Wild Horse (4 page)

“Do you know anyone who goes there?” Carole asked.

“Thankfully, no. I know
of
one girl—she used to go to Fenton, but her parents moved to Washington, D.C., after third grade. I think I heard she was going to Wentworth now. Wait, I remember: When she lived here, she was best friends with Veronica. Veronica was talking about her awhile ago—as if I’d care that her ex–best friend goes to Wentworth,” Stevie said derisively. “So I don’t really know anyone there. But Fenton sometimes plays Wentworth in sports tournaments. The girls are the worst. They’re real crybabies if they don’t win.”

“It sounds terrible,” Carole said. She couldn’t even
imagine going to a school like Wentworth. Willow Creek Junior High had its ups and downs, and she certainly liked some of the kids better than others, but it was a normal school—not some snob factory!

“It is terrible. If I’d known, I would have tried to convince Lisa to not even waste her time this weekend,” Stevie said.

“I think it’s easier for her to just go. Otherwise, she’d have to have a big fight with her mother about it,” Carole said.

“Which she would never do,” Stevie said, finishing Carole’s thought. Lisa didn’t fight with her parents, especially her mother. She hated to upset them, so she usually just gave in. She thought it was easier that way. “So she’ll be back Saturday night?” Stevie asked.

Carole nodded. “Yeah, I told her to call us the minute she gets in.”

“Good, we can set her straight then, if she hasn’t figured out how awful Wentworth is on her own.”

“Stevie,” Carole said gently, “don’t cut it down too much. It will only make Lisa feel bad if she ends up liking it and can’t go there.”

“Don’t worry—she won’t like it,” Stevie replied firmly. “Would you want to go to a school filled with …” Stevie stopped without finishing her sentence. She had been about to say “filled with Veronicas,”
but right that second, the door opened and Veronica herself walked in.

“Talking about me as usual?” Veronica asked, her voice saccharine-sweet. “Really, can’t you two think of another topic?”

Stevie returned Veronica’s huge, fake smile with an even huger, faker one of her own. “We were just leaving, actually. It’s too crowded in here, don’t you think, Carole?”

Before Carole could answer, Veronica repeated, “Crowded? Do you think so? Then I guess you won’t mind when only two other students show up at your dance in two weeks, will you?”

“As long as you’re not one of them,” Stevie retorted, not missing a beat. “Come on, Carole.”

Veronica laughed as Stevie stormed by with Carole in tow. “An all-girls dance—now that will be really funny!” she called after them. “The boys aren’t going to go, you know—not with a
tomboy
as head of the dance committee.”

Stevie stopped halfway down the aisle. She turned around with her hands on her hips. She couldn’t let Veronica get away with insulting her like that. What could she say that would silence her? Suddenly she had an inspiration. “It’s too bad you’re so down on the dance, Veronica,” Stevie said clearly, emphasizing every
word, “because I guess that means you don’t want to be my cochairperson after all. Oh well, I’ll have to find somebody else.” Without giving Veronica a chance to reply, Stevie marched toward Belle’s stall.

Carole followed close on her heels. “What was that all about?” she hissed.

“She’s jealous, naturally.”

“Of what? Explain, Stevie!”

“Sorry. I was just savoring my moment of triumph,” Stevie said. At Carole’s urging, she explained that Veronica had obviously found out that Miss Fenton had made Stevie head of the dance committee.

Carole congratulated Stevie on being chosen. “But you weren’t really considering Veronica for the position, were you?” Carole asked as they reentered Belle’s stall.

Stevie rolled her eyes. “Please, Carole! Give me some credit. I’m not completely crazy!”

“Okay, just making sure,” Carole said, grinning.

Stevie glanced at her watch. “Oh no! It’s almost five, and I’ve got to be home for dinner by five-thirty.” She sighed exasperatedly. “Poor Belle. She’s going to think we’re
all
crazy—she’s been tacked up twice, and now I don’t have time to ride!”

