Authors: Janet Rising
“Dunno. Leanne’s the team leader. She probably knows tons of people. She’s always out competing at dressage shows,” James replied, going into Moth’s stable and closing the door.
I went back to picking out Drummer’s hooves. “Can you whistle?” I asked him.
“What, with these lips? Of course not! Why do you ask?” Drummer replied before resuming the humming.
“Because you can’t sing!” I told him.
“Oh, ha, ha!” said Drummer. “And what’s all this nonsense about some team you’re cooking up? You all just love thinking up new ways to make us ponies work, work, work, don’t you?!”
You see what I mean about Drummer? He’s not exactly enthusiasm personified.
“I do hours and hours of work every day at school,” I told him. “You think you’re overworked if you do an hour’s ride.”
“But then, of course, we do have to carry your huge carcasses around while we do it,” Drummer replied, twirling his feed bag around with his nose because he knows it takes me forever to unravel it again.
I continued picking out mud and stones. Drummer continued to hum and sing to himself. Tunelessly. As I worked, I thought about James being on Leanne’s team. Leanne does nothing but dