Read Fabulous Five 027 - The Scapegoat Online
Authors: Betsy Haynes
"Race you to the top of that hill!" called Connie.
"You got it!" Christie yelled back.
She leaned over Rigel's neck and touched the riding crop
lightly to his flank. The horse took off as if he had been stung by a bee, but
Connie and Buttercup had gotten the jump on them. Connie's horse ran with
great, ground-eating strides.
As Christie pounded across the rolling field on Rigel, she
could feel the horse's excitement. He didn't like being left behind.
Rigel stretched his body out so far, he was running almost
flat against the ground. Christie gripped the reins and clamped her knees
tightly against the little horse, trying not to break his rhythm.
As they thundered up the long slope, they closed the gap
ever so slightly.
Suddenly Connie looped to the left to avoid a weed-covered
ditch. Christie intended to follow, but Rigel would have nothing to do with
detours. He ran straight toward the ditch. Christie leaned in close to his neck
and gasped as he jumped and hit the ground on the other side without breaking
stride.
The detour cost Connie and Buttercup the lead, and now the
two horses were neck and neck. Christie glanced quickly at Connie. He flashed
her a grin, as both horses dug their hooves deep into the soft ground and raced
the last few yards to the top.
"You win!" Laughing, Connie reined Buttercup in.
Christie slowed Rigel. He danced sideways as Connie came
alongside.
"You're a good rider," remarked Connie. "I
didn't know you could jump."
"It's been awhile," said Christie, "but I did
take riding lessons. Besides, Rigel is such a terrific horse. He does most of
the work." Rigel tossed his head proudly and blew air from his nostrils.
Christie and Connie trotted their horses down the hill to
the stable, where a stable boy took the reins.
"Did you have an enjoyable ride?" asked Mrs.
Farrell when they entered the house.
Christie thought Connie's mother was totally elegant. She
looked every bit like a baroness. She was tall and beautifully dressed, and her
hair was perfect. The most striking thing about her, though, was the way she
walked and talked. She seemed so sure of herself. Christie wondered if she
could ever be like that.
"It was wonderful," answered Christie.
Mrs. Farrell smiled. "Good. Why don't you and Conrad go
out onto the veranda, and Neal will bring you refreshments."
"That was fun, Connie," Christie said when they
were seated at the wrought-iron table on the patio. "Thanks for asking me."
"Remember, it was Rigel who asked you," Connie
replied with a grin.
She laughed.
Neal brought them sandwiches and milk and arranged their
plates and silverware neatly in front of them. "Thank you, Neal,"
said Connie.
"A pleasure, sir," he replied, nodding slightly
and smiling at them.
It boggled Christie's mind. At the Farrells' house servants
brought them lunch, a stable boy helped them with their horses, and through the
window she could see a maid dusting a table. She wondered what it would be like
to be royalty. She'd certainly like to try it.
But just for one day
, she
told herself quickly. No matter how great all this was, she still preferred her
own family. Connie smiled at her, and she smiled back.
"Are you doing anything tonight?" he asked.
"I'm minding Jenny."
"Oh, well."
Christie glanced at him.
"Rigel was going to ask if you'd like to go to the
cinema. He thought the three of us might go together."
Christie laughed. "But they wouldn't let a horse into a
movie."
Connie shrugged, and his grin widened. "In that case, I
guess just the two of us would have gone. Not on a date, mind you," he
added quickly. "Just as friends."
Christie felt her face turn red, and she looked away so
Connie wouldn't notice. Even though she wasn't ready to date Connie yet, it felt
good to know that such a nice guy liked her.
"Jenny's been fed, Christie," said Mrs. Fitzhugh, "so
all you have to do is defend yourself against her. I'm not sure what kind of
animal she's pretending to be today."
"We'll be fine," replied Christie.
When the Fitzhughs had gone, Christie had Jenny pile her
blocks on the floor. Then she sat cross-legged facing the little girl, with the
blocks behind her.
"Okay, Jenny. I want you to guess how many blocks I
have in my hands. If you guess right, you win, and I'll give you a treat later."
She brought one block from behind her back. "How many is this?"
"Forty-two-eighty-three," said Jenny quickly, her
eyes sparkling.
"No. It's just one, silly," Christie told her.
The corners of Jenny's mouth turned down, and she frowned.
By the time she put Jenny to bed, Christie had had to limit
Jenny's rewards to keep her from getting sick. She was counting to ten with no
problem.
Jenny fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Christie touched the corners of her smiling mouth with her finger, kissed her
on the forehead, and closed the door softly behind her.
In the living room she plopped on the couch with her school
books and pulled out the list of science ideas her parents had given her when
she'd gotten home from Connie's.
