Hoof Beat (2 page)

“Say, dreamface,” Stevie said, noticing Lisa’s faraway look. “What’s on your mind? You planning to go to Moose Hill by yourself?”

“Oh, no. I was just thinking about Samson,” Lisa said. “It was just so much fun to be a part of his first lesson. Everyone should be as lucky as we are! It’s news that people should get to hear about.”

“News, news,” Stevie echoed, then her face lit up. “That reminds me. I’ve got some news! I can’t believe I forgot!”

“Well?” Carole prodded, pulling on a pair of gold cotton shorts.

“What is it?” Lisa asked. Stevie sounded excited and Lisa had learned long ago that when Stevie was excited about something, it was usually something neat, even when it meant trouble.

“I’m going to have a sister!” Stevie announced.

“Your mother’s—?” Lisa began, stunned. It wasn’t so long ago that she’d thought her own mother was going to give her a baby sister or brother. She hadn’t been excited at that prospect at all!

“Oh, no!” Stevie said, giggling. She pulled her T-shirt over her head and started to tuck it into her denim cutoffs, then changed her mind. She left the shirt untucked. “Not a baby. What I mean is that this girl, Trudy something, is going to stay with us for a couple of weeks. She’ll be like my sister because she’s just about our age, and finally I’ll have an ally against all those brothers of mine!”

“Hey, now
that’s
news,” Lisa said enthusiastically. “Is she some kind of foreign exchange student or something?”

Stevie shoved her boots to the back of her cubby and crammed her riding clothes into a zipper bag. “If you call Washington a foreign place, then yes,” Stevie said. “See, her mother works with my mother in D.C., and her parents won this trip to Hawaii, but it’s only for two. Her mother was going to give it up because they couldn’t take Trudy, but Mom invited Trudy to visit us. Her mother said she’s never been to the country before. Can you imagine?”

“Sure I can imagine,” Lisa said. “After all, except for the American Horse Show in New York City, it’s not as if we’ve spent much time in the city, is it? I
think it would be weird living in a city, and I bet Trudy will find it weird living with you.”

“I just hope she isn’t too weird,” Stevie said. “After all, it’s going to be my only chance to have a sister.”

“I didn’t mean that it would be
Trudy
that’s weird,” Lisa said, pursing her lips so Stevie wouldn’t see her smile.

“You think
I’m
the weird one?” Stevie challenged.

Lisa couldn’t hold her giggle. Stevie joined her. Stevie
was
a little weird, but it was a nice weird as far as her friends were concerned.

“Carole, your shirt’s on backward,” Stevie said, changing the subject as she watched her friend pull down the ends of her polo shirt.

Carole looked down, confused. “I could have sworn …”

“You know,” Stevie teased, “maybe you ought to wear shirts with pictures of horses on them. Then you’d always put them on right.”

“Ha, ha.” Carole grinned, then shook her head. “The trouble is, you’re right. I am a total flake. Who knows what I’ll do next?” She jammed her hands into her jeans pocket. “Oh, no,” she said, genuine distress in her voice.

“What’s the matter?” Lisa asked.

“Where’s the money?” Carole began. She reached to the bottom of her pockets and wiggled her fingers in vain. “My dad’s birthday-present money …”

“You’re getting him some tapes, aren’t you?” Stevie asked.

Carole nodded. Her father was crazy about things from the fifties and sixties. She’d been saving for a while to get enough money to buy him some old record albums he particularly wanted.

“In your riding pants?” Lisa suggested.

Carole searched the pockets of her breeches, but the money wasn’t there. “It’s fifteen dollars! I can’t lose it. His birthday’s only a couple of weeks away. If I …”

“How about your wallet?” Stevie suggested. “Where is it?”

“Oh, that’s in this pocket,” Carole said, tapping her rear pocket. “But Dad’s birthday money isn’t there. See, if I kept it there, I’m afraid I’d forget that it’s special money and I’d spend it.”

“Your bag?” Lisa asked.

Carole tore the clothes out of her backpack, but there was no money there. She sat on the bench, put her elbows on her knees and her chin in the palms of her hands. She frowned, trying to think hard. “The last time I saw it, I had it in my hand. I remember that. I just don’t remember what I did with it.”

