Lisa (14 page)

“Well, why didn’t they have a young judge for Prancer, then?”

It was such a crazy idea that I might have laughed if I hadn’t been so upset. Who ever heard of a horse show choosing their judges according to the entrants’ quirks? “It’s not their job to have a special judge for a horse,” I told Mom a little impatiently. “It’s the rider’s job to have the horse ready to be inspected by the judge.”

“But your horse was ready,” Mom insisted. “I know you groomed her more carefully than anybody else, and she’s so beautiful!”

I nodded. “She’s the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen. But beauty isn’t all that goes into being fit for a horse show. She has to have manners, too. Prancer doesn’t have her manners yet.” I hadn’t really thought about that until I said it. I guess it should have been obvious. But it hadn’t even occurred to me until that moment.

“Manners?” Mom said. “How can they expect a young rider like you to teach a horse manners
and
control it? The judges are out of their minds if they blame you for something your horse does! I ought to give them a piece of my mind!”

On the one hand, it was wonderful. Mom was doing exactly what I’d known she would—taking my side, sticking up for me against everyone and anyone else. On the other hand, her ideas about what was important in a horse show were so wacked out that I just had
to try to explain. I couldn’t have her going off and telling the judges they’d been mean to me!

With that thought, in some weird way, my memory of what had happened began to change. I didn’t realize how much until I heard my own voice speaking the undeniable truth.

“No, Mom,” I said. “You don’t understand. It’s the job of the person showing a horse to keep the horse under control. All the other riders managed it. I should have been able to do it, too. Prancer is a beautiful, wonderful horse, but she’s young and inexperienced. She hasn’t learned good manners. A horse needs to learn manners, or it can’t be trusted. A horse that can’t be trusted shouldn’t come to a horse show.”

For a second I could hardly believe what I’d just said. But when I stopped to think about it, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t realized it earlier.

It was obvious that Mom still wasn’t following me. “But Prancer is so valuable!” she said. “I mean, isn’t she a Thoroughbred racehorse?”

I did my best to explain that whatever Prancer’s breeding, whatever she had done in the past, whatever potential she had, it didn’t automatically make her a good show horse. “I was wrong,” I said, struggling to find the right words to fit what I was thinking, how I was feeling about the whole day. “She isn’t a champion yet. She will be, but not yet. Right now, she’s like a young girl who’s never been in a horse show before and doesn’t understand what’s really important until
she loses it.” I shook my head sadly. “I thought that being in a horse show was about winning and that Prancer was the secret to winning. Now I know that Prancer wasn’t ready to show. I had no business bringing such a green horse into a show ring.”

I could tell that Mom still didn’t quite understand, but that really wasn’t so surprising. I hadn’t understood any of what I’d just said myself until about two minutes earlier. Still, she was there to listen and offer comfort, and that was what I’d really needed.

She hugged me. “Now let me take you home,” she suggested. “You can take a nice hot bath, and then maybe we’ll go to a movie …”

It was tempting, but I knew I couldn’t do it. I had unfinished business right there. Even if the show was over for me, I had to stay and support my friends.

Mom looked uncertain when I told her. “But how will you get home?”

I didn’t want her to have to stay when I wouldn’t even be riding. “Max will bring me,” I assured her. “Or maybe Stevie’s parents. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way.”

“No problem, Mrs. Atwood,” Max said from just behind us. I was a little startled, since I hadn’t even known he was standing there until he spoke. “I’ll bring her home. Lisa’s right to stay. She’s got some work to do.”

“I do?”

“Yes, you do,” he said.

“Well, your father and I have our tickets already,”
Mom said. “Maybe I’ll just stay around here and watch some of the show. Maybe I’ll learn something.”

“You might,” Max agreed. “There’s a lot of learning going on here today.”

After Mom hurried away to find her seat, I turned to Max, feeling ashamed. “I really blew it, didn’t I?”

