Secret Pony Society (13 page)

This is
soooo
difficult!” exclaimed Bean, grasping Tiffany's white mane.

“At least Tiffany's got a backbone to help you stay on,” I said, trotting past her on Drum. “Drummer's so round, it's like sitting on a barrel.”

“How rude! Barrel my behind!” Drum retorted. “Just for that, I'm going to wobble about a bit…”

“No! Don't!” I pleaded, clutching his mane as Drum did a sort of shimmy along the short side of the outdoor school. It was like riding on jelly. I was glad it was getting dark because I knew I looked anything but proficient.

“How come it was so easy for Jazz?” Katy asked, making it look just as easy on Bluey, who was shuffling around, barely lifting his knees to make it more comfortable for his beloved Katy to sit while he trotted. I was sure Drummer was lifting his knees higher on purpose.

We'd taken off our saddles and lined them up on the fence. It had seemed like a great idea to try riding bareback like Jazz, but I for one was finding it terribly difficult to stay central on Drum's slippery back. My admiration for Jazz soared—like it wasn't high enough already.

“Have either of you heard of an ice tail?” asked Bean, bringing Tiffany to a halt in the corner. I steered Drum alongside her.

“I have. But I can't remember what it is.”

“Bean,” began Katy, doing a circle next to us, “why are you asking all these questions? Are you doing some kind of home study course or something?”

Bean looked a bit sheepish, twiddling Tiffany's long mane around her fingers self-consciously.

“Come on, Bean, out with it!” I demanded.

“Well, if you must know, I'm entering a competition in
PONY
Magazine.”

“What's the prize?” I asked.

“A riding vacation.”

“No one ever wins those things,” said Katy, her eyebrows almost meeting together on her forehead as she concentrated on keeping her weight central over Bluey's back. Bluey put his head down and sneezed, pulling her forward and spoiling it.

“They do so, Katy!” protested Bean. “One girl wrote in about the awesome vacation she won last year.”

“Well, you probably won't,” Katy replied.

“I won't if I don't enter, that's for sure.”

“Exmoor ponies!” I yelled, making Drummer jump. He gave a meaningful sigh. I don't think he was very impressed with the bareback idea.

“Is that a new swear word?” giggled Bean.

“No, Exmoor ponies have ice tails. They grow an extra bit of hair at the very top, so that rain and snow and stuff just slide off, and that's what it's called. It was a question in a quiz night I went to once at my old yard.”

“Thanks for helping me, Pia, you're a good friend,” Bean said. “Not like some people…” she added, giving Katy a dirty look. Katy didn't care.

“I'm going to try a jump!” she yelled, turning Bluey toward a small jump at the other end of the school. Bluey broke into a smooth canter and popped over, with Katy making a good show of it. She cantered back with a huge grin on her face.

“You try!” she cried, patting Bluey's neck.

“I don't think so,” mumbled Bean. I didn't blame her—Tiffany has the oddest jumping style I've ever seen. “I might try a canter, though. Come on, Tiff.” Tiffany broke into a slow canter with Bean getting more confident as she turned a corner.

“Look, I can do it without holding on to her mane…” Bean began, holding up her hands.

“WHAT'S THAT ON THE FENCE???” exclaimed Tiffany, shying at the saddles and doing a one-eighty in about a millisecond. Without her saddle, Bean didn't stand a chance of staying on. Instead, she flew over Tiffany's golden shoulder to land on the ground with a splat. Katy and I held our breath.

“Oww, that is so not funny,” grumbled Bean, picking herself up off the ground and dusting herself off, clearly not hurt.

“Cool dismount!” Katy laughed.

“Look, Mom, no hands is so not your style.” I giggled.

“Oh, thanks for your sympathy!” Bean complained, retrieving Tiffany from where she'd wedged herself between Drum and Bluey.

“Honestly, Tiff,” said Drummer. “You are an idiot. Those saddles have been there forever.”

“Well, they looked different when I approached them in canter,” Tiffany explained, sniffing. “It must be the light.”

“You've got a nice dung stain on your fleece,” Katy pointed out to Bean.

“Oh, well, I'll just turn it inside out, then no one will be any the wiser,” Bean replied airily.

“Do it before you get back on, else Tiff will dump you again,” I suggested.

“I wasn't dumped!” retorted Bean huffily. “I merely dismounted without permission.”

