No Time for Horses (25 page)

The warning bell rang. I got up, finished my
latte, and Jack walked me to English class, carrying my backpack.
Halfway there, I spotted Adam. I angled toward him. “What were you
thinking, Adam Chambers? How to provoke controversy? You’re editing
a high school newspaper, not a checkstand rag.”

Red crept along his cheekbones, and he glared
at me. “Good reporters dig below the surface. If you don’t like
people knowing who and what you are, don’t run for office.”

“I ran for class president to make a
difference,” I said, “but you didn’t say anything about what I
stood for or the things I’ve done. You could have said something
about the food drive being the most successful we’ve ever had. Why
not mention the upcoming blanket and coat drive starting in
January? You could have done better. Instead, you opted for a
cheap, superficial piece of crap that slammed my family.”

I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned and
walked away, Jack beside me. When we got to the door, he handed me
my backpack. He smiled down at me. “I’ll see you after school,
Gunga Din. Let me know if you need someone to hold your coat while
you kick butt. You go, girl!”

Chapter
Twenty-Five

Tuesday,
December 17th, 4:00 p.m.

I waited while Ingrid finished perusing the
school newspaper before I asked, “What do you think? How should I
handle this?”

“What do you want to do about it?” Ingrid
frowned thoughtfully. “Is any of this untrue? Do you want to demand
a retraction?”

“How can I? It’s the truth. We may not like
it, but it is one aspect of my life. I’d have preferred it if the
paper had printed things I said, but they didn’t. I helped organize
the food drive this year, and we had a tremendous response. We’ll
be doing other community activities and I listed those, but not a
one was included.”

“What if you wrote a letter to the editor?”
Ingrid tapped her pen thoughtfully on the desk. “Then, you could
bring up those points.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “Any other words of
wisdom?”

“Let’s brainstorm an appropriate response.
After that, you can talk to the members of the group and see what
they suggest.”

I relaxed a bit, grateful for her help. At
least she listened to what I had to say. That was better than the
reporters at school, who seemed to be taking lessons from
supermarket tabloids. It was
so
not the Lincoln High
way!

Tom drove me home after the meeting. As
always, he was the voice of reason. “I guess you could go with the
theory that any publicity is good publicity.”

“Or that Adam Chambers should be hung by his
thumbs,” I retorted. “I just wish he’d put in the facts and figures
about the food drive.”

“I just wish we’d started the toy drive this
year instead of holding off until next year. I could
so
use
some glory.” Tom parked his car in my driveway. “I suppose I should
just be glad that he didn’t dig up any dirt on me.”

“Why didn’t he say something about
you
living on your own?” I asked. “You’d think he would.”

“I don’t know.” Tom shrugged. “It’s not a
secret, but maybe he was just busy following you around.”

“That could be,” I said.

* * * *

Tuesday, December 17th, 6:30 p.m.

When I walked in the front door, Mom was on
the phone. She finished her conversation, thanking the caller, and
replacing the receiver. “You and I need to have a
conversation.”

“About what?” I asked. “I was at Ingrid’s
tonight. You know that.”

“This catastrophe.” Mom held up the school
newspaper. “It’s a total embarrassment.”

“You’re telling me,” I said, “and it is
so
annoying too. They didn’t include any of the information
I gave them. Just those silly pictures.”

Mom took a deep breath. “Do you know how many
parents have called me? And Dr. Danvers, that ‘know-everything’
school counselor. Everyone wants to throw stones at me.”

“What about Rick?” I asked. “He dumped on me
too. Did he phone, or does he think this is all a big joke?”

“I’m not laughing. I’ve called the school and
told them I want a retraction printed immediately.”

“Good luck with that. They don’t have to
retract the truth.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Mom
demanded.

“Well, right now, I’m putting away my
backpack. After that, I’m putting dinner on the table. The kids
have to eat. When I finish cleaning up once supper is over, it’s
laundry and homework. If things settle down and I’m allowed to do
my own stuff, I’m writing a letter to the editor of the paper.
There are some facts about school activities that should be
included, things that the students need to know. My personal life
doesn’t need to be displayed as if I’m a movie star.”

* * * *

Wednesday, December 18
^th
, 7:12 a.m.