Some of them seemed good, although her father had thrown in
a few just to be funny. The ideas that interested her had to do with how the
earth's crust was made of plates that shifted around. Scientists thought that
at one time Europe and North America were part of one continent. That seemed
strange, now that the two continents were thousands of miles apart. Christie
was also interested in ideas about how people would someday live in biospheres.
Cities would be covered with domes, and everything would be recycled. And
people would have flying machines in their garages instead of cars.
Christie tapped her pencil on her knee. These were good
ideas but not original enough. Miss Finney had said you had to be ingenious.
Christie thought and thought, hoping a brilliant idea would come to her. None
did.
She searched through the two library books she had brought
with her. Still, nothing jumped out at Christie as a supercolossal idea. Maybe
she should give up trying so hard. Miss Finney would give her a low score,
anyway, so what did it matter what she chose?
"I'm
not
going to give up," she said. "I
know I can do this."
Christie blew out her breath. What she needed was a break
from all the ideas running around inside her head. An image of Connie riding
Buttercup popped into her mind. She wondered if he was home. He wanted to go to
the movies, so he had probably gone with Charlie. Christie decided to take a
chance and dialed his number.
Neal answered and went to get Connie.
Connie's voice came on the line. "Hi!"
She was surprised at the little flutter of excitement that
went through her at the sound of Connie's voice.
"Hi. What are you doing?" she asked.
"Just watching the telly. Have you put the little
nipper to bed?"
Christie laughed. "Yes. I taught her to count to ten,
and she went to bed saying her numbers." She took a deep breath. "Connie,
I wanted to tell you I had fun today. Rigel is such a beautiful horse. Thanks
for letting me ride him again."
"He enjoyed it as much as you," responded Connie.
"It's amazing how different Arabians are from other
horses. They're so small and sweet-looking."
"The Arabs bred them to be small so they could bring
them into their tents when they needed to protect them," said Connie.
"No kidding," responded Christie.
"The Arabs also wanted their horses to be smart and to
be able to run long distances without tiring," Connie explained, "so
what they did was take small horses, and breed them with smart horses and
strong horses. That's how they got Rigel and his relatives."
"That's interesting," remarked Christie.
"It just shows you that if you take a few good things
and put them together, sometimes you can come up with something extraordinary."
Christie was silent for a moment.
"Are you still there?" Connie asked.
"Yes . . . I was thinking about what you said. You've
given me an idea."
"I have?"
"Yes, and it's wonderful! Connie, if you still want me
to go to the movies with you, I'm not doing anything next Friday."
Christie gulped. She hadn't meant to say that. It had just popped out.
Connie's voice sounded serious. "Do you mean that?"
Christie hesitated for a moment. "Yes, I do," she
said softly.
"I know what I'm going to make tor my science project!"
Christie announced the next morning at breakfast.
"You do?" asked her father, his coffee cup poised
in front of his mouth.
"That's great, sweetheart," said Mrs. Winchell. "What
is it?"
"It's really not an it," Christie explained. "It's
a
them.
Connie gave me the idea when I talked to him last night."
"Well," said her father, "tell us what they
are. We're waiting with bated breath."
Christie could hardly hold back her excitement as she told
her parents about her idea.
"I think it's supercolossal," added Christie's
mother.
"Sounds good to me," said Mr. Winchell. "I
wish I'd thought of it. It also sounds like an awful lot of work."
"I made a list of things I'm going to need,"
Christie told them, pulling a piece of paper from her pocket. "The only
thing that worries me is whether I can get everything fast enough."
Her mother and father moved their chairs close so they could
look at the list together.
"Wow, there are a lot of things on here,"
commented her father. "I can pick up some of them on the way home from
work."
"And I think the British Museum might have these,"
said her mother. "Why don't you meet me there tomorrow after school? We'll
see what they've got."
Mr. Winchell scratched his jaw. "You're going to need
some space to build this thing. I'll talk to the building custodian, Mr.
Dudley, and see if he can make room for you in the basement."
For the first time in a long time, Christie felt satisfied.
She was absolutely positive no one else would have an idea like hers. Her
project would definitely be unique. It might also prove something else to Miss
Finney.
"No science books, Miss Winchell?" asked Miss
Woolsey, looking over her glasses at Christie.
"No, ma'am," replied Christie. "I've finally
made up my mind about my project."
"Very good. I'm sure it will do well in the
competition," said the teacher.
"Not if Miss Finney has anything to do with it,"
mumbled Becca from her seat next to Christie.
"What was that, Miss Stewart?" asked Miss Woolsey
with a frown.
