if somebody tells me something, I
don’t
tell. I guess because there’s really no privacy, you’ve got to pretend by minding your own business. But out here, it seems, you’ve got the real space between you, and that makesit real different. You can go ahead and write about private things you only learned because you are somebody’s friend. Things that they might not have said if they’d known you were going to write about it. I guess it’s just different.”
“Oh,” Lisa said, disappointed to learn that Trudy apparently wanted to criticize her, too. She’d thought she was going to get genuine admiration from Trudy, but what she’d gotten was just another lecture from somebody else who didn’t understand what real journalism was all about: to report the truth.
“Trudy! Did you get lost?” Stevie walked into the locker area.
“Oh, no,” Trudy said. “I was just talking with Lisa. Sorry.” Quickly, Trudy walked over to the hook where the lead ropes hung, selected one, and followed Stevie out the door toward the paddock. “See you, Lisa,” Trudy said.
Lisa listened to the footsteps receding down the stable’s hallway and sighed. They hadn’t even invited her to join them. It seemed to be her fate to be misunderstood.
A horse was led past the door to the locker area. That reminded Lisa that before her own class started, Max was giving a private lesson to a beginner. He’d told her she could observe the class for her column. She liked the idea; it would be good for her readers to be able to compare the beginners’ group class she’d written about this week with a beginner’s privatelesson. Quickly, she shoved her things back into her cubby, taking only a pad and pen with her. She would distract Max and the rider if she whispered into the recorder during the lesson.
Lisa thought it was a great idea to be getting back to work. It seemed that the longer she sat in the locker area, the greater risk she had of getting another lecture about how to write a column for the newspaper. Besides, the smell of paint was giving her a headache.
“N OW THE SECRET to looking cool is being able to coordinate really different things,” Trudy explained to Stevie and Carole, boldly leading the way through the accessories department of My Way, a clothing store at the local mall.
Trudy picked up one oversize scarf after another, examined each quickly, and tossed each back into the bin. “Not right, maybe—ugh! No way …” she said.
Stevie held a blouse Trudy had already chosen. It was hot pink, buttoned down the back, and was sleeveless with a mock turtleneck. Stevie thought it was very stylish as it was. The scarf Trudy held had some of the same hot pink in it—in blotches. There were also blotches of about forty other colors.
“This is really too go-with-everything,” Trudy said, dropping the latest candidate. “See, what I have inmind is to wear this blouse with my camouflage pants. The scarf I buy will have to bring the two pieces to gether.”
“About the only thing that can bring this blouse together with a pair of camouflage pants is a can of paint,” Stevie said, thinking out loud.
Trudy’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Just you wait and see,” she said. “You’ll love it.”
“You’re not going to make me wear this outfit when you put it together, are you?” Stevie asked.
“I won’t have to make you wear it,” Trudy said. “You’ll beg me to borrow it!”
“For the Mardi Gras costume party?” Carole teased.
Trudy laughed. “You’ll see,” she repeated, then went back to her furious search.
Stevie watched, fascinated. She couldn’t remember when she’d had more fun at the mall or looking for clothes than she and Carole were having that afternoon with Trudy. She and Carole and Lisa had visited the mall many times, but it seemed that they always visited the same stores and looked at the same things—or at least the same kinds of things. Going to the mall with Trudy meant
don’t
tell. I guess because there’s really no privacy, you’ve got to pretend by minding your own business. But out here, it seems, you’ve got the real space between you, and that makesit real different. You can go ahead and write about private things you only learned because you are somebody’s friend. Things that they might not have said if they’d known you were going to write about it. I guess it’s just different.”
“Oh,” Lisa said, disappointed to learn that Trudy apparently wanted to criticize her, too. She’d thought she was going to get genuine admiration from Trudy, but what she’d gotten was just another lecture from somebody else who didn’t understand what real journalism was all about: to report the truth.
“Trudy! Did you get lost?” Stevie walked into the locker area.
“Oh, no,” Trudy said. “I was just talking with Lisa. Sorry.” Quickly, Trudy walked over to the hook where the lead ropes hung, selected one, and followed Stevie out the door toward the paddock. “See you, Lisa,” Trudy said.
Lisa listened to the footsteps receding down the stable’s hallway and sighed. They hadn’t even invited her to join them. It seemed to be her fate to be misunderstood.
A horse was led past the door to the locker area. That reminded Lisa that before her own class started, Max was giving a private lesson to a beginner. He’d told her she could observe the class for her column. She liked the idea; it would be good for her readers to be able to compare the beginners’ group class she’d written about this week with a beginner’s privatelesson. Quickly, she shoved her things back into her cubby, taking only a pad and pen with her. She would distract Max and the rider if she whispered into the recorder during the lesson.
Lisa thought it was a great idea to be getting back to work. It seemed that the longer she sat in the locker area, the greater risk she had of getting another lecture about how to write a column for the newspaper. Besides, the smell of paint was giving her a headache.
“N OW THE SECRET to looking cool is being able to coordinate really different things,” Trudy explained to Stevie and Carole, boldly leading the way through the accessories department of My Way, a clothing store at the local mall.
Trudy picked up one oversize scarf after another, examined each quickly, and tossed each back into the bin. “Not right, maybe—ugh! No way …” she said.
Stevie held a blouse Trudy had already chosen. It was hot pink, buttoned down the back, and was sleeveless with a mock turtleneck. Stevie thought it was very stylish as it was. The scarf Trudy held had some of the same hot pink in it—in blotches. There were also blotches of about forty other colors.
“This is really too go-with-everything,” Trudy said, dropping the latest candidate. “See, what I have inmind is to wear this blouse with my camouflage pants. The scarf I buy will have to bring the two pieces to gether.”
“About the only thing that can bring this blouse together with a pair of camouflage pants is a can of paint,” Stevie said, thinking out loud.
Trudy’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Just you wait and see,” she said. “You’ll love it.”
“You’re not going to make me wear this outfit when you put it together, are you?” Stevie asked.
“I won’t have to make you wear it,” Trudy said. “You’ll beg me to borrow it!”
“For the Mardi Gras costume party?” Carole teased.
Trudy laughed. “You’ll see,” she repeated, then went back to her furious search.
Stevie watched, fascinated. She couldn’t remember when she’d had more fun at the mall or looking for clothes than she and Carole were having that afternoon with Trudy. She and Carole and Lisa had visited the mall many times, but it seemed that they always visited the same stores and looked at the same things—or at least the same kinds of things. Going to the mall with Trudy meant
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