He smiled kindly. “Yes, I think you did. But I knew your mind was made up when you asked to ride Prancer today. And I think you’ve learned from the experience.” He put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a quick hug. I was relieved, because I knew then that he wasn’t mad. He understood.

“Thanks,” I told him. “I needed that. Now I think my friends need me. I’m going to go help them get ready for the Trail class.”

“No, there’s something else you need to do,” Max said. “According to the Briarwood rules, your disqualification applied to Prancer, not necessarily to you. I would like to see you compete in the last two intermediate classes here today.”

“Me too,” I said, meaning it with all my heart. I really wanted a chance to prove what I’d learned. “But I think the Briarwood rules require that I be on the back of some sort of four-footed animal …”

“Like Barq?” Max said with a twinkle in his eye.

Half an hour later, it was all settled. It turned out that Barq was there for some of the adult classes later, but he was free until then. After a short talk with the judges, the switch was official, and I was back in
the saddle. Barq and I were all ready to compete in the Trail class.

I had fun in the class, and my friends did, too. There was a world of difference between competing on Barq—a well-trained, experienced horse—and Prancer. I still think Prancer is wonderful, and I want to keep riding her as much as Max will let me, but I realize now that she still has some learning to do. So do I, though maybe not quite as much as before the horse show!

Anyway, Barq and I must have looked as good as we felt, because we ended up with the second-place ribbon! It was amazing. Almost as amazing was that we won fourth place in the Jumping class. Carole came in first, and Stevie was third. Carole’s friend Cam won second place.

Oh, that reminds me. Carole got a big surprise when she finally met Cam, that girl she’s been writing—because it turns out that Cam isn’t a girl, he’s a guy! Actually, he’s a really cute, really smart guy our age. I think Carole was
really
stunned and a little confused by that. It’s sort of cute, really. Carole spends so much time thinking about horses that I wasn’t sure she’d ever start to notice boys. But I think she’s noticing this one, though I can’t help wondering how much of it is his big brown eyes and nice smile and how much is his riding ability and knowledge about horses! Oh well, I guess there’s no way Carole could ever fall for anyone who wasn’t a rider—that would be like Stevie liking
someone with no sense of humor, or Max dating a woman who’d never seen a horse before. Ha!

But back to Carole. I just remembered something else that happened to her today. When we came back here to her house after the show for our sleepover, her dad brought us in some cookies. And then he gave her the big news. They’re going to Florida to visit some relatives over winter break! Carole will get to hang out at the beach and go to Walt Disney World and see her relatives and all sorts of other fun stuff. Isn’t that cool?

FROM:
           HorseGal

TO:
                Steviethegreat

TO:
                LAtwood

SUBJECT:
      Stevie the Screenwriter

MESSAGE:

Hi, you two. I was just going through old e-mails and realized I never deleted that “screenplay” you (Stevie) sent a while ago. As I was looking at it again, I realized that you (Lisa) might actually have sent it to your brother. If you did, you ought to warn him that it’s not very detailed or even accurate as far as the horse-related aspects are concerned. For one thing, Stevie said that we were all wearing white breeches, which we would never do unless we were entering a formal third-level dressage test or something,
which obviously we weren’t. Also, you make it sound like we’re just about to step into the ring, so there’s no way you would still be braiding Topside’s mane at that late hour. (Not even you, Stevie—Max would kill you!) Also, I think if it’s going to be the opening scene of the movie, we should talk about something more substantial, don’t you? Maybe something more like this:

a screenplay scene by C. Hanson and S. Lake

FADE IN:

INTERIOR a 12 × 12 box stall lined with straw in a stable, early morning

CLOSE UP on STARLIGHT, a mahogany-colored bay gelding with a lopsided six-pointed star on his face. His mane is done up in neat high plaits and his tail has been carefully pulled so it looks just perfect. His owner, CAROLE, is standing just outside the stall with her friends STEVIE and LISA. They’re dressed in buff or other solid-colored breeches or jodhpurs (not white) and navy or tweed riding jackets.

