Stagecoach (8 page)

O
NCE THEY FIGURED
out where Lisa was, Carole and Stevie were all business. They practically flew back to Pine Hollow, grabbed their hats, and put bridles on Starlight and Topside, It was an unwritten Saddle Club rule that for a quick trip through the woods, bareback was the way to go. “Race you to the creek!” Stevie called, and they were off.

Both horses were thrilled to be out of the dressage ring, cantering side by side through the back pasture and onto the trail. Stevie and Carole urged them on. They reached the creek in no time at all.

“Shh!” Carole put a finger to her lips and pointed. Lisa was sitting on the big rock, her legs tucked up under her and her face in her hands. They could hear her
muttering to herself in between sobs. “Can’t ride, can’t act, failing all my classes,” she was saying.

At that last comment Stevie and Carole couldn’t help smiling. Lisa was incapable of getting a B. Even if she had handed in a blank page with her name at the top, her teachers probably would have given her an A out of habit.

Unaware of their presence, Lisa stared down at the running water. In her heart of hearts she had known, practically since the day she had first mapped out her schedule, that there was no way she was going to be able to ride in the rally and be Annie. She hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself then, but now she had to. Stevie and Carole would want her to quit the play so she could ride with them as usual, and why shouldn’t she? Hollie would be a great Annie. She even deserved the part more than Lisa. And Lisa could forget all about WCCT, mean Anna Henchman, long rehearsals. And, she thought sadly, she could forget being up under the lights, wearing her Annie costume, and having her parents and friends in the audience clapping wildly for her. Yes, she could forget acting altogether.

Stevie and Carole might have stood there watching her till night fell if Topside hadn’t taken the opportunity to nip Starlight, who squealed indignantly.

Lisa looked up. Her face was red, blotchy, and tear-stained.
Stevie and Carole dismounted and walked toward her.

“Phew! I’m glad you’re here,” Stevie said brightly. “We thought a Broadway director might have whisked you off to New York for a starring role.”

“Fat chance. At the rate I’m going, the only starring role I’m up for is that of Queen Failure,” Lisa said bitterly. “Failure at Pony Club. Failure at
Annie.
Failure at school …”

Stevie jumped to attention. She was not going to let Lisa get away with putting herself down anymore. “First of all, by ‘failure at school,’ you probably mean you got, what, a couple of A-minuses?”

“Well, actually only one,” Lisa conceded sheepishly.

“Well, let me tell you—I would love to bring home that kind of failure to my mom and dad, because they would post that kind of failure on the refrigerator door,” Stevie said. “And secondly, if I had started riding when you did, I’d be lucky if I knew what Pony Club meant! And as for my famous career as star of stage and screen, let’s just say our home movies are embarrassing enough!”

The beginnings of a smile played on Lisa’s lips, but she kept her eyes downcast. Stevie thought fast. “Hey, look at me! Remember that time I tried to do a hundred things at once?”

Lisa nodded. No one in The Saddle Club would ever forget Stevie’s attempt to organize the school fair, run
the hospital fund-raiser, and head up the student-government election, at the same time that a group of Italian boys were visiting. Watching her juggle all her commitments had been better than a three-ring circus.

“But
you
managed to do everything successfully, whereas I can’t even do two things,” Lisa pointed out. “The past two weeks—”

“The past two weeks you’ve been way overcommitted,” Carole finished for her. “When Stevie did all those things, she didn’t have to worry about learning a whole new skill.”

“That’s right—I had all the skills I needed: getting into trouble and having fun,” Stevie joked.

At Lisa’s wan smile, Carole hurried on with her pep talk. “No one ever said acting was easy, you know. But you walked in out of the blue and got the lead.”

“Sometimes I wish I’d never auditioned,” Lisa said, her voice threatening to crack again. “This is such a familiar feeling—being a beginner. Everyone else seems to have been born riding or acting.”

