Untamed Page 10

  “So are you going to get her a Mother’s Day present?” Jen asked.

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I should, and other times it seems sort of disloyal,” Sam said.

  Jen nodded just as the yellow school bus roared into view. Once they were seated in their usual bench, she asked, “So where does the favor come in?”

  “I want to go see Caleb Sawyer.”

  “I won’t bother listing everything that’s wrong with that idea. You probably already know, right? Starting with the whole guns and grounding thing, progressing through bodily harm and not talking to strangers.”

  “I know. But I’ve figured out how to do it safely. And that’s where you come in.” Sam paused, then frowned as Jen stopped twirling the end of her braid and actually nibbled on it. “I’ve never seen you do that before.”

  “Do what?”

  “Uh, eat the tassel on your braid?”

  “Yikes,” Jen tossed the braid away as if it were a snake. “That’s because I haven’t done it since I was about ten. My parents finally bribed me to stop—with a way-too-expensive chemistry set. I only do it when I’m facing extreme stress. So tell me, Sam. What do you want me to do?”

  “Did Ryan pick you up after school yesterday?”

  “Yeah,” Jen said cautiously. “And he actually took me to Clara’s for a Coke before he drove me home! Why?”

  Sam sighed in satisfaction. It meant missing a trip to the mall with Brynna, but who cared?

  “Would I let anything bad happen to my best friend?” Sam tried to sound soothing.

  “Probably not,” Jen said.

  Sam thought of a way to seal their truce. She pulled her backpack into her lap, opened it, and took out a waxed paper-wrapped lump.

  “I can’t bribe you with anything as exciting as a chemistry set, but I can offer you half of this cinnamon roll.”

  Jen inhaled deeply, then sighed. “You can count on me to do whatever you’ve got in mind, but it’s really sad that it only took food to convince me.”

  The first half of the school day went smoothly. As far as Sam could tell, no one peeped over a book to get a look at a crazy person. Her.

  It was Friday and, amid the usual chatter about weekend parties and movies, Sam heard complaints about Mother’s Day, which was bound to get in the way of fun with friends.

  As she listened, Sam felt a cold hollow beneath her breastbone. She wanted to speak up, to remind the whiners that their mothers would be gone, someday. But she didn’t. Someday was too far away. She probably couldn’t convince them it would ever come.

  She and Jen split a sandwich and sipped chocolate milk shakes as they finalized their after-school plan. Jen stood by, fidgeting, as Sam used a pay phone to call Brynna and tell her she had an assignment for Journalism, which meant they’d have to delay their trip to the mall.

  “That’s a shame, but we’ll do it in the next few days,” Brynna had said. “Your classes are top priority.”

  Feeling guilty, Sam slipped into Journalism early, still sipping her milk shake. Mr. Blair was pretty cool about allowing food in class, as long as no one made a mess. Sam glanced around for Rachel. She hadn’t seen her all day, even in the P.E. class they shared.

  Mr. Blair and RJay were the only ones in the Journalism room. The emptiness was a relief.

  Sam crossed to the assignment clipboard hanging on the wall. Mr. Blair wanted a photo story on old Nevada.

  Sam nodded. If she signed up for it, she could convince herself she hadn’t lied to Brynna.

  What could be more photogenic than shots of the high desert cabin of the hermit of Snake Head Peak?

  As Sam signed her name next to the story, she noticed Mr. Blair motioning her up to his desk. RJay stood nearby. Was this the “think fast” moment RJay had alerted her to yesterday?

  Sam walked toward them, trying to look confident.

  She held her breath, wondering if this was about the editorship. Mr. Blair wouldn’t keep her in suspense. He always got right to the point.

  “So here’s the thing, Forster,” he said. “I’m impressed with your photography, but you’re not showing me much in terms of people skills.”

  “Management skills, more,” RJay corrected.

  Stalling for time, Sam sipped her milk shake. Yuck. It was goopy and no longer cold.

  “I’m just a reporter. I don’t get a chance to boss anyone,” Sam protested.

  The bell to begin class rang and more than a few students let their eyes wander to the meeting at the teacher’s desk.

  Mr. Blair smiled as if Sam had said exactly what he’d wanted her to say. “RJay, let her take charge of assigning stories for this issue. That’ll show what kind of bossing skills she has.