Collecting our saddles, we took the ponies back to the yard in time to see Dolly clattering up the ramp of Sophie's luxury horse trailer.

“Horse of the Year Show, here we come! Wish me luck!” Dolly shouted as Sophie tied her up and checked her tail guard.

“Good luck!” chorused all the ponies.

“Don't come back without a ribbon!” shouted Bluey.

“Are you ready, Dee?” Sophie yelled, fastening the ramp and climbing into the cab.

Dee flew out of the tack room, making Tiffany flinch. “Coming! See you guys—wish me luck!”

“Good luck!” we all chorused, echoing the ponies.

“Do you think she'll win?” asked Bean.

“No,” Katy replied. “But she says she'll be happy if they make the final lineup. Just qualifying is huge, apparently.”

“Funny time to be going to a show,” mused Drummer.

“They're staying overnight so they'll be all fresh in the morning,” I explained.

We all waved as the horse trailer rolled along the gravel, catching on overhanging branches along the drive on its way to the road.

I rugged up Drummer and kissed him on the nose. He hates me doing that, but I can't resist it—he's got such a cute, soft, black nose just begging to be kissed! I could hear Bambi next door, back home again after her ordeal. Cat had been overjoyed that we'd found her—although the fact that my ability to hear the ponies had enabled us to discover Bambi wasn't appreciated. It was all very complicated, but I was past caring. I mean, Cat had planned for Jazz's dad to steal Drummer! I'd never forgive her for that—I don't care how upset she might have been about James. It was a totally mean thing to do.

I collected my bike and stood by the tack room, watching Drummer in the gathering darkness. He stuck his head out over his top door and snorted. Next door, I could make out Bambi's two-tone head appearing over her half door. Usually she pulled faces at Drummer, but this evening she looked across at him and snorted softly back.

Drummer had been the one who had rescued Bambi. Could it be possible that while Cat and I were even more at war than ever, it had brought Drum and Bambi together?

“It's great to have you home, Bambi,” I heard Drummer say.

“Don't think you've got a chance!” I heard Bambi reply. Only her voice was softer than her usual rebuff. It seemed Drummer had a long way to go before Bambi let down all her defenses—but it was a start!

We said our good nights, and I cycled home. It had been a very peculiar vacation, what with one thing and another. But still, I reflected as I let myself into the house, it had been anything but dull!

“Hi, Mom!” I shouted.

“Oh, hi, hon,” my mom replied.

Something wasn't right. She wasn't wearing her gym gear, the TV was on, and she had a glass of wine in her hand.

“Not going to the gym?” I asked her.

“No. I'm a bit tired.”

“Oh?” I waited.

She screwed up her face and gave me a crooked grin. “I'm a bit tired of Jerry, too.”

What did I tell you? Cue the novelty wearing off. I feigned surprise.

“Yeah.” Mom sighed. “He's a little egotistic—always admiring himself in the mirror. Well, any highly polished surface really—shop windows, computer monitors. I caught him checking himself out in his knife the other evening.”

“He's got a knife!!!” I cried, my imagination catapulting into overdrive.

Mom laughed. “Knife and
fork
—we were in a restaurant!” she explained.

We sat in silence for a moment. So Jerry had got the boot, eh?

“Do you know what, Pia? I'm pretty hungry, and I don't think a salad is going to cut it.”

Now that was music to my ears. I held my breath. What was it going to be? Pizza? Burger? Pasta? All good. All better than a salad.

Mom got up and went into the kitchen, and I heard her rummaging around in the cupboards.

“How does ham and eggs sound?”

“Great!” I replied.

“I know I've got a tin of ham in here somewhere…” I heard her mumble.

Ahhhh! Flashback! The just-in-case canned ham! My mom could look in the cupboard until the cows came home, but there was no canned ham in there. It was still at the icehouse. How could I turn this around?

“Mom.”

“Yes, honey?”

“I tell you what I really,
really
want.”

“Go on.”

“Indian food!”

It all went quiet. I held my breath.

“Great idea. Get your coat!”

Phew. Sometimes, as Bean says, a girl has to think on her feet!

Janet Rising's work with horses has included working at a donkey stud, producing show ponies, and teaching both adults and children, with a special interest in helping nervous riders enjoy their sport, as well as training owners on how to handle their horses and ponies from the ground. Always passionate about writing, Janet's first short story was published when she was fourteen, and for the past ten years she has been editor of
PONY
, Britain's top-selling horsy teen magazine.