The Painted Horse (2 page)

“Hello, fashion misfits,” said Veronica.

Lisa felt her hand rise to her hair, which was fuzzy from the dampness. She looked down at her jeans, which were streaked with bits of hay.

“You look even worse than usual,” said Veronica.

“It’s raining, Veronica,” Lisa said. “What are you doing out in this weather?”

“My public wants me,” said Veronica, smoothing her hair. “How can I say no?”

Lisa looked around, but there was still no one else there. “Excuse me? Maybe your public forgot to come.”

“They’re on their way,” Veronica said grandly. “Listen.”

Lisa listened, but all she could hear was the splattering of the rain.

“Darlings,” said Veronica. “Today I become famous.”

S
TEVIE
WAS
IN
trouble. She couldn’t decide whether to wear the sunglasses with the black frames or the ones with the gold frames. She wanted to look totally sophisticated. She did not want to look like some out-of-town hick. She tried the glasses with black frames and
checked her reflection in the window of the van. She looked mysterious … maybe a little dangerous. Then she tried on the ones with gold frames. She looked dramatic … practically dazzling. She decided to go with the gold. “Get ready, New York,” she muttered.

Stevie sat back and sighed. This trip would have been perfect if Lisa and Carole had been with her. But since they didn’t go to Stevie’s school, Fenton Hall, there was no way they could have come. Stevie would have to have fun for all three of them.

Veronica diAngelo went to Fenton Hall, but she had snootily refused to go on the trip. She’d said that New York bored her to tears. Stevie figured that when she got back with tales of hanging out backstage at a Broadway show, Veronica would die of jealousy. Just to make sure that this happened, Stevie had brought along a camera to document every exciting moment of her visit.

Stevie fished her camera out of her backpack and passed it to Helen, the girl sitting next to her. “Snap me in these,” she said, adjusting her sunglasses.

“Same old Stevie,” said Helen as she took Stevie’s picture.

The van rolled to the top of a hill. On the other side of the river, Manhattan sparkled in pure silver light. Stevie sighed. She could feel an adventure coming on.

The van went down into the Lincoln Tunnel. The
yellow tiled walls seemed to go on forever. When the van came up, it was in the middle of Manhattan.

“Bright lights, here I come,” said Stevie.

The trip leader, Mrs. Martin, stood up at the front of the van and clapped for quiet. Usually Mrs. Martin was overserious, in Stevie’s opinion. But today she was wearing a black dress with a red scarf draped around her shoulders and looked practically snappy. Stevie smiled, thinking that New York had a good effect on everyone.

“As we explore this morning, I want you to look with your hearts and not your heads,” Mrs. Martin said.

“I can do that,” Stevie mumbled to herself.

“I want you to find something that you really care about,” Mrs. Martin said.

“That will
not
be a problem,” said Stevie, sitting back and thinking of how she was going to go backstage with Skye and meet New York’s most glittering people.

“Be sure to keep notes,” Mrs. Martin said. “You think you’ll remember everything, but you won’t.”

“Like I would forget,” said Stevie.

The van traveled up a street crowded with sidewalk cafés. People were sitting outside enjoying the first warm spring sun. As they slowly rode past a bakery, Stevie saw trays of tiny tarts with raspberries and whipped cream, apples and raisins, and peaches and strawberries. “I could go for a snack,” she said.

But the van kept moving. A block later it was in Central Park. The grass was just beginning to turn green. There were in-line skaters and joggers. Stevie smiled. In New York, everyone had fun.

The van turned left and entered an underground garage. Stevie let out a whoop of joy.

Helen turned and gave her a funny look. Stevie figured she must be nervous about being in New York. After all, it took nerve and style to cope with the city.

Mrs. Martin explained that their bags would be delivered to the hotel. All the group had to do was follow her. They walked down a sidewalk to a brightly lit doorway. Mrs. Martin turned to the class and smiled. “Welcome to the most fascinating spot on earth.”

“I’m ready,” Stevie said.