Lisa felt awful for Carole. There was nothing she could do. Carole just
was
forgetful and a little flaky. This wasn’t the first time she’d forgotten something important. Lisa recalled the time Carole had almost left her clothes and sleeping bag behind when they’d gone on an overnight trip.

“I sometimes carry money in my shoes,” Stevie suggested.

“That’s it!” Carole said, brightening. “It’s in my boots.” While her friends watched, Carole reached into the toe of her right riding boot. “Got it!” she said, and pulled out two crumpled bills, a five and a ten.

“Carole!” Stevie said. “That’s no way to treat money—especially big money like that.”

“I know,” Carole sighed. “But I just have to find a place to stash it until I can get to the mall to buy the records for Dad.” She looked at Stevie. “You helped me find it,” she said. “Will you help me keep it?”

“Of course,” Stevie agreed. “If you really want me to.”

“That would be great. Then you hold on to it for the next three weeks. I’m going to the mall the Saturday before his birthday. Give it to me then.” Carole slapped the money into Stevie’s hand. “Don’t give it to me before then no matter how much I beg, okay?”

Stevie looked at the money and then looked at her friend. “Are you sure?” she asked. Carole nodded. Slowly, Stevie took out her own wallet, lifted the flap to a hideaway compartment behind the billfold portion of it, closed the flap back over the money, and tossed her wallet back into her backpack. “Don’t worry that it’s going to be mixed up and confused with
my
money,” Stevie said. “All I’ve got is four cents and nobody’s going to mix up your fifteen dollars with my four cents.”

“I know that,” Carole said. “I trust you. Besides, you only ever have four cents! I’d better run. Thanks. See you both!”

With that, Carole picked up her things and practically ran out the door.

“You know, there are a lot of exciting things happening,” Lisa said to Stevie as she finished putting her things neatly into her cubby. “Between Samson’s training and your new ‘sister,’ there’s a lot of news at the stable.”

“Sure, I can just see the headlines in tomorrow’s paper,” Stevie said sarcastically.

Lisa thought it was all in the way you looked at it, and the way
she
looked at it gave her an idea. A
great
idea, she thought, with a secret smile.

L
ISA CLUTCHED HER
portfolio so tightly that she was sure she was crumpling the papers inside. She looked at the sign on the door. It read
WILLOW CREEK GAZETTE
. Her knees felt weak. She took a deep breath. It didn’t do anything to make her knees feel better. She knocked on the door anyway.

“C’mon in!” a gruff voice responded from inside.

She opened the door and peered around it.

What she expected was something like
The Daily Planet
city room—a sea of desks, each with its own computer screen and keyboard, most being operated by frazzled and dedicated reporters, determined to tell the truth to the news-hungry people of Willow Creek.

What she
saw
was something different. There were three desks. Each looked as if it had been rescued from the junk pile. One did, actually, have a computer on
it. One of the others had an old-fashioned desktop manual typewriter. The third may have had a typewriter on it, but Lisa couldn’t be sure. It was piled too high with back issues of
The Gazette
to see anything else.

“Mr. Teller?” she asked timidly.

“That’s me,” the man said, pushing his glasses onto the top of his head. He was mostly bald, with a craggy face and very bushy eyebrows that made him look a little frightening. “And you must be the girl who called about the horses—Lisa, is it?” He smiled at her. He had one of the nicest smiles Lisa had ever seen. As soon as he smiled, she wasn’t frightened any more.

“Lisa Atwood,” she said, sighing with relief.

“Come sit down,” Mr. Teller said. He glanced around. “There must be a chair here someplace. This office is famous for its walking piles of papers, you know. If I turn my back on a clear space, some pile of papers comes to fill it up!”

Lisa laughed. He stood up and moved some papers off a chair onto the floor. Lisa sat down quickly. She turned to the pile he’d just made on the floor. “Sit, and stay!” she commanded.

Mr. Teller laughed at her joke. “I think we’re going to get along,” he said. Lisa knew he was right. “Now, tell me again about this idea of yours.”

“It’s about horses,” she began. “See, I ride at Pine Hollow. A lot of other girls and some boys in town do, too. It’s a very busy place. There are lessons and
classes, horses being born and trained. There are shows and events. Not everybody is interested, of course, but there’s so much going on there that’s
news
for the young riders in town that I think you should have a column about it in the paper.”