Latte in hand, I was grateful to escape to
the sanctuary of the school. Mom had arranged for a meeting with
the headmaster, the counselor, Mrs. Weaver, and Adam. It sounded
like one of those old-time things where she’d rant and rave and
everyone would attempt to placate her. She just didn’t get it.
Whoever said, the truth will set you free hadn’t met my mother. If
she didn’t like it, she’d throw a big fit until the facts changed
to suit her. And the facts didn’t work that way.

I headed around the office to the staff
lounge and knocked on the hallway door, asking to see Mr. Baxter.
When he showed up, coffee cup in hand, I said, “Did you see the
paper yesterday?”

“I saw it this morning. Mrs. Weaver is
livid.”

“She’s not the only one.” I heaved a sigh.
“My mother erupted. She was doing really well and getting in touch
with her emotions about the divorce. Now, she’s back to her
Cleopatra mode. We’re supposed to have a meeting after school
today.”

“That might help sort everything out.” Mr.
Baxter drank some coffee. “Then again, possibly not.”

“Will you please come with me? I need someone
on my side. Otherwise, Mrs. Weaver will be in big trouble, Adam
will be kicked off the paper, and all of this will just
escalate.”

“Aren’t you mad at Adam?”

“For what? Telling the truth as he saw it?” I
shrugged. “Like my counselor says, this is a time of transition,
and it will take all of us a while to sort things out. My life is
getting better, and I didn’t have a clue that was even possible a
few weeks ago.”

“Okay, I’ll be there, and we’ll get this
nonsense settled, Vicky.”

“All right.” I looked at my watch. “I have to
go meet Robin. Thanks again.”

“No worries. I’ll see you in class.”

* * * *

Wednesday, December 18
^th
, 2:30 p.m.

Everyone except the headmaster and Dr.
Danvers showed up on time, including Rick. That totally amazed me.
I went over to Mom. “What is
he
doing here?”

“A few of the customers at the tire store
recognized your brothers and sisters. They went to his boss, and
she told him to get here and straighten this out.”

“That’s great.” I wanted to slump into a
chair at the conference table but I decided that I better act
mature. I introduced Mr. Baxter to Mom and then to Rick. “He’s my
advocate.”

“Your
what
?” Rick stared at me as if
I’d just arrived from outer space. “Why would you need an
advocate?”

“Well, I thought about asking Ingrid to come,
but I’m saving her in case we have to do this again. Mr. Baxter is
my advisor, and he’s helping me get a grant so I can stay in
school.”

Mrs. Weaver’s head swiveled my direction. She
focused on me. “What do you mean, Victoria? Why wouldn’t you stay
in school? You’re brilliant.”

I smiled and tried to make my tone super
sweet. “Because Rick won’t pay my tuition. He wants me to drop out
and babysit his kids full-time. Either that or take his youngest
daughter with me to the alternative school.”

Gray hair, gray suit, gray shoes, and steely
gray eyes, my English teacher might look like a troll, but she had
iron in her backbone. She turned to Adam. “Okay, you’re done
here.”

“What?” He stared and then straightened.
“Mrs. Weaver, I’m sorry I didn’t show you what I’d done with the
article, but I am a good editor.”

“Yes, you are. I should have trusted your
instincts. You had a good story, and you let the pictures show it.
You didn’t allow your personal opinion or bias into it. Now, let’s
get to work on the next issue. You’re excused.”

Adam scooted out the door, a big smile on his
face. Okay, one soul saved. One teacher to go. I smiled at Mrs.
Weaver. “Thank you. If I submit a letter to the editor, will it be
printed?”

“That depends. What do you want to say?”

“I want to tell the students how great the
food drive did, that we’ll have a toy drive next year during the
holiday season, and about the upcoming blanket and coat drive.
There are a lot of people who need help in our community, and we
should be stepping up.”

“That sounds good. We’ll run it as a guest
commentary.”

“I want a retraction,” Mom said. “Don’t you
want one too, Rick?”

“For what?” Rick asked, scorn filling his
light blue eyes. “I can see why you might be embarrassed, Gretchen,
but it doesn’t bother me. If you could manage money, then you
wouldn’t need to use your daughter as an unpaid babysitter.”