Christie shook her head at Becca. She didn't want Miss
Woolsey to think she couldn't handle her own problems.
"Nothing, ma'am."
Miss Woolsey looked back at Christie before returning to her
desk.
"You
ought
to tell Miss Woolsey what's going on,"
whispered Becca. "The way Miss Finney's treating you isn't right."
"What can Miss Woolsey do about it?" Christie
whispered back. "She's a teacher just like Miss Finney. They even grew up
in the same town."
Becca looked surprised. "They did?"
"Yes, and Miss Woolsey thinks Miss Finney is a
dedicated teacher," Christie added.
"Well, Miss Woolsey's going to be a judge. I think she'd
want everything to be fair."
"She'll only be one of the judges," responded Christie.
"Her score won't count any more than Miss Finney's."
"It's a darn shame," said Becca.
"Girls!" said Miss Woolsey. "If you'll
recall, you're supposed to be studying."
"Here, let me help with that, miss," volunteered
Mr. Dudley. The building custodian took two of the bags Christie and her
parents had brought and carried them downstairs. "I've set you up over
here. Will this give you enough room to work?"
"Oh, Mr. Dudley, this is great," Christie told
him. He had put a piece of plywood across two sawhorses to form a table. A
light hung from the ceiling over it. He had even placed a stool next to the
table for her to sit on.
"It looks to me as if Christie's at least going to have
the biggest science project," commented Mr. Winchell after Mr. Dudley had
left.
"I just hope you can finish it in time, Christie,"
said her mother.
"I've got to, Mum." Christie spoke in a determined
voice.
"Let your
mum
or me know if we can help you,"
teased her father. He was always poking fun at Christie when she said things
the way the English did.
Christie made a face at him and then shooed her parents back
up the stairs. She called after them, "I'll be fine." Then she
emptied the bags onto the improvised table. She put the things her mother and
she had gotten at the museum on one corner so they wouldn't get lost. She'd
need the cutting tools, glue, rolls of plastic, and foil first. She put the
paints and all the other things in a bag and slid it under the table. Carefully
she took out the drawings she had made from science books and taped them on the
wall, where they'd be easy to see.
Next she took the large sheet of Styrofoam her father had
brought home and divided it into thirds. She chewed on her lip as she cut it
into sections. It felt wonderful to be finally working on her project.
"Davey said you're going to the films with Connie on
Friday," said Nicki as she, Phoebe, and Christie returned their cafeteria
trays. "I thought you were being true blue to your cove in the States."
"I was afraid to turn Connie down one more time,"
Christie explained quietly. "He might think that I didn't like him at all.
It doesn't mean we're going steady or anything."
"You went riding with him last weekend, too, didn't
you?" asked Nicki with a sly look in her eyes. "Just because you like
that horse, Rigel, so much?"
"Oh, Nicki, close your cake hole," Phoebe reprimanded
her. "If Christie's going out with Connie, it's her business."
"I just thought I'd yank her chain a little,"
remarked Nicki. "Look there," she added as they were passing the
administration office. "What do you suppose the big meeting's about?"
Christie glanced through the window. Mrs. Tillington, Miss
Woolsey, and Miss Finney were sitting around a table. They looked serious,
especially Miss Finney. She was talking loudly, but from where the girls were
standing in the hall Christie couldn't quite understand what she was saying.
"It's probably something important, like what we'll
have for lunch next week," said Phoebe.
Nicki laughed. "Yeah, they're trying to decide if it
should taste like cardboard or old shoes."
"I bet it's about the competition," offered
Christie. "They're all judges."
Nicki shrugged. "Who knows?" she added as the
three girls left each other at the next hallway.
Christie spent every spare moment that week working on her
project. The first part was the hardest. She had to do a lot of bending and
cutting of the Styrofoam to get it to stay in the shape she wanted.
"Interesting," her father said one evening while
he was watching her paint. "You do realize we're going to have to hire a
truck to get this over to the school, don't you?"
"Oh, Dad, it won't be that big when I get it finished.
I've just got everything spread out."
"If you say so," replied her father. "What's
this for?" he asked, picking up a plastic tube she had made.
"Guess."
"Hmm . . . it doesn't make sense." He positioned
it in different ways next to the section she was working on.
Christie laughed. "That's because it doesn't go with
this part."
"Maybe I'd better just stay out of your way until you're
finished," he said. "Remember, if there's anything I can do to help
you, let me know."
"I found out I still need these." Christie handed
him a piece of paper.
He looked at it. "You'll have them tomorrow, sir,"
he told her, saluting.
Christie laughed. "And, Dad, don't rent a truck for me,
just yet."