Wild Horse (5 page)

The interview seemed to speed by. Lisa could hardly believe how little Mrs. Cushing asked her. Instead of making her answer questions, the woman spent most of the hour telling her what a privilege it was to go to Wentworth. “You do realize that we have girls from the best families in the Northeast and the South here at Wentworth, don’t you, Ms. Atwood?” she asked.

Lisa nodded uncertainly, not sure what Mrs. Cushing meant by
best.

“We have over ten applicants for
every spot.
Getting
in is extremely competitive,” Mrs. Cushing went on, frowning across her massive desk.

“And once a girl comes here, we expect her to be a credit to the school in
every way.
And we expect her to behave, Ms. Atwood. We’re not like some boarding schools who let their girls run wild. Oh, no—that’s not the Wentworth way. If a girl gets in trouble, she can be sent home—”

“I don’t think I—” Lisa started to say.

“For good!” Mrs. Cushing thundered. “With no chance of readmission.”

“I see. I—”

“Ever! Once you’re out, you’re out. And that’s final. All right?”

Lisa nodded. “Good,” said Mrs. Cushing briskly. “I’m glad we understand one another.”

At that, Lisa had to stifle a grin. She had never understood anyone less than she understood Mrs. Cushing at that moment. She had no idea what the woman was talking about. And Mrs. Cushing clearly didn’t understand her. Lisa never got into trouble at school. She never acted up, she never talked back—for heaven’s sakes, she’d been tardy only a few times in her life. Yet Mrs. Cushing was actually lecturing her on her behavior! When Stevie and Carole heard that, they would die laughing.

Mrs. Cushing also didn’t seem to understand that this was just an interview—she was acting as if Lisa were going to enroll at Wentworth that minute. Lisa didn’t understand
why
Mrs. Cushing didn’t understand. Surely her mother must have explained their financial situation to the headmistress.

Lisa didn’t have time to ponder the matter further. Before she knew it, she was shaking Mrs. Cushing’s hand and Sally was back to take her to the stables. It was a beautiful Virginia fall day. As the two girls walked toward the barn, Lisa relaxed. “How long have you been riding?” she asked Sally, hoping to start a friendly conversation.

“Not very long,” said the older girl. “I’m not good at all compared to some of the other girls, like Beth Reynolds or Ashley Briggs.”

Lisa noticed Sally sounded defensive. “I know how that is,” she said. “My two best friends have been riding practically since they could walk, so I always feel like a beginner compared to them.”

“Oh, I don’t feel like a beginner,” Sally said scornfully. “I’ve taken Cotton Socks to tons of A shows.”

“Oh, really?” Lisa said, unable to keep a hint of doubt out of her voice. So much for sympathy. If Sally had gone to so many A shows, why did she have to brag about them?

“Yes, haven’t you?” Sally asked.

“No, but I’m very involved in Pony Club,” Lisa said, knowing she sounded defensive now, too.

“That’s nice,” Sally said with forced politeness.

The two of them walked the rest of the way to the stables in silence, but once inside the barn, Lisa was unable to contain her enthusiasm. “It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, gazing down a long aisle of stalls.

“We like it,” Sally said coolly.

Lisa walked slowly down the aisle, feasting her eyes on the fine Thoroughbred heads that looked out at her. Every stall had a large brass nameplate on it with its inhabitant’s name and the owner’s name below that. Matching blue-and-green Wentworth blankets hung over the doors. The stalls themselves were huge and immaculate. In fact, it was one of the cleanest barns Lisa had ever seen. There was hardly a wisp of hay anywhere. After she had taken her stroll down the aisle, Lisa rejoined Sally, who was waiting at the entrance with a bored expression.

“Where’s the tack room?” Lisa asked, eager to have a look at it.

“It’s one aisle over,” Sally replied. “But why would you want to see that? We never use it.”

“You mean someone cleans your tack for you?”
Lisa asked, realizing the implications of what Sally had said.

“Of course,” Sally said. “You don’t think we have time for that, do you? Wentworth is very rigorous academically, you know.”

“Right,” Lisa said. So much for making friendly conversation. She took one more stab at it. “Well, in that case, I’d love to meet your horse,” she said.