“Interesting,” Mr. Teller said, sitting back in his chair. “Any idea who might be able to cover the subject?”

Lisa knew he was teasing her a bit. He already knew that she wanted to write it because she’d told him on the telephone.

Lisa blushed. “Well, I have a lot of experience writing,” she said. “I do well on my papers in school—I’ve brought you a few samples …” She reached for her portfolio.

“It’s okay,” Mr. Teller said. “I believe you get good grades, but how well you write classroom essays may not have anything to do with how well you write newspaper columns.”

“I thought you might say that,” Lisa told him. “That’s why I also brought you some samples of the writing I did for the school newspaper last year.” She handed him three of her favorite stories. One was about a new science teacher. The other two covered her class field trips.

“Good thinking,” he said. He glanced quickly at the clippings. “Hmmm …” He looked up at her. “Okay, Lisa, you can write. What’s the angle here?”

This was the moment Lisa had dreamed about all
last night—when she’d been sleeping. She’d actually spent most of the night awake, worrying about this interview. In her imagination, it had
never
gone as smoothly as this. “ ‘Hoof Beat,’ ” she said, looking Mr. Teller straight in the eye. “The name of the column is Hoof Beat.” Lisa thought that was pretty clever. Since the subject a reporter covered was called a beat, and since she’d be covering horses, Hoof Beat seemed the perfect choice.

Mr. Teller leaned back in his chair again. Lisa had the feeling he always did that when he was thinking. He looked to the left and to the right, though there was nothing in either direction for him to see but piles of papers. Finally, he looked at Lisa again.

“Deal,” he said. “I want five hundred to seven hundred and fifty words a week. That’s two to three typed pages. Copy is due Wednesday noon. It’s your byline, I won’t make changes in the stories, unless I have to correct English. You can come in Tuesday night and use the typewriter over there if you want.”

Lisa looked dubiously at the ancient relic. “No thanks. We’ve got a computer at home. I’ll use that. It’s easier for me.”

“Would be for me, too,” Mr. Teller joked. “Anyway, I’ll pay you fifteen dollars a column.”

“You’ll
pay
me?” Lisa couldn’t believe she’d heard the words correctly. She was stunned. “Every week?”

“Of course I’ll pay you,” Mr. Teller said gruffly. “If I don’t pay you, you may start thinking this isn’t important.
It
is
important. I’m going to be counting on two to three pages of copy from you every week. I’ll hold space for it. If you let me down, I’ll be in trouble. I don’t want that. You don’t want to not get paid. See?”

Lisa just nodded. She was too excited to speak.

“All right. This is Thursday. Think you can have your first column in by next Wednesday?”

For fifteen dollars, she’d have it in that afternoon! “Yes, sir, Chief!” she said, standing at attention. Her portfolio fell onto the floor and her A papers were scattered everywhere. She flushed with embarrassment.

“See what I mean about paper walking around this office?” Mr. Teller said, crouching to help her pick up the mess. Lisa smiled, knowing he was trying to make her feel better. “Oh, and one more thing …”

“Yes?”

“Don’t call me Chief. ‘Mr. Teller’ will do nicely.”

Lisa stuffed the last of the papers into her portfolio, shook her new boss’s hand, called him Mr. Teller, not Chief, and left the office.

Lisa practically floated down the stairs, she was so excited. She was a reporter—with a beat of her own! This was the most exciting thing that had happened to her since she’d discovered horseback riding. She had a job. It was a real job, the start of a real career.

Sure, she told herself,
The Willow Creek Gazette
wasn’t exactly
The Washington Post
or
The New York Times
, but it was a start. After all, she was only thirteen. If she got a running start at her age, she could
land something bigger on the
Post
while she was in college. Maybe get bylines. Investigative reporting was what she’d aim for. She could go undercover, tracking mobsters and drug smugglers or maybe even uncover government scandals. She’d go to war zones and interview soldiers, talk to dictators and presidents. And spy stories—she could reveal double agents who were jeopardizing democracy. With that kind of reporting, she’d get a Pulitzer Prize—maybe two! And that would bring her to the attention of the Nobel Committee …