Carole (2 page)
Authors: Bonnie Bryant
I was thrilled at first, since I hadn’t heard from Cam since before school let out for the summer. Sometimes I really wish we lived closer to each other—it would be nice to see him and talk to him in person more often, instead of mostly chatting over the computer. Still, Stevie claims it was fate that she met Phil at riding camp. She says it means they were
meant to be together, so it doesn’t matter that they live in different towns and go to different schools and can’t see each other very often. So maybe it’s the same thing for us, especially since Cam and I have so much in common and hardly any of the boys at Willow Creek Junior High are interested in horses. Of course, I don’t really think of us as an official couple, like Stevie and Phil. At least not really.
Uh-oh, I was kind of getting away from the topic there again. The point is, Cam has already figured out what he wants to do with his life. And he’s right—a lot of the great riders started preparing for their careers when they were younger than I am now. So where does that leave me? I mean, I already know I want to work with horses someday, somehow. But I have no idea what, exactly, I want to do. I’ve thought about becoming a riding instructor and stable owner like Max, an equine vet like Judy Barker, a competitive rider, a trainer, a breeder.… The possibilities are practically endless. My friends like to tease me by saying I’m scatterbrained about everything except horses. But after reading Cam’s note, I feel like maybe horses are the thing I’ve been the
most
scatterbrained about, in a way, because some of the careers I’m interested in require an awful lot of special training and preparation. I’ve been losing a lot of valuable time puttering around, going on trail rides with my friends and goofing off, when I should have been trying to decide what to do. Maybe putting off thinking about the future has been a big mistake.
The problem is, even when I
do
think about it, I have no idea what I want to do. It’s really bothering me. I know I should probably call Stevie and Lisa to talk about it instead
of wasting all these pages in here. But for once, I’m not sure that’s the greatest idea. I mean, I know my best friends would help me if they could—after all, helping each other whenever help is needed is the only rule we thought was important enough to include when we started The Saddle Club (except being horse-crazy, of course, which practically goes without saying for the three of us). Still, even if they
wanted
to be helpful, I’m not sure they
could
be. After all, Stevie can’t be serious about anything for more than two seconds at a time (except maybe fighting with her brothers), so she might have trouble understanding why this is so important. Besides, she’s kind of distracted right now with her own problems, since her mom announced last week that she’s on strike—at home, that is, not at her law office—and that all four of the kids have to start helping out more at home. Stevie’s first job was the laundry, and she managed to mess up and turn all her brothers’ underwear pink (by accident, not on purpose).
That leaves Lisa. She would probably be totally organized and sensible about this whole topic, because that’s just the way she is. (When he’s in a silly mood, Dad sometimes calls my friends Loony Lake and Analytical Atwood, which actually describes Stevie and Lisa pretty well, though I’d never say so to them.) It could be kind of helpful to have that kind of perspective on this problem, I guess. But I can’t help thinking it might not be the right way to look at it. Lisa would probably insist on starting off by making a list of pros and cons—you know, which horse-related careers pay the most, which require advanced schooling, which would mean
I’d have to travel away from home a lot, and so on. And it might be hard to explain why those things aren’t as important to me as doing what I really want to do—whatever that is. Sometimes Lisa gets so caught up in what’s logical that she forgets that logic can’t always give you an answer.
I just read over what I wrote so far, and I really don’t think this kind of stuff is what my old riding instructor had in mind when she insisted that all her students keep a careful, detailed journal of their progress as riders. When we moved to a different base, I stopped keeping a riding journal for a while, but then I realized I actually missed it, so I started again and I’ve kept it up off and on (mostly on) ever since. Writing things down really does help keep me focused on what I’m doing each day when I climb into the saddle, and how my riding could be improved. Dad would probably say it has something to do with discipline—that’s a word I heard an awful lot on all those Marine Corps bases we lived on before we finally settled here in Willow Creek. And I guess I could use more discipline to help me make a decision about my life. So I guess it doesn’t matter that I used up a few pages on stuff that doesn’t
exactly
have to do with riding or training—at least not directly. After all, it does have a lot to do with what kind of riding or training (or instructing or breeding or veterinarianing or whatever) I’ll be doing for the rest of my life.
But back to what I was saying before. No matter how Stevie and Lisa might try to help, they really wouldn’t be able to make my decision for me anyway. After all, it’s my life I’m talking about here, so I should probably just keep this to myself for
a while and try to handle the decision on my own, in a mature way. If I really focus on possible careers, I’m sure I can come up with the right decision before too long.
In fact, I just got a good idea for a way to get started. I still have all of my old riding journals, dating from way back when I was seven. I think I’ll go dig them out of their box in the back of my closet right now and see if anything I wrote in them gives me any clues about what I’m really meant to do with my life.
I can’t believe what I just found while I was digging through my old riding journals. The diary I kept the year we moved to Willow Creek! I hadn’t seen it in ages, and I was kind of afraid I’d lost it somehow. I’m really glad I didn’t.
The diary is sitting here next to me on my bed as I write this. I haven’t so much as peeked at it yet. That’s because part of me sort of doesn’t want to open it up and reread about any of that year right now. It could be a little scary to remember everything I was thinking back then, how I was really feeling from day to day right in the middle of everything that was happening.
Still, another part of me wants to read it, and I think that part is getting stronger the longer I sit here and think about it. I guess my quest for a career can wait a few more minutes while I take a quick look. I’ll just read a tiny bit, only the beginning part from right after we moved into our house. That much will be safe.
Dear Diary:
Now that most of our unpacking is finished (AT LAST!!!) I finally have time to write about our latest move. Our
last
move, as Dad keeps claiming. We’ll see about that. I know he got a promotion (Mom and I keep calling him Colonel Hanson and saluting whenever we see him, which he thinks is a riot), and that means we might get to stay put for a while instead of moving around from base to base all the time. That’s why he and Mom decided to buy a regular house in an actual town instead of living on a base like we usually do
.