  “Forster, that clipboard lists every story, but precious few reporters have claimed ’em. Thirty minutes from now, I want you back at this desk to show me who’s doing what. Got it?”

  Sam and RJay nodded.

  “Go,” said Mr. Blair, and turned back to his computer.

  Sam took the clipboard from its wall hook and held it with trembling hands.

  This was just great. It wasn’t bad enough that she’d made a fool of herself in class and been accused of brain damage. Now Mr. Blair had given her a job guaranteed to make everyone hate her, too.

  Oh well, at least it would keep her mind off the awful chance that she’d get caught today. But she wouldn’t think about that now. She had to be brave. And fast. They couldn’t send her away to San Francisco if she uncovered the truth about Caleb Sawyer.

  Sam refocused on the clipboard and started moving around class with it. Surprisingly, once she explained what she was doing, no one resisted.

  “Give me some sports stuff,” said a guy named Zeke. “My grade in here could use some CPR. And I’ve got the computer until the end of the period,” he announced to the room in general.

  “Fine,” Sam said. Next, she managed to push prom coverage off on underclassmen who didn’t have the excuse of getting their hair done or renting tuxes, because the dance was restricted to juniors and seniors.

  She found someone willing to cover the school play in exchange for two free tickets and extra credit in English.

  Finally, Sam sat biting her lip, studying the three remaining stories. She glanced up at the clock, only to see Rachel approaching.

  Tailored and crisp, the aqua shirtdress Rachel wore was almost businesslike, except for its length. As Rachel approached with the menacing prowl of a tigress, her arms stayed close to her sides. Her skirt hem rode high on her thighs, way above her fingertips.

  Just as she had all year long, Sam fumed at the unfairness. If she’d worn that dress, some school administrator would have sent her home to change. Even if Rachel looked great, shouldn’t she be reprimanded for breaking the dress code?

  But Rachel stood before her, waiting, as if she actually wanted to claim an assignment.

  Then, she tapped an iridescent, taffy-colored fingernail on the list of stories.

  “I’ll do the interview with Jake Ely,” Rachel offered.

  Of course you will, Sam thought, just to make me mad. But after two or three seconds, Sam grinned.

  Jake had won his long-distance event in every track meet so far. He’d definitely go to regionals and maybe compete for Darton High on the state level. The Dialogue needed an interview with him, but everyone who knew Jake also knew it would be impossible to make him discuss his winning season.

  Jake was too modest. But Rachel wasn’t familiar with that concept.

  “You’re on,” Sam said, scrawling Rachel’s name next to the story.

  Suddenly, the rich girl looked wary.

  “Unless you want to do it,” Rachel said.

  “No, go for it,” Sam urged. Then, when she saw Rachel’s easy victory was making her increasingly suspicious, Sam added, “I wonder if you could do one more thing, a little piece on Kris’s pitching for the baseball team? He’s having a pretty good season, too. And I was hoping he’d hav
e time to talk with you for the paper.”

  Kris Cameron was Rachel’s handsome, broad-shouldered boyfriend. Undeniably the cutest guy at Darton High, he was not only quarterback on the football team, but pitcher for the baseball team as well.

  “But if you think he’d be too busy…” Sam said, shrugging.

  “Too busy for me? You must be joking,” Rachel trilled. “He’ll make time. Kris would do anything for me.”

  “Ah well, who wouldn’t?” RJay asked sarcastically as Rachel went slinking away. Then he tilted his head to look at the clipboard. “Two stories and”—he glanced up at the clock—“five minutes left. Lookin’ good, Sam, keep going.”

  Sam scanned the classroom in time to see Cammy edging toward the door. Time to make her getaway and buy Queen Rachel’s diet Coke from the machine in the faculty room.

  “Cammy!” Sam shouted. When the ringleted blonde jumped, Sam beckoned her over. “I had to save you from yourself.”

  “Huh?” Cammy asked.

  “Never mind,” Sam told her. “I need you to do two stories for this issue. One is on the campus cleanup campaign.”

  “That won’t be fun,” Cammy complained.

