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mysterious!”
    “Jet Skis!” Stevie said. Her mind was obviously still on the conversation with her brothers.
    The girls fell into a sleepy silence in the dark of Stevie’s room. The last conscious thought that danced through Stevie’s head was a vision of herparents standing in front of the house as she presented them with a giant pair of scissors to cut the huge red ribbon off their brand-new shiny Mercedes convertible. Her brothers, of course, were nowhere to be seen.

S ATURDAY MORNING WAS bright and beautiful. The Saddle Club actually managed to arrive a little early, in spite of Stevie’s being her usual disorganized self.
    Since Max had announced at the previous meeting that that day was going to be a mounted gathering, the stable was a beehive of activity. At the moment almost all the riders were in a frenzy of last-minute checks on their horses’ grooming and tack. Max was a wonderful riding teacher, and a part of what made him really good was that he cared. He could joke with the young riders about all kinds of things—except horses. When it came to riding and horse care, he was all business. He frowned severelyon riders who were late or whose horses were carelessly turned out.
    “I’ve got Starlight ready to go, Stevie,” called Carole. “Do you need any help?”
    “I think I’m ready, too. Have you checked on Lisa?”
    “She’s helping one of the younger kids.” Carole watched as Stevie finished up. “Wow, you’re actually ready early. I think you may be setting a dangerous precedent here. Personally I’d never have believed it was possible. Especially today.”
    “Why?”
    “Have you forgotten that frantic search for your favorite pair of jeans this morning?”
    “I told you everything was under control,” Stevie said loftily.
    “In other words, you were lying.”
    “There’s no need to be vulgar. I have supreme confidence in my ability to arrive on time.”
    “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Carole chanted.
    “I refuse to sink to your level,” Stevie said, leading Belle out of her stall. “Come on, you can walk me out.”
    Carole gave a gentle tug on Starlight’s reins, falling into step beside her friend. “This is such an honor.”
    “Oh, be quiet,” Stevie giggled, bumping her friend’s shoulder with her own.
    They were both still ribbing each other when they emerged from the stable. Veronica diAngelo was outside, brushing a nonexistent piece of lint off her tailored jacket, completely self-absorbed, as usual. A couple of steps away, Corey Takamura sat on her pony, Samurai, struggling with one of her stirrups. “Excuse me, Veronica,” she asked shyly. “I think there’s something wrong with my stirrup. Could you please help me?”
    The look Veronica shot her would have chilled an ice cube. “I can’t believe how selfish you are, Corey,” she snapped, pulling a pair of riding gloves from her pocket and putting them on. “See these gloves? They’re made of the finest kid. Do you actually expect me to drop everything, walk all the way over there, and let you put your dirty old boots all over them?”
    Stevie turned to Carole and rolled her eyes. “Did you hear her? She’d have to take two, maybe three steps tops”—she put on her best Veronica imitation—“to come all the way over there.”
    “Not to mention the fact that she wasn’t wearing her gloves when Corey asked for help,” fumed Carole. “She just put them on so she’d have a better reason not to do anything.”
    Veronica apparently hadn’t finished with poor Corey. “If you paid better attention in class in the first place, you’d know how to fix it yourself. Maybe you’re wasting Max’s time being here.”
    Even from the barn doorway the girls could see Corey crumbling with humiliation.
    “If you really can’t figure out such a simple thing like how to adjust your own stirrup,” continued Veronica, “I suggest you find Red O’Malley. That’s what stable hands are for.”
    That was the last