T
HROUGH
THE
CAR
window, Lisa looked out at the magnificent countryside. She’d forgotten how beautiful the truly rural part of Virginia was. Willow Creek was a pretty enough suburb, but it was no match for the acres and acres of prime hunt country she and her mother were driving through. Lisa was so captivated by the gorgeous scenery that she could almost forget the reason for her being there—almost, but not quite. The itchy kilt and stiff white blouse her mother had chosen for her to wear were a constant reminder that this trip had a purpose.
I’ll bet today won’t be so bad
, Lisa thought.
It is incredibly beautiful out here.…

“Almost there, dear. Are you nervous?” Mrs. Atwood asked.

Startled, Lisa snapped out of her daydream. “No, Mom, why should I be nervous?” she said.

“Oh, I don’t know—I always get nervous before an interview,” Mrs. Atwood said.

“But Mom, it’s not as if this interview really matters,” Lisa said.

“You wouldn’t want to make a bad impression,” Mrs. Atwood said quickly. She turned to Lisa and smiled. “But I know you won’t, dear. You’ll do your father and me proud, the way you always do.”

Lisa sighed. Her mother was constantly encouraging her to make a good impression. Even when she did an errand, she was supposed to look nice—as if the man at the grocery store cared what she was wearing! And now she was supposed to impress some interviewer she would never see again. Boy, would Stevie have laughed at that. “I’ll try, Mom,” Lisa said finally.
For your sake
, she added to herself.

“Good girl,” Mrs. Atwood responded. “After all, you never know what can happen.”

Lisa decided to ignore her mother’s comment. She had no idea what it was supposed to mean, but it was pointless to argue. If her mother wanted to have dreams about sending her daughter to Wentworth, let her. Besides,
just then Mrs. Atwood turned off the main road, and Lisa was more interested in finally seeing the famous Wentworth than quarreling about her chances of going there. After driving up a long, winding road bordered by stately elm trees, they pulled up to the school.

While her mother checked her hair and makeup in the rearview mirror, Lisa got out of the car. She looked around, her eyes wide. Wentworth Manor was truly something to behold. They had parked next to a formidable brick building with white columns. Beyond it were two smaller buildings in a similar style. In the distance Lisa could make out a large, rambling stable and green, rolling pastures dotted with horses.

“Boy, it looks like the set of
Gone With the Wind
,” she breathed.

“I knew you’d like it!” Mrs. Atwood exclaimed, beaming.

“Mom, not so fast. I haven’t even—” Before Lisa could finish, a loud bell sounded. Lisa wasn’t surprised to hear it because her mother had explained that Wentworth had a half day of classes on Saturday. But she was surprised when the doors of the brick building swung open and the crowd of girls came out. They were all dressed identically, in dark green blazers, green-and-blue skirts, and knee socks and loafers.

“They have to wear uniforms?” Lisa asked, recoiling at the thought of having to wear the same thing every day.

“Yes, isn’t it wonderful?” Mrs. Atwood responded eagerly. “It makes them look so ladylike. Now, come, we don’t want to be late for our tour.”

Reluctantly Lisa followed her mother up the stairs and into the main building, trying to ignore the eyes she felt on her back. Most of the girls looked her over curiously and then looked away, but a few stared at her. Lisa suddenly felt awkward. She kept her eyes focused downward as her mother stopped and asked a teacher where they should go for their tour. The teacher pointed down the hallway to a door marked
ADMISSIONS
OFFICE
.

Inside the office another mother-and-daughter pair were sitting on a couch, waiting. Both were elegantly dressed, and for some reason Lisa felt more self-conscious than ever. She tried to catch the girl’s eye to see if she felt as awkward as Lisa did, but the girl was reading a fashion magazine and didn’t look up.

Mrs. Atwood introduced herself to the receptionist. “Wait right here,” the woman replied. “I’ll be back with someone to take you around in a moment.”

“Isn’t this exciting, Lisa? Don’t the girls look nice?” Mrs. Atwood whispered.

Lisa nodded, trying to feign enthusiasm.
Nice
wasn’t
the word she would have used to describe the girls who had passed them in the hallway.
Sophisticated
, maybe, or
stuck-up
—but not
nice.