  “But the other one is,” Sam said hurriedly. She was out of time. She could feel Mr. Blair’s eyes boring into her back and see Rachel eavesdropping from her desk. “You get to do ‘Heard in the Halls,’ you know, where you just listen for interesting or weird snippets of conversations.”

  “Oh, I can do that,” Cammy said. Her ringlets bounced as she nodded. “Sign me up.”

  Sam strode over to Mr. Blair and presented the clipboard with a victorious flourish.

  He gave the names a cursory glance.

  “Great,” he said, “now take a bunch of dynamite photos for that piece on old Nevada, get a few interviews”—he reached into a bottom drawer for a miniature tape recorder and slapped it into her hand—“and make sure this doesn’t stall out on you. It’s been known to do that. In short, just work hard and keep your nose clean till the end of the year and you’re the new photo editor.”

  Sam tried to maintain a mature manner. It lasted until she’d slipped the tape recorder into her backpack and checked out a class camera. Then, she couldn’t stand it. She crowed in delight and spun around to give RJay a high five. And really, she didn’t care if she looked crazy. She was just acting like a freshman.

  “Forster, get rid of that milk shake before you spill it,” Mr. Blair growled.

  Laughing, Sam headed toward the classroom trash can.

  Rachel moved in the same direction, with sly certainty, as if she had something planned. She held a balled-up piece of notebook paper as if it were a stage prop.

  “Cammy,” Rachel purred as she passed the girl’s desk. “I have a Heard in the Halls item for you.”

  Sam gritted her teeth. It was just like Rachel to fabricate something, when the point was to assemble little bits of overheard conversation.

  In a loud whisper, Rachel said, “S. F. is crazy, and not in a fun way!”

  There was no doubt who S. F. was, Sam thought as Cammy dutifully scribbled down Rachel’s words. Sam felt a red-hot blush consume her excitement over the editorship.

  Rachel strolled on as if she’d done nothing. If they both kept walking, Sam thought, they’d reach the same place at the same time. She couldn’t let Rachel stage another sideshow, so she tossed her half-finished milk shake toward the can and turned back toward her desk.

  Rachel’s shriek made Sam look in time to see a splash of milk shake fanning through the air.

  If it had happened in slow motion, Sam couldn’t have seen it more clearly. A glob of chocolate split into droplets and they were homing in on Rachel’s aqua dress.

  “Look what she did!” Rachel yelled. She whirled toward Mr. Blair, pointing to the chocolate spatters on her dress. “She did it on purpose!”

  Slowly, Mr. Blair looked up from the paperwork spread on his desk.

  “Simmer down, Slocum. Just run down to the rest room and clean yourself up.”

  “Clean myself up?” Rachel screamed. “This cannot be fixed in a rest room. You can’t possibly have any idea what this dress cost!”

  “I’m sure she’d be glad to tell us.” The remark came from somewhere behind Sam, but she didn’t dare turn to see who’d said it.

  It was a good thing she didn’t.

  “What about her?” Rachel lunged forward in a wave of strong perfume. She raked her fingernail like a claw at Sam’s nose, but missed as Sam drew back. “I want her punished.”

  Mr. Blair had finally pushed his papers aside. Anyone paying attention could have seen he’d had about enough of Rachel’s dramatics.

  “It was an accident,” Sam began.

  Mr. Blair nodded in agreement.

  “It wasn’t!” Rachel screeched. Enraged, she shoved a desk. It hit another desk, which tipped over, colliding with Cammy’s. The ringleted girl jumped up and backed away with round eyes.

  “That’s enough,” Mr. Blair said.

  “How can you believe it was an accident? She’s crazy! And I’m going home!” Rachel tried to kick a desk out of her way, and missed. She shrieked in rage, and kicked again. This time her high-heeled shoe flew off. It somersaulted through the air to titters of laughter.

  “This is not fair!” Rachel grappled the shoe from the floor and jammed her foot inside, then stood trembling, fists pumped in short bursts at her sides. “She hates me because I’m everything she’s not!”

  No one spoke up to agree with her.

  “Right?” Rachel scanned the amazed faces around her.

  Still no one spoke. The only sound was Zeke, tapping away at the computer keyboard.

  “Oh, forget this,” Rachel snapped in disgust. “I’ve had enough of you people.”

