replied.
“And she seemed so friendly and polite,” Mrs. Atwood mused. “Well, all I can say is that I’m glad Barb diAngelo happened to be at Cosmo today. She sure set me straight. I hate to think that if it hadn’t been for her and her daughter, you might never have told me how you felt. Promise you’ll try to in the future, dear, all right?”
After Lisa promised she would, Mrs. Atwood said, “I guess we really have a lot to thank the diAngelos for, don’t we?”
Lisa bit her lip. “Mom, there’s something I have to say.”
“Yes?” Mrs. Atwood said. “What is it?”
“I … I …” Lisa paused, thinking of the best way to explain The Saddle Club’s elaborate plan. But wait—she didn’t have to tell her mother
everything
, did she? “I should call Stevie and Carole soon and tell them the good news—that I’m staying put,” Lisa said.
“Oh, is that all?” Mrs. Atwood said.
Lisa nodded.
“Good. Because there’s something I have to say. And it concerns your future,” Mrs. Atwood said gravely.
“Yes, Mom?” Lisa said.
“I insist—absolutely insist—that we keep going to the expensive hair salon,” Mrs. Atwood said, starting to laugh.
“That’s one privilege I’ll accept!” Lisa cried.
S TEVIE TOOK THE Magic Marker she was holding and contemplated throwing it at the cochair of the dance committee. Here it was, a beautiful Friday afternoon, and she was stuck staying after school to set up for the dance and finish the decorations. Those things weren’t that bad. But she was stuck doing them with Veronica diAngelo! Veronica had helped save Lisa from being sent to boarding school—but did that give her the right to torture Stevie for eight days straight?
“I still think this whole fifties sock hop idea is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of,” Veronica said, standing over Stevie and frowning at her work.
“Shouldn’t you be setting up the food tables?” Stevie asked. She involuntarily clenched and unclenched her right hand around the marker.
“No, I’m sure the caterer will do that,” Veronica replied airily.
Stevie sat back and looked up at Veronica. “The caterer?” she said.
“Well, what did you think—that I was going to make the food myself?” Veronica asked, smirking. “Very funny. I’ve ordered sushi …”
Stevie took a deep breath, said nothing, and went back to coloring in her SOCK HOP sign.
Five more hours
, she told herself.
I only have to get through five more hours with her.
It was almost three now, and the dance would start at eight.
On the brighter side, the dance committee was in pretty good shape. The gym was almost fully decorated, the stereo system was set up, kids had brought in CDs and tapes, and the parent chaperones were due to show up at seven. People at school had been talking about the dance all week, and the boys had called off their boycott.
“You know, these decorations are pretty sad,” Veronica commented, looking around. “Ashley will probably think they’re very public school.”
Stevie rolled her eyes. That was about the millionthtime Veronica had mentioned her friend Ashley Briggs’s visit. Stevie was beginning to feel nauseated every time she heard the name.
“I mean, couldn’t you have come up with something more professional than that pretend jukebox and those silly cutouts of forty-five records?” Veronica asked.
“Sorry about that,” Stevie said. “I tried to have some floats flown in from Paris, but they haven’t arrived yet.”
“Ha, ha,” Veronica said, and sneered. Then she continued, in a sincere instead of sarcastic tone, “Oh well—even if the decorations are tacky, at least the crowd will be strictly private school.”
That did it. Stevie capped her marker, stood up, and stormed out of the gym. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she knew she had to get away from Veronica. If she stayed there any longer, she’d probably do something she would later regret. Striding angrily
“And she seemed so friendly and polite,” Mrs. Atwood mused. “Well, all I can say is that I’m glad Barb diAngelo happened to be at Cosmo today. She sure set me straight. I hate to think that if it hadn’t been for her and her daughter, you might never have told me how you felt. Promise you’ll try to in the future, dear, all right?”
After Lisa promised she would, Mrs. Atwood said, “I guess we really have a lot to thank the diAngelos for, don’t we?”
Lisa bit her lip. “Mom, there’s something I have to say.”
“Yes?” Mrs. Atwood said. “What is it?”
“I … I …” Lisa paused, thinking of the best way to explain The Saddle Club’s elaborate plan. But wait—she didn’t have to tell her mother
everything
, did she? “I should call Stevie and Carole soon and tell them the good news—that I’m staying put,” Lisa said.
“Oh, is that all?” Mrs. Atwood said.
Lisa nodded.
“Good. Because there’s something I have to say. And it concerns your future,” Mrs. Atwood said gravely.
“Yes, Mom?” Lisa said.
“I insist—absolutely insist—that we keep going to the expensive hair salon,” Mrs. Atwood said, starting to laugh.
“That’s one privilege I’ll accept!” Lisa cried.
S TEVIE TOOK THE Magic Marker she was holding and contemplated throwing it at the cochair of the dance committee. Here it was, a beautiful Friday afternoon, and she was stuck staying after school to set up for the dance and finish the decorations. Those things weren’t that bad. But she was stuck doing them with Veronica diAngelo! Veronica had helped save Lisa from being sent to boarding school—but did that give her the right to torture Stevie for eight days straight?
“I still think this whole fifties sock hop idea is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of,” Veronica said, standing over Stevie and frowning at her work.
“Shouldn’t you be setting up the food tables?” Stevie asked. She involuntarily clenched and unclenched her right hand around the marker.
“No, I’m sure the caterer will do that,” Veronica replied airily.
Stevie sat back and looked up at Veronica. “The caterer?” she said.
“Well, what did you think—that I was going to make the food myself?” Veronica asked, smirking. “Very funny. I’ve ordered sushi …”
Stevie took a deep breath, said nothing, and went back to coloring in her SOCK HOP sign.
Five more hours
, she told herself.
I only have to get through five more hours with her.
It was almost three now, and the dance would start at eight.
On the brighter side, the dance committee was in pretty good shape. The gym was almost fully decorated, the stereo system was set up, kids had brought in CDs and tapes, and the parent chaperones were due to show up at seven. People at school had been talking about the dance all week, and the boys had called off their boycott.
“You know, these decorations are pretty sad,” Veronica commented, looking around. “Ashley will probably think they’re very public school.”
Stevie rolled her eyes. That was about the millionthtime Veronica had mentioned her friend Ashley Briggs’s visit. Stevie was beginning to feel nauseated every time she heard the name.
“I mean, couldn’t you have come up with something more professional than that pretend jukebox and those silly cutouts of forty-five records?” Veronica asked.
“Sorry about that,” Stevie said. “I tried to have some floats flown in from Paris, but they haven’t arrived yet.”
“Ha, ha,” Veronica said, and sneered. Then she continued, in a sincere instead of sarcastic tone, “Oh well—even if the decorations are tacky, at least the crowd will be strictly private school.”
That did it. Stevie capped her marker, stood up, and stormed out of the gym. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she knew she had to get away from Veronica. If she stayed there any longer, she’d probably do something she would later regret. Striding angrily
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