“Here we are,” said the woman, returning with a student in tow. “This is Sally Whitmore. She’ll be your tour guide this afternoon. Feel free to ask her any questions about Wentworth. When you get back, Mrs. Cushing will interview Lisa.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Atwood? Lisa? It’s very nice to meet you,” the girl said, extending a manicured hand and smiling brightly.

First Mrs. Atwood, then Lisa shook hands with her. Her hand was limp, Lisa noticed—definitely not the firm handshake Max taught them to use when they were meeting new people at Pony Club rallies.

As Sally headed them down a hallway, Lisa gave her a sidelong glance. She had long blond hair and looked a few years older than Lisa. Lisa could tell that her mother was pleased with Sally’s good manners, but Lisa wasn’t so easily persuaded. She knew it was important to shake hands, but there was something about the girl’s smile she didn’t buy. It looked fake, instead of truly warm and welcoming. It reminded her of someone else’s smile. Of course: Veronica diAngelo’s!

“I’m sure you’ll be interested in seeing this, Lisa,”
Sally was saying. “It’s the student center, and it’s just been renovated.”

Lisa peered in at the nearly empty room.

“Isn’t it nice, dear?” Mrs. Atwood said anxiously.

“Yeah, it’s great, Mom,” Lisa replied, keeping her real thoughts to herself. The student center, a large room with couches, tables, and magazines, did look okay. It just seemed strange that hardly anyone was hanging out there. At Lisa’s school, the student lounge was always packed. And even though Lisa tried to avoid it when it was full of obnoxious boys, she liked the communal spirit of the place. The Wentworth student center was so deserted and quiet, it might as well have been the library.

The tour went on, and Lisa found herself comparing Wentworth again and again to Willow Creek Junior High. To be fair, Wentworth definitely had some pluses. The classrooms were spacious and quiet, with views of the surrounding countryside. The computer room had twenty computers that looked brand new. And the theater was incredible—it was in a separate building and looked almost professional. Even though the stage at Willow Creek had been improved over the years, it was now run-down and in desperate need of refurbishing. But despite how nice the Wentworth facility was, something didn’t feel right to Lisa. She wondered what it was
as she followed Sally and her mother from building to building.

Near the end of the tour she realized the problem: The whole school was like the student center—too quiet. It felt more like a hospital than a school. Nobody was calling out or banging lockers or bustling around. Instead, uniformed girls walked in groups of twos and threes, chatting quietly. Lisa tried to tell herself that Willow Creek would have been a lot quieter without the boys—and especially the obnoxious boys—but still, the lack of noise gave her the creeps. And trying to come up with appropriate responses to her mother’s and Sally’s promptings was tiring. Lisa was almost glad when the tour ended and Sally dropped them back at the admissions office.

“Do you have any questions?” Sally asked.

“I can’t think of a single one. You answered them all so thoroughly on the tour,” Mrs. Atwood gushed. “Lisa?”

“Nope,” Lisa said. “The tour was great,” she added so that she wouldn’t sound so abrupt. The truth was, she did have some questions, but she wasn’t sure Sally Whitmore was the right person to answer them. She didn’t look like the kind of person Lisa could ask, “So, what do you do for fun around here?”

After making sure they were resettled in the office, Sally left, promising to pick Lisa up in an hour to take
her to see the barn. A few minutes later Mrs. Cushing, the director of admissions, emerged from her office. She was a tall, slim woman, dressed in a tweed suit, with her hair pulled back in a severe bun. Before taking Lisa in for her interview, she drew Mrs. Atwood aside for a moment. Lisa strained her ears but, to her annoyance, couldn’t hear anything they said. Then it was Lisa’s turn.

“I’ll see you in a while, dear,” Mrs. Atwood said, leaning over to give Lisa a quick kiss. “Good luck!” she whispered into Lisa’s ear. “Knock ’em dead!”

To her surprise, Lisa felt sad to see her mother go, even for a short time. But she gritted her teeth. Soon the whole Wentworth episode would be over and she would never have to think about the school again. Her mother was going to drive into the town of Richfield and look around. Then she would come back to pick Lisa up.