But then she noticed that there was formal lettering on the doorway, and a man in a gray uniform was standing inside the door. As Stevie walked closer, she realized that if she took off her sunglasses, it would be easier to read the lettering. It said
Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Stevie’s heart sank.

“You’re going to love this, Stevie,” Ms. Dodge, the assistant teacher, said.

“Yeah, right,” Stevie muttered.

“What’s that, Stevie?” Ms. Dodge asked with a smile.

“Uh, my shoes are too tight,” said Stevie, leaning down and loosening her laces.

“We’ll be visiting two or three museums a day,” Ms. Dodge said. “Aren’t you thrilled?”

Chilled would be more like it
, Stevie thought. Bitterly, she remembered that Veronica diAngelo had refused to go on the trip. Veronica must have known. Her father was on the board of trustees of Fenton Hall. He must have heard that the trip was one big museum visit and told Veronica.

At this moment, Veronica was probably lazing in bed. Or riding her horse, Danny, at Pine Hollow. Stevie groaned.

“What’s that, Stevie?” asked Ms. Dodge.

“I guess I’m overwhelmed with excitement,” Stevie said.

“Just wait until you see the museum’s treasures,” Ms. Dodge said.

Mrs. Martin led them upstairs to a huge marble lobby and then through the Egyptian wing. Mummies weren’t so bad, Stevie thought. She could handle a mummy or two. But Mrs. Martin walked through the Egyptian gallery without looking right or left. She led the class through a glass door into a place with high windows, a lot of plants, and antiques.

Stevie didn’t like antiques. She had an aunt who had
a house full of them. The place was like one big booby trap. When you sat on something, it groaned and creaked and threatened to collapse. And if it collapsed, that would be thousands of dollars down the drain.

Mrs. Martin gathered the class. “I know you’re as excited to be here as I am,” she said.

“Totally,” Stevie muttered. She felt an arm go around her, and Ms. Dodge was smiling at her. She figured the smile was a warning and that she had better stop complaining.

“I want each of you to pick an object,” Mrs. Martin said. “It should be from around the turn of the century, the late 1800s or the early 1900s. It should be something that has special meaning for you. When you return home, you’ll be asked to write an eight-page paper on it.” A groan went up from the class. “That includes illustrations. You can buy as many postcards as you want.” There was a collective sigh of relief. “But there must be at least four pages of text,” Mrs. Martin continued. Another groan. “You’ll have no trouble filling them,” she said. “During our trip we will visit many museums and other points of interest to help you understand your chosen object.”

Points of interest, ha!
thought Stevie.
Points of boredom would be more like it.

“Y
OU
’
RE
GOING
TO
BE
famous?” Lisa asked Veronica. “Famous for what?”

Veronica twirled a lock of glossy black hair around her finger. “Station WCTV is planning a special feature on talented young people. It’s called ‘Genius Kids.’ ”

“Oh,” Lisa said. From the glow in Veronica’s eyes, she could tell that the other girl was telling the truth. “Can I ask you a question?”

“But of course,” said Veronica.

“What are you a genius at?” said Lisa.

Veronica’s dark eyes flashed, and she put her fists on her hips. Her bright red lips came together in an angry line. “Riding, of course.”

Lisa and Carole exchanged startled looks. Veronica was a pretty good rider—though she wasn’t good at taking care of her horse and her tack—but she wasn’t exactly a genius.

“Who decided you were a genius?” Lisa asked. The question went unanswered.

Wheels splashed in the mud outside. Carole stepped over to the window of the tack room. A white-and-blue WCTV truck was pulling up.

When it stopped, Melody Manners, a star reporter at the station, climbed out of the passenger side. She had fine blond hair and dazzling blue eyes.

Melody held a raincoat above her head and ran toward the stable. Lisa noticed that the reporter was wearing a pink jacket and a pale green blouse. Below the waist, though, she was wearing blue jeans and a pair of sensible brown boots. Following her was a cameraman.

Melody looked at the three girls. “Now, which of you is Veronica?”

Veronica stepped forward with a smile. “That’s me.”