CAROLE

Well, girls, here we are at the Briarwood Horse Show. I am really looking forward to our first class, Fitting and Showing. I know it might not seem like a very exciting event to some people, but it is certainly important. After all, it
demonstrates not only the horse’s conformation, but also the rider’s skills in grooming. And of course, the horse’s manners are very important. An unruly horse shows that a rider is not in control, and that is a very serious thing.

LISA
You’re right, Carole. It is very important.

STEVIE
Yes.

And so on. They (I mean we) could go on to discuss the other classes we’ve entered, and then maybe give a little bit of general information about horse shows in case all the moviegoers aren’t horsepeople.

Hope this helps Peter. See you both tomorrow at the stable!

Dear Peter
,

I’m sorry my last letter was so weird. I was trying to make it sound important and grown-up, but I think all that happened is I sounded dull and cold. It’s hard—really hard—writing to someone I haven’t seen in so long, even though we’re brother and sister. At first I thought that meant there was something wrong with me, or maybe with us. But now I realize it’s only natural. Even siblings can fall out of touch. And the only solution is to write more and try to get back in
touch with each other that way. So that’s what I’m going to do. From now on I’m not going to try to impress you with how much I’ve grown up since you saw me last or anything like that. I’m just going to tell you what’s going on with me, and I hope you’ll be interested and do the same in return.

I guess you could say I’ve learned my lesson. Actually, this has been a week of important lessons for me. I entered a horse show last weekend, and at first I didn’t do very well. You see, I somehow became convinced that just because I was riding a beautiful, blue-blooded Thoroughbred, I was automatically going to win every ribbon in sight. It didn’t turn out that way. Actually, I had a pretty miserable time for a while—I even managed to get my horse disqualified. But Max—that’s Max Regnery, my riding instructor—let me ride another one of his horses, and in the end I won a couple of ribbons, including a red one for second place. It ended up being a good day, because I learned a whole lot.

Before the show, Max had asked us to write down some goals for each class we entered. He said that afterward, he was going to ask us what ribbon we thought we deserved—in other words, whether we thought we had lived up to the goals we’d set. He wouldn’t ask what the goals were or any other questions. It was up to us to judge ourselves. Well, I’m embarrassed to admit it, but the only goal I wrote down was the word blue, as in blue ribbon. I wrote it five times, once for each class.

Needless to say, I didn’t come close to meeting that particular goal. At first I was going to tell Max to award me the booby prize. But after talking with my friends, I realized that
wasn’t right. I certainly didn’t deserve a blue ribbon, but I thought that maybe I deserved something just for the fact that I’d figured out why my goals were wrong. So when I had my meeting with Max, I told him I thought I deserved a “most improved” ribbon, and that’s what he gave me. He didn’t ask me any questions about my goals, just as he’d promised, though from the way he smiled at me I think he sort of suspected what had happened. He’s a pretty smart man.

The show was this past Saturday. Next week is my winter break from school, so maybe I’ll have time to write more then. In the meantime, good luck with your writing. Please let me know how the screenplay is going and also if you need to know anything in particular from me. I told Carole and Stevie about it, and they’re both just as thrilled as I am at the thought that we could inspire a movie!

Love,
Lisa

P.S. Do you still like peanut butter and banana sandwiches?

Dear Diary
,

Three more days until winter break! And my creative writing assignment is finished already. I decided I’m definitely going to use my letter to Peter. I’m going to turn it in tomorrow. I hope Ms. Shields likes it. But even more, I hope Peter likes it. I feel as though I’ve finally figured out how to be myself when I write
to him. I’m glad about that for a couple of reasons. For one thing, it means we may finally be able to start really communicating with each other—maybe even get back to being as close as we were when we were kids. Closer, actually. I mean, back when I was following him around everywhere, it was more like hero worship than a real, equal relationship. The other reason I’m glad is that my letters from now on should give Peter a much better idea about how people my age really think. That should help him a lot with his screenplay.