“Cotton? Oh, I don’t know where he is now. He could be turned out or being exercised. Who knows? So, do you want to see the indoor ring? It’s one of the biggest in the state.”

“Why not?” Lisa said. The truth was, she’d suddenly gotten a perfect picture of what riding was like at Wentworth, and she didn’t really care if she saw anything else. But she still had time to kill before her mother came, so she followed Sally out of the barn and into the spectator seats of the huge ring.

A number of girls were riding. That struck Lisa as strange, since it was such a nice day. “Isn’t there an outside ring?” she asked Sally.

“Sure, but it’s too much of a pain to get to. It’s a five-minute ride,” Sally said.

Just then one of the girls riding shrieked. As Lisa watched, the girl spun her horse around and galloped
pell-mell toward them. Right before she got to the side of the ring, she stood up in her stirrups, hauled on the reins, and jerked the horse to a stop. “Sally! What’s up?” she cried.

“Ashley! This is Lisa Atwood from Willow Creek. She rides, so she wanted to see the stables,” Sally said. She sounded more enthusiastic than she’d been all afternoon.

“Willow Creek? You’re kidding! I used to live there!” Ashley cried. “Back when I was little. Boring, isn’t it? But at least you can ride there. So, where do you keep your horse, Lisa?”

“I—I don’t have my own horse,” Lisa said uncomfortably.

Ashley and Sally looked at her. “You don’t?” they said in unison.

“No, I ride one at the stable where I take lessons,” Lisa said. “At Pine Hollow,” she added.

“At least the stable’s decent,” Ashley said. “You probably know Veronica diAngelo. She’s one of my best friends.”

“Yes, I know her,” Lisa said.
Boy, do I know her
, she thought.

“Buster, stop it!” Ashley barked, jerking on the reins again. Lisa didn’t know what, exactly, Ashley wanted Buster to stop. The beautiful black hunter had merely
shifted his weight from side to side. He was restless, the way all horses were when they were suddenly halted and asked to stand still.

“You’d get a horse if you came to Wentworth, though, wouldn’t you?” Sally asked.

“I guess so,” Lisa said. Sally’s “if you came to Wentworth” was so impossible to imagine that Lisa figured she might as well say whatever she felt like.

“Well, if you’re in the market, you can buy Buster here—cheap,” Ashley said, laughing at her own joke. She took her jumping bat and drummed the horse between the ears a couple of times. Buster jerked his head up and laid his ears back. “See how bad-tempered he is? Aren’t you, you stupid horse?”

Lisa clenched her hands and forced herself to breathe calmly. What she wanted to do was drag Ashley to the ground and rub her face in the dirt for being so unfair to her horse.

“All right, Ash, we’d better go. Lisa’s mother will be waiting for her,” Sally said.

“Okay, but promise me you’ll come to my room tonight so we can redo our manicures,” Ashley said.

“Right after dinner,” Sally promised.

“Great. Nice to meet you, Lisa. Tell Ronnie I said hi and I miss her loads, and I’m going to come visit her soon, okay?”

“Sure,” Lisa said, smiling, “the next time I speak to her.”
Which hopefully will be about a decade from now
, she added silently.

With a wave of her hand, Ashley spurred Buster into a trot and rode off.

“So you know one of Ashley’s old friends?” Sally asked on the way back, obviously impressed.

“Oh yes,” Lisa said, “Veronica and I go way back.”
Maybe not as friends
, she thought,
but we do go way back.

The fact that Ashley and Lisa knew someone in common seemed to have raised Lisa’s status immeasurably in Sally’s sight. All at once Sally was friendly and talkative. She kept up a steady stream of conversation on the way to the parking lot, where Mrs. Atwood was waiting. When Lisa thanked her for the tour of the stables, Sally protested, “Oh, don’t thank me! It was my pleasure. As you can see, Wentworth is a great school, and I’m just glad to do my part to show it off. If you have any questions, please call me. You too, Mrs. Atwood,” she added.

“Thank you, Sally. I’m sure Lisa will want to talk to you some more,” said Mrs. Atwood.