I’m still trying to get used to that. My room is almost as big as our entire apartment was on the last base. Well, maybe not quite that big. But it’s a lot bigger than I’m used to, and I’m really not sure what to do with all this space. At least for once I won’t have to agonize over which of my horse posters to hang up. Here there’s plenty of wall space for all of them. I may even have to get some more to cover it all up!
I’d better hurry and get settled, though, since summer is almost over. Pretty soon I’ll be busy getting used to a new school, a whole crowd of new people. The only difference this time is that most of the kids won’t be from military families, so they may be kind of different from the people I’m used to hanging around with. Dad says Willow Creek is just far enough from Quantico that there might not be any other kids from the base at my new school! Actually, I guess that’s not the only big difference. I’m going to have to get used to the idea that I may be at this new school for a long time instead of just a year or two
.
Mom and Dad are both pretty excited about the idea of staying put for a while, I think. When I look through my bedroom window I can see Mom outside in our backyard—our backyard! What a concept!—planting the tulip and daffodil bulbs she bought this morning, even though the guy at the store said it’s way too early. She’s so excited about having a real garden at last instead of just a few pots of herbs and flowers on a windowsill. She can’t wait to start planning a big vegetable garden like the one her family had when she was a kid and planting roses and flowering cherry trees and who knows what else to decorate the yard. Dad keeps moaning and complaining about having to spend his precious time off mowing the lawn, but Mom and I can both tell he’s only kidding. He’s really happy that Mom is so thrilled about living here
.
I’m kind of excited, too, even though moving was even scarier this time than it usually is. I know I’ll feel a lot better once I’ve had a chance to check out the local stable where I’ll be taking lessons. At first when I heard Dad had been transferred back to Quantico, I thought I’d just go back to riding at the Quantico stables, which made leaving Prince Charming and all the other horses at our old base a little easier (and Mr. Wellstone, too, of course—he was a great teacher, especially when it came to dressage). After all, the last time Dad was stationed at Quantico, we lived on base and I got to know the people and horses there really well. I loved taking lessons from Margery Tarr, and there are some really great horses there, too, like Black Lightning and Major and of course adorable little Soda Pop
.
But I guess the base is a little too far for Mom to drive me every day, especially if she gets a job in a real estate office here in town like she wants to. Luckily Margery understands why I won’t be coming back, and she even promised not to hold it against me as long as I come to visit once in a while. Ha! Ha! Anyway, she recommended a stable right here in Willow Creek—she says it’s the best one in the area. I forget what it’s called, but I know it had kind of a pretty name. Something to do with trees or forests, I think. Pine Valley Stables? Maybe something like that, I don’t know
.
I just hope it really is as great as Margery says it is. I’m keeping my fingers crossed until my appointment to visit it tomorrow.…
| FROM : | | LAtwood |
| TO : | | HorseGal |
| TO : | | Steviethegreat |
| SUBJECT : | | The future Mrs. Maximilian Regnery |
| MESSAGE : | | |
Hi, guys! Both of your phone lines are busy, which makes me think you may be talking to each other. I wish I were talking to you both, too, because I have big news. Our problem (well, actually Max’s problem) is solved! Mom invited someone from work over to dinner tonight. Her name is Tiffani, and she’s a model at that expensive store at the mall, Paris Chic. She’s perfect! I mean literally
perfect
. She’s tall,
slim, and gorgeous, with the sleekest, straightest blond hair you can imagine, and these huge green eyes with long lashes. Plus she’s really friendly and nice. I asked her how old she was, and even though Mom just about had a fit (she said it wasn’t a polite question), Tiffani told me she’s twenty-three. I know that’s younger than Max, but it’s not
too
young, you know? I mean, it wouldn’t seem like a huge age difference once they’d been married a few years. Also, even though Tiffani isn’t a regular rider right now, I found out she’s been on horseback a few times before, and when I invited her to the Fourth of July picnic, she said she’d love to come. She even seemed kind of interested in learning more about horses. Isn’t that great?
Because once Max gets an eyeful of Terrific Tiffani, we won’t have to worry about him being lonely anymore. He’ll know that she’ll be the perfect wife!
I just taped in an e-mail from Lisa, even though neither Stevie nor I got it until after Lisa had already told us her news about Tiffani in person. She was pretty excited because she’s totally certain that this Tiffani woman is Max’s ideal mate. I’m not so sure about that—it really doesn’t sound like she’s much of a rider at all, which makes it hard to believe she and Max could have anything important in common—but for once Lisa just won’t listen to logic.
Today at Pine Hollow Lisa and I spent our schooling session working on serpentines (Stevie was late because her
mom is still making her do extra housework), and Max stopped by the outdoor ring to watch us for a few minutes. At first I was a little nervous about that, since Starlight wasn’t bending quite right and I knew that meant I wasn’t communicating what I wanted properly. But I shouldn’t have worried. Max was almost as distracted and confused as he was yesterday, and when Lisa asked him how he thought we were doing, all he said was “Hmmm. Yes, yes, that’s very interesting.” I think I started to write in here before about how weird Max was acting during class—like he was on another planet, as Lisa put it. But I might not have mentioned what my friends and I decided afterward during the Saddle Club meeting we had yesterday afternoon over ice cream at TD’s. We started out trying to figure out why he was suddenly acting so odd and nervous, and we ended up deciding that he was just nervous because Deborah Hale, this newspaper reporter from Washington, D.C., has been hanging around Pine Hollow doing research for a story about horse racing. If she thinks all horsepeople are as out of it as Max has been this week, I can’t imagine what kinds of horrible things she’s going to end up writing in her article!