Mom’s lower lip trembled. Her hands shook.
Before I could say anything, Mrs. Weaver was there. She put an arm
around Mom and guided her to the conference table. “As Ayn Rand
wrote, ‘It isn’t the muck in the pigpen that we find offensive.
It’s the ray of light that shows it to us.’”

“Is he the muck or the ray of light?” I
asked, pointing at Rick.

“He’s the muck. Adam is the ray.” Mrs. Weaver
patted Mom’s shoulder. “Is that your father, Victoria?”

“No, ma’am. He’s my stepdad, not any relation
to me. He takes a lot of pride in telling everyone that.”

“Then we don’t need him here. Mr. Baxter,
would you please show him the door?”

“No worries.” My history teacher loomed over
Rick, and the guy scuttled for the exit. He was gone, just like
that. Yippee!

Now, it was down to the four of us. I didn’t
know what had happened to the headmaster or Dr. Danvers, and I
didn’t care.

“
A retraction,” Mom said
weakly.

I shook my head. “No, Mom. This has gone on
far too long. The article isn’t slanderous. It showed what the
truth was at one time. You may not like it because things have
changed and you’ve taken charge of the house and all of us. But,
when you were grieving over your failed marriage, you dumped
everything on me. It wasn’t pretty. It looked like the photos in
the paper.”

“Things are different now, aren’t they?” A
faint hope trickled into her eyes and face. “I’m not a bad
mother.”

“No, you’re not. And you never were,” I said.
“You just need to keep taking control of our house. We’re depending
on you.”

“Okay.” Mom plucked a tissue from the box,
wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry that I over-reacted.”

“I could give you lessons in losing control
when I was younger, but I learned to take charge of my temper so it
didn’t take charge of me,” Mrs. Weaver said. “It’s all right. You
just wanted to protect your child. Now, what are we doing about
Victoria’s tuition?”

“I have her grant application,” Mr. Baxter
said. “I’ve forwarded it to the school board, but I’ve already had
three businesses, Gibson Accounting, Equine Nation Veterinary
Clinic, and Sink-A-Sub, offer to scholarship her costs here. It
will all work out.”

“Thank you.” Mom blew her nose. “I’m going to
do better for her.”

I glanced at the clock, almost three and I
had to meet Jack. “Whoops. Gotta wind this up, folks. I have to get
to Shamrock Stable.”

Mom sighed and shook her head. “I guess we’re
done here. Nothing comes between Vicky and her horses.”

“Got that right.” I had her out the door and
headed for her car while I hurried toward Jack’s truck. Robin
jogged across the lot to meet us. “Hi. What’s up?”

“Not much,” Robin said. “I need to talk to
your mom.”

“About what?” I eyed the two of them.

“Christmas,” Robin said. “It’s a secret. Go
away, Vick.”

“And what am I supposed to do?”

“Go talk to Jack about Aladdin.”

* * * *

Wednesday, December 18th, 3:30 p.m.

Today, while I groomed, saddled, and bridled
up Aladdin, I shared my plans with him. I was going to ride him for
the entire class. We only had four more days until the official
Shamrock Stable Holiday Party on horseback. We had a lot of work to
do if I expected him to be ready to participate in all the games.
“There’s no reason why you can’t do it,” I told him between pieces
of carrot. “You just have to concentrate. We have time, and if
you’re not ready by this Sunday, then we’ll do it next year.”

He nosed me, and I handed over another treat.
“F is for focus. That’s the secret.”

I led him out to the indoor arena. Jack sat
on the bleachers watching us. I took Aladdin a bit closer. He
snorted, pinned his ears, and stomped a front hoof.

“Manners are nice,” I told the horse, tugging
gently on the reins to get his attention. “Jack isn’t the guy who
hurt you, so quit hassling him.”

“Got that right.” Jack offered up a carrot
and after a moment, Aladdin took the goodie.

“Don’t get used to the vacation.” I rested an
elbow on the rail and smiled at Jack. “I’m going to need your help
with the next horse.”

“I’m always here for you.”

“Right answer,” I said. “I’m liking ‘always.’
It’s my favorite word, and you’re my favorite guy.”