Carole and Stevie nodded sympathetically. Lisa was such a good rider now that both of them had practically forgotten that she had come to Pine Hollow less experienced than they were.

“At least I’m over the hump in riding,” Lisa said. “I don’t have to ask what a martingale is or how to pick out a hoof anymore. I can’t even remember not knowing.
But being in
Annie
is like that time my French class went to Montreal. Everyone looks at you funny because you can hardly speak the language. At first it’s fun. But pretty soon you want to go home to Willow Creek—or Pine Hollow.”

“You mean you’re not going to quit riding, after all?” Carole asked.

“Quit riding?” Lisa repeated incredulously. “What ever gave you that idea?”

“We, ah—” Carole began sheepishly. She wasn’t quite sure how to explain their worry to Lisa.

“We thought you might have so much fun acting that you’d decide you liked the stage better than horses and that you’d want to be in a lot more plays. And then you’d start hanging around with the theater crowd at school, and pretty soon you’d get a personal acting coach and join a mime troupe and run off to Hollywood to star in movies and forget our names when we asked you for autographs,” Stevie explained.

“Or at least want to be in a lot more plays,” Carole said.

For the second time that day Lisa was overwhelmed by her friends’ concern. She could hardly believe they’d been so worried she would quit riding. Her only thought lately had been how much she missed Pine Hollow and The Saddle Club and how she could get through the play without disappointing her friends, Max, and the
rally team anymore. Well, her decision to quit the play would prove, once and for all—to them and herself—that she was truly devoted to riding. “That does it,” Lisa said. “I’m going to give up the part.”

“What?” Stevie and Carole cried in unison.

“I’m dropping out of WCCT,” Lisa said.

“But what about all the people counting on you to play Annie?” Carole asked.

“They’ll find someone else. I don’t want to let you and Max and Mrs. Reg and Prancer down,” Lisa said. “Besides, my true loyalty is to The Saddle Club and riding, and dropping out will prove it.”

“True loyalty? But this isn’t a
life
choice,” Stevie reminded her. “It’s just to help you get through the next two weeks.”

Lisa stared hard at Stevie. Could it be as simple as that? Had she really blown the whole dilemma way out of proportion? What Stevie said was true: In reality the decision
would
only affect fourteen days of her life.

“Yeah, and what about all those lines you memorized?” Carole was saying.

“But I’d be able to memorize my dressage tests instead,” Lisa heard herself answering, but already her protests seemed feeble.

“But—but—this is your big chance!” Stevie cried.

“It’s Prancer’s big chance, too—to prove she can do dressage,” Lisa said.

“She’ll have other chances,” Carole said flatly.

“And how do you know you’ll get another lead? Actors can wait years for this kind of thing,” Stevie said indignantly.

Lisa laughed out loud. Carole and Stevie were actually upset with her saying she would bow out of the play. “Is this The Saddle Club talking?” she asked. “Because it sounds like the Willow Creek Community Theater.”

Carole and Stevie did not seem to find anything funny. “You’ve got a part to play, missy, and don’t you forget it,” Stevie said.

“What happened to ‘The show must go on’ and all that?” Carole asked.

“All right! All right! You win! I’ll play Annie!” Lisa practically shouted. Carole and Stevie shouted and hugged her in excitement and began talking excitedly about coming to see her in the play.

Lisa breathed a huge inner sigh of relief. Suddenly everything had fallen into place, thanks to talking with her friends. She
had
put a lot of work into
Annie
already. And there was no point in breaking her commitment to WCCT. She would do the play, after all—which would probably be a lot of fun—and then get back to riding right afterward. She and Prancer would have a chance before too long. It
would
be hard not to take part in the rally. She would probably feel left out. “I guess I can still help out behind the scenes, though,” Lisa mused aloud.

Carole and Stevie nodded. Then they seemed to do a double take. Carole’s jaw dropped. Stevie’s eyes opened wide. A perfect solution to the dressage team’s disorganization and Lisa’s wanting to participate was staring them in the face. “Behind the scenes? Behind the scenes? How could we be such idiots?” Stevie cried.