Lisa stood by the car door holding her breath and counting the seconds until she could kiss Wentworth good-bye forever. Finally—
finally
—her mother finished thanking Sally for the millionth time, and got into the car.

As soon as they were heading down the driveway, Lisa let out a huge sigh of relief. She had done her part. She had tried to make a good impression. She had kept her mouth shut when she couldn’t think of anything good to say. And now the whole ordeal was over. Her mother would forget all about Wentworth in a few days and find something else she wanted Lisa to try. As for Lisa, she couldn’t wait to get back to Pine Hollow and find out what she had missed.

“So, tell me all about it! How were the stables?” Mrs. Atwood asked.

“Fine, Mom,” Lisa said exhaustedly.

“Just fine? I thought they were supposed to be top-notch.”

“They are top-notch. They’re beautiful, Mom,” Lisa said.

“So you liked the school?” Mrs. Atwood asked.

Lisa closed her eyes, wishing her mother would stop asking her questions. If she told her mother the truth, she’d be in for a two-hour lecture, all the way home, about how great Wentworth was and what a privilege it would be to go there. Instead she said with a sigh, “Yeah, Mom. It was nice.” There. That ought to be enough to get her to drop the subject.

L
ISA
HURRIED
OVER
to Pine Hollow early Sunday morning. For some reason she hadn’t felt like calling Stevie and Carole the night before. By the time she’d gotten home, she’d been so fed up with seeing Wentworth and then hearing her mother talk about it in the car that she just couldn’t gear up to repeat the whole story for them. But after a good night’s sleep, she felt de-Wentworthed and back to her old self. She couldn’t wait to see Carole and Stevie.

Luckily they’d had the same idea. As Lisa entered the stable, Carole came around a corner carrying a saddle, and Stevie ducked out of Belle’s stall.

“I guess great minds think alike,” Stevie said.

“I was hoping you’d both be here,” Lisa said, pleased that she’d guessed right.

“And I was hoping all three of you would be here,” a voice said behind them. The girls turned to greet Mrs. Reg, who was carrying a bucketful of new salt blocks. “Listen, girls. I’ve got to distribute the rest of these, so how about sweeping out the tack room for me and tidying it up before you ride? It could really use it.”

The girls were eager to comply. Cleaning the tack room was a perfect task for The Saddle Club because they could talk while they worked. A few minutes later Stevie and Lisa were lugging tack trunks and sawhorses out of the room so that Carole could get busy with the broom. Stevie was dying to ask Lisa about Wentworth, but she held back, remembering Carole’s suggestion that Lisa might not want to discuss it.

Finally Lisa said teasingly, “So, aren’t you going to ask me about it?”

“What did you think?” Stevie blurted out.

“That depends,” Lisa said, her eyes twinkling. “What did I think of
it
, or what did I think of
them
? It is a beautiful school with the most gorgeous stables I’ve ever seen.”

“And them?” Stevie asked.

“They’re horrible!” said Lisa. “All I could think the
whole time I was there was that if this is how being rich makes you, I
never
want to have a lot of money.”

“So the girls weren’t nice?” Carole asked, pausing with the broom in her hand.

“I only really met two of them,” Lisa said, “but that was two too many!” She told Carole and Stevie about Sally Whitmore and Ashley Briggs, how rude they were, and how it was clear that neither of them gave a darn about their horses.

“Ashley Briggs—that’s the girl I was telling you about, Carole. She’s Veronica’s friend,” Stevie explained.

Lisa nodded. “Yes, she told me she used to live here. I’m supposed to say hi to ‘Ronnie’ for her,” she said sarcastically.

“Well, here’s your chance,” Carole murmured, nodding toward the door.

The three of them fell silent as Veronica entered the room. “Don’t mind me,” Veronica said, “I’m just here to grab a pitchfork.”

“A pitchfork?” Carole asked. “But—why?” She didn’t mean to be rude, but Veronica’s asking for a pitchfork was shocking. She never, ever mucked out stalls or cleaned up after her horse.

“Yes, a pitchfork, Carole. On my way in, I noticed that Belle’s stall was a little messy, and I was going to do Stevie a favor and get the worst of it out.”