  As if nothing of consequence were going on, Mr. Blair had gone back to his reading. He didn’t glance up when he said, “That’ll count as cutting class, but suit yourself.”

  “I will!” Rachel said. She flounced from the room, slipping just a little in the puddle of chocolate goop in the doorway.

  “Forster, clean up that mess before the bell rings,” Mr. Blair said.

  Sam rushed to do it, but as Rachel’s shoes echoed in the hall and the corridor door slammed, Sam noticed no one asked her if she had done it on purpose. In fact, over the tapping of the computer keys, she heard Zeke comment, “Now that’s what I call crazy.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “This is rather exciting!”

  Ryan Slocum grinned and tightened his grip on the steering wheel of his father’s champagne-colored Jeep Cherokee. Sam cradled the school’s expensive camera on her lap. And Snake Head Peak towered up on the horizon.

  Sam had a feeling everything was going to be fine. As she’d left class, details of Rachel’s tantrum were already being broadcast in the halls. No one was gossiping about crazy Sam Forster.

  And she was going to be photo editor next year. She felt proud, but should she race home and announce her good news tonight? Or should she save it, in case she needed to prove she was too good a kid to be sent back to San Francisco?

  Sam’s mind was jerked back to the job before her as the Cherokee bucked over hardened ruts that had once been the mud surrounding Aspen Creek. The ride was rougher than on horseback, but smoother than Jake’s truck.

  At least on this third visit to Antelope Crossing, Sam knew they were headed the right way.

  “You’re not certain exactly where the cottage is, though,” Ryan said. “Is that correct?”

  “I sort of know,” Sam said, but Ryan actually looked cheery about getting lost in the wild West.

  Sam couldn’t help contrasting Ryan with his sister. Sure, Rachel’s England-reared brother had the same lean build and coffee-brown hair, and he dressed with more care than the usual Darton schoolboy. Right now, for instance, he actually wore cuff links with his open-necked shirt.

  Unlike his sister, Ryan loved horses. He’d competed on heavy hunte
rs, won two English dressage titles, and helped Sam reveal that Tinkerbell, a horse slated for slaughter, was a talented jumper. Challenged by Jake’s plan to ride a wild Indian pony in the Superbowl of Horsemanship, Ryan had gentled a gelding from the Blind Faith Mustang Sanctuary and ridden him in the race.

  Best of all, Ryan hadn’t asked why when Jen had told him to bring his father’s new Cherokee and to be prepared for cross-country travel.

  If Ryan planned to be Jen’s boyfriend—and that still wasn’t a sure thing—spontaneity would be an asset. She and Jen enjoyed life’s sudden twists and turns.

  Not everyone did. Jake Ely, for instance, Sam thought. While he might do crazy things on his own, he’d never have driven her to Caleb Sawyer’s wilderness cabin. Last night, he wouldn’t even let her talk about it.

  And twice today, at school, he’d touched his head and raised his eyebrows, asking silently how her head was from bumping his truck window the other night. Where she was concerned, Jake was just too careful.

  “Thanks again for the ride,” Sam told Ryan, appreciating him all the more. “I need this photo essay to get a good grade in Journalism, and I think the light’s going to be just perfect.”

  Jen gave a disbelieving snort. She knew the story was mostly camouflage for her real reason for coming out here. But Ryan didn’t seem to notice.

  “You’re completely welcome,” he said, then glanced through the windshield and up. “Those dramatic clouds should photograph nicely, though it feels as if we’re in for a bit of a blow.”

  “Wait,” Sam said, suddenly. “The horses—where did they all go?”

  Ryan braked and stopped.

  The Cherokee shivered as a blast of wind hit it broadside. Antelope Crossing, where pronghorn and horses had grazed just two days ago, was an empty expanse of sage and sand.

  “It’s earlier,” Jen said. “Last time we were here, it was almost dusk. That’s a safer time for both herds. Maybe we’ll see them on our way out.”

  “Maybe,” Sam answered. She tried to believe the overcast sky and rising wind had fooled her.

  Ryan drove on. As a dilapidated wooden cabin came into sight up ahead, she was glad it wasn’t night. The man inside that cabin had been her mother’s enemy.