Melody took in Veronica’s fancy boots and breeches and perfect hair. “I should have known,” she said. “Mr. Wall said you’d be fantastic.”

“Who?” said Veronica.

“The head of the station,” said Melody. “He gave us your name.”

Veronica’s smile faded, and her eyes narrowed. Color rose to her cheeks. Lisa and Carole looked at each other. Veronica’s father knew everyone who was rich and powerful in Willow Creek. He must have talked a friend into naming Veronica a Genius Kid.

Lisa realized that Veronica thought she had been named a Genius Kid on her own, without her father’s help. Lisa suddenly felt sorry for Veronica.

“You’ll be great,” Lisa said.

“Of course I will,” said Veronica, glaring at Lisa.

Carole stepped forward. “Listen, you’re representing Pine Hollow Stables, and that’s what’s important.”

“Good thinking,” came Max’s deep voice from behind Carole. “All our riders represent us, and I know that Veronica will do a fine job.”

“She’s a good rider,” Lisa said.

Anyone else would have been grateful for the compliment, but Veronica bit her lip and looked from Lisa to Carole with fury.

“So what’s on the program?” Melody asked Max. “What would you guys be doing if I weren’t here?”

Max grinned. “Do you want to know the truth?”

“Absolutely,” said Melody. “I want this show to be true to life.”

“On a rainy day like today, we’d be polishing tack,” Max said.

“Then we’ll do that,” said Melody.

Veronica looked scared. Her usual method of cleaning tack was to get someone else to do it.

Melody motioned for the cameraman to start shooting. “We’re at Pine Hollow Stables with Genius Kid Veronica diAngelo. Being a Genius Kid isn’t all ribbons and applause. A lot of it is plain hard work. Today, Veronica is going to clean tack.”

Veronica looked around desperately. Then she caught sight of the halter that Lisa and Carole had just cleaned. She leaned down and picked it up, and then she picked up a stiff, muddy halter.

“This is before,” said Veronica, holding up the dirty halter. “This is after,” she said, holding up the polished one.

“That’s some difference,” said Melody, peering at the two halters. “You did a great job, Veronica.”

“Thanks,” Veronica said with a smug smile.

“Show us how it’s done,” said Melody.

Fear flickered in Veronica’s eyes.

No way was Lisa going to let Pine Hollow look bad. “I’ll get your saddle,” she said to Veronica. Veronica gave her a suspicious look.

Carole gave Lisa a quick nod. “And I’ll get the saddle soap and the sponges,” she said.

As Lisa and Carole headed off, Max threw them a grateful look.

Lisa picked up Veronica’s saddle. It was a tawny dressage saddle with a deep seat and long flaps. It was light and perfectly balanced.
A saddle like this should belong to a great rider like Carole
, Lisa thought. But, in a way, that didn’t matter. This saddle deserved good care, no matter who owned it. She put the saddle on a wooden saddle horse.

Carole came over with a bucket of water and a carrier filled with tins of polish, saddle soap, and sponges. She held them out to Veronica.

Veronica knew enough to know that soaping a saddle was not a simple matter. If she did it the wrong way, there were bound to be TV viewers who would notice and complain.

Carole didn’t want to let Max down, so she said, “Why don’t I clean it while you explain what I’m doing, Veronica?”

Veronica looked relieved. She turned to the camera and smiled. “Cleaning a saddle isn’t as easy as you might think.”

Carole took off the girth, the stirrup leathers, and irons. “I’m stripping the saddle,” she whispered.

“Carole is stripping the saddle,” Veronica said.

Holding the saddle by the pommel, Carole held it over the bucket of water and washed the inside with a sponge. When she was done, she dried it with a chamois cloth. And then she got a dry sponge, opened the tin of
saddle soap, put a dab on the sponge, and applied it with a circular motion.

“You need a dry sponge and a wet sponge,” Carole whispered.

“Notice that she uses two sponges,” said Veronica. “One wet. The other dry.”

Lisa sneaked a glance at Max. He was looking relieved. It wasn’t his fault that Veronica had been picked as a Genius Kid. He would have picked Carole if he’d had a choice.