she admitted. “Horses.”
“Big surprise there,” Lisa joked. The two girls took a few more steps in silence; then Lisa spoke again. “Um, listen, Carole,” she said. “Speaking of horses, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”
Carole looked at her in surprise, wondering why she suddenly sounded so somber. “Shoot,” she said.
“It’s … Well, it’s Prancer,” Lisa said, standing still.
Carole stopped, too. She should have guessed. “Prancer?” she repeated as innocently as she could. “What about her?”
“Well, I’m sure you know Max has her off-limits,” Lisa said, clutching her books to her chest. “I haven’t been able to ride her since school started.”
“Oh, you know Max.” Carole forced a carefree little laugh. She was determined to head off this line of questioning right away, before Lisa pried the truth out of her. It had been hard enough for Carole to keep Max’s secret this long. She didn’t want to ruin the surprise now. “He can be pretty mysterious sometimes, but you don’t have to worry. He always has a good reason for stuff, right?”
“I guess so.” Lisa didn’t look convinced.
Carole’s mind was already wandering. Her own words had reminded her of how secretive Max had acted a few years back when he’d been negotiating to sell Samson. “He’s the boss,” she mused, remembering how sad she had been when Max had finally announced that Samson would be leaving. “That means sometimes he’s got to be the one to make the big decisions.”
Before Lisa could answer, someone called her name. Carole turned and saw Gary Korman, a tall, soulful-looking boy with large brown eyes and a perpetual slouch, coming toward them. “Yo,” he said with a glance at Carole. “How’s it going?”
“Not bad,” Carole replied automatically. She didn’t know Gary very well—he was a senior, like Lisa—but she had always liked him well enough. He played bass guitar in a local band and had a laid-back way of dealing with the world that she admired.
Gary was looking at Lisa with an expression approaching panic on his usually tranquil face. “Yo, Lisa,” he said, holding up a tattered notebook. “You know those physics problems we were supposed to do this weekend? I’m totally lost. Can you give my paper a quick check and see if I got any of the
answers right at all?”
“Sure.” Lisa gave Carole a slightly worried look. “Maybe we can talk about this later, okay?”
“Sure. See you.” Glancing at her watch, Carole realized that she had less than a minute to get to her history classroom for seventh period. Then there was eighth period and Spanish III, and after that, she would finally be free—for one more afternoon, at least.
She hurried down the hall and scooted through the classroom door just as the bell rang. Her history teacher picked up a pile of papers from her desk as Carole and the other students scrambled for their seats.
Carole dropped her backpack on the floor beside her chair and slumped down behind her desk, already counting the minutes until class was over. It took her a moment to notice that Ms. Shepard was distributing the papers she was holding.
“Welcome, everyone,” the teacher said as the class quieted down. “I trust you all had a restful weekend. But not too restful, of course.”
Several of the other students tittered nervously. Carole wrinkled her brow in confusion, not understanding the teacher’s comment or her classmates’ laughter.
She got the joke a moment later when one of the papers landed on her desk. As soon as she looked at it, the letters at the top of the first page seemed to leap up at her and slap her sharply on the face: TURN-OF-THE-CENTURY AMERICA: EXAM, CHAPTERS FIVE THROUGH ELEVEN.
Carole gasped. A test? She couldn’t believe it. Searching frantically through her mind to Friday’s class—had it really been only three days ago?—she tried to recall any mention of an upcoming test. But all she could remember about that class period was that it was when she had decided Samson could use some refresher work over cavalletti in the coming weeks.
She bit her lip and glanced again at the test in front of her. Chapters five through eleven—had she read those? She was pretty sure she had read chapter five sometime last week …
The first ten questions were multiple choice. Some of them even covered material that sounded vaguely familiar. Carole picked up her pencil and got started.
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