Creek describe Wentworth as a school for rejects would completely ruin her idea of Wentworth as
the
school to send her daughter to.
Sure enough, as soon as her facial was done, Lisa’s mother threw on her coat on and hurried over. “Come on, dear, let’s get going,” she urged. Lisa knew that her mother wanted to beat the diAngelos out so that she wouldn’t have to speak to them.
In the car driving home, Mrs. Atwood cleared her throat a couple of times. Finally she said to Lisa, “You know, dear, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we acted too fastgetting you into Wentworth for this semester. Maybe you ought to think about it for January or next September. I want to make a few calls when we get home.…”
The plan had worked perfectly, but for some reason, Lisa wasn’t happy. Instead of wanting to rush home and tell Stevie and Carole the good news, she felt deflated.
When they got home, Lisa went up to her room. She lay on her bed. She stared at the phone. She knew Stevie and Carole would be dying to know how the plan had gone. She knew she should share the good news—that her mother had fallen for it. But as she contemplated calling them, she began to realize something: The plan had worked, but the plan itself was all wrong. Nobody, but nobody, should have to
trick
her mother about something so important.
It wasn’t Carole and Stevie’s fault—they’d only been acting in Lisa’s best interests. They knew she didn’t want to go to Wentworth, but they also knew that she wouldn’t talk to her mother about it. So they’d devised a strategy to help her get out of it. And she’d been glad to cooperate, knowing it was the easy way out. But deep down, Lisa felt horrible about putting one over on her mother. The whole thing would never have begun if she had just tried to talk to her mother. Even if her mother had insisted that Lisa look at Wentworth, Lisa should have been honest about her reaction to it.
Still, Lisa was lucky that she had the kind of friends who wouldn’t rest until they had helped her. She knew she should thank them. She picked up the receiver—and put it down again. She had to talk to her mother. And that was one thing The Saddle Club couldn’t help her with.
“S O , YOU NEVER wanted to go to Wentworth?” Mrs. Atwood asked several hours later, her eyes searching Lisa’s.
Lisa shook her head. She and her mother were sitting at the kitchen table, where they’d been for most of the evening.
“Then why didn’t you say something?” Mrs. Atwood asked. “I just don’t understand.”
“I kept wanting to, Mom, but I knew how much you wanted me to go there and what a privilege it was supposed to be,” Lisa explained, her voice threatening to crack. “It—it started with the appointment at the hair salon. I didn’t want to go there, either, but I did.”
Mrs. Atwood reached across the table and took Lisa’s hands. “First of all, you’ve got to get one thing straight: I did want you to go to Wentworth, but only because I thought it would be a wonderful opportunity for you. I thought it would be something new—a challenge—and I thought it would be beneficial for you to get to knowsome sophisticated girls. Boarding school always sounded so glamorous to me when I was growing up.” Mrs. Atwood sounded wistful. “I wanted you to have the chances I never did—meet exciting people, go to interesting places. When I heard about that scholarship, I thought it would be a dream come true. I didn’t realize you didn’t think it was a privilege. And I didn’t realize you didn’t like the girls.”
“It wasn’t that I didn’t like them,” Lisa started to protest. Then she realized she was doing it again—pretending she felt a certain way, to make her mother happy. “Okay,” she admitted, “you’re right. I didn’t like them. In fact, I thought they were awful.”
“Even that nice Sally Whitmore who showed us around?” Mrs. Atwood asked.
“
Especially
Sally Whitmore,” Lisa
the
school to send her daughter to.
Sure enough, as soon as her facial was done, Lisa’s mother threw on her coat on and hurried over. “Come on, dear, let’s get going,” she urged. Lisa knew that her mother wanted to beat the diAngelos out so that she wouldn’t have to speak to them.
In the car driving home, Mrs. Atwood cleared her throat a couple of times. Finally she said to Lisa, “You know, dear, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we acted too fastgetting you into Wentworth for this semester. Maybe you ought to think about it for January or next September. I want to make a few calls when we get home.…”
The plan had worked perfectly, but for some reason, Lisa wasn’t happy. Instead of wanting to rush home and tell Stevie and Carole the good news, she felt deflated.
When they got home, Lisa went up to her room. She lay on her bed. She stared at the phone. She knew Stevie and Carole would be dying to know how the plan had gone. She knew she should share the good news—that her mother had fallen for it. But as she contemplated calling them, she began to realize something: The plan had worked, but the plan itself was all wrong. Nobody, but nobody, should have to
trick
her mother about something so important.
It wasn’t Carole and Stevie’s fault—they’d only been acting in Lisa’s best interests. They knew she didn’t want to go to Wentworth, but they also knew that she wouldn’t talk to her mother about it. So they’d devised a strategy to help her get out of it. And she’d been glad to cooperate, knowing it was the easy way out. But deep down, Lisa felt horrible about putting one over on her mother. The whole thing would never have begun if she had just tried to talk to her mother. Even if her mother had insisted that Lisa look at Wentworth, Lisa should have been honest about her reaction to it.
Still, Lisa was lucky that she had the kind of friends who wouldn’t rest until they had helped her. She knew she should thank them. She picked up the receiver—and put it down again. She had to talk to her mother. And that was one thing The Saddle Club couldn’t help her with.
“S O , YOU NEVER wanted to go to Wentworth?” Mrs. Atwood asked several hours later, her eyes searching Lisa’s.
Lisa shook her head. She and her mother were sitting at the kitchen table, where they’d been for most of the evening.
“Then why didn’t you say something?” Mrs. Atwood asked. “I just don’t understand.”
“I kept wanting to, Mom, but I knew how much you wanted me to go there and what a privilege it was supposed to be,” Lisa explained, her voice threatening to crack. “It—it started with the appointment at the hair salon. I didn’t want to go there, either, but I did.”
Mrs. Atwood reached across the table and took Lisa’s hands. “First of all, you’ve got to get one thing straight: I did want you to go to Wentworth, but only because I thought it would be a wonderful opportunity for you. I thought it would be something new—a challenge—and I thought it would be beneficial for you to get to knowsome sophisticated girls. Boarding school always sounded so glamorous to me when I was growing up.” Mrs. Atwood sounded wistful. “I wanted you to have the chances I never did—meet exciting people, go to interesting places. When I heard about that scholarship, I thought it would be a dream come true. I didn’t realize you didn’t think it was a privilege. And I didn’t realize you didn’t like the girls.”
“It wasn’t that I didn’t like them,” Lisa started to protest. Then she realized she was doing it again—pretending she felt a certain way, to make her mother happy. “Okay,” she admitted, “you’re right. I didn’t like them. In fact, I thought they were awful.”
“Even that nice Sally Whitmore who showed us around?” Mrs. Atwood asked.
“
Especially
Sally Whitmore,” Lisa
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