“You’re telling me!” Carole exclaimed.

Lisa was now utterly confused. “Would someone mind telling me why my helping out behind the scenes makes you two idiots?” she asked.

“Never mind. You’ve got a rehearsal to get to. We’ll talk tonight,” Stevie decided.

“Right. Your house, okay, Lisa? At nine-twelve, that is? We’ll come over,” Carole said.

Lisa grinned. She
was
still on top of things, after all. “Actually, today is Saturday, so my free time is later. It’s nine forty-four tonight,” she said, trying to sound casual.

“Boy, you’ve really let your schedule go to pot. You can hardly remember a thing,” Stevie kidded her.

“Anyway, would someone mind informing me what we’re going to be discussing? I am giving up twelve precious minutes, after all,” Lisa joked.

Stevie and Carole were both about to burst with their idea. They knew Lisa should be on her way, though, and they didn’t want to delay her anymore. Besides, they knew that as soon as they told her the plan, the three of them would simply have to discuss it in detail.

“Listen,” Carole said, “I’m going to leave it at this: There just might be a way you can still be involved in the rally. In fact, I’m ninety-nine percent sure.”

“How?” Lisa cried.

“You’ll find out at nine forty-four,” she answered. With a grin she added, “And I guarantee one thing: Things will look better tomorrow.”

“But that’s what I’m supposed to say!” Lisa cried. The three of them laughed. It did sound funny to hear Carole giving Lisa’s advice—or Annie’s—to Annie!

Lisa tried to talk them into telling her the news right away, but Carole and Stevie remained as adamant as two hardened stage mothers. “But it’s pointless for me to go to rehearsal now. I’m already very late, and it’s almost an hour’s walk to the high school from here,” Lisa said.

Carole looked from her to Stevie. “Stevie, do you notice any faster means of transportation around here?” she asked.

“Oh, you mean like a bus or a train or something like that?” Stevie asked, playing dumb.

“Yeah, like a bus or a train, but, well, different.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve always found a horse could travel cross-country pretty fast.”

“Funny, I’ve found that, too.”

“You know what else is great about riding?” Stevie asked.

“No, what?”

“It really annoys foolish people who don’t like the smell of horses.”

“I must say that is an added bonus.”

Lisa stood up and put her hands on her hips, fixing them with a mock glare. “All right,” she asked, “who’s going to give me a leg up?”

In a flash Carole tossed Lisa up on Starlight and Stevie up on Topside. Then she found a tree stump and hopped on herself, in front of Lisa. “Anna Henchman, here we come!” Stevie yelled.

It took them ten minutes to ride from the creek to the high-school playing fields. On the way the horses had to splash through a few streams, and the girls got partially soaked. When they hit the fields, Carole and Stevie let them out all the way. They tore across the fields.

“Are those people in the play?” Carole called back, pointing.

Lisa stared ahead at the school building. Sure enough, the entire cast was standing outside the auditorium, taking their midrehearsal break. For a split second Lisa felt embarrassed. Then she thought of the entrance she was making as she and her two best friends, mounted on two practically matched bay Thoroughbreds, streaked toward the doors, manes and tails flying. Sensing the importance of the moment, Carole added the extra touch of pulling Starlight up just in the nick of time, like a cowboy in an old Western.

“Sorry I’m late,” Lisa announced to the group, hopping off smartly, “but I like to make a dramatic entrance.”

The cast burst into spontaneous applause, whooping and cheering. Carole and Stevie nodded to one another and, as if on cue, took off back across the fields.

Mr. Ryan put a hand up to his eyes to shield them from the sun. “Who were those masked girls?” he asked.

“Why, that was the Lone Ranger,” Hollie joked.

“All right, enough already,” Mrs. Spitz said when the laughter had died down. She sent everyone back into the auditorium except Lisa.

“Mrs. Spitz? I really am sorry I’m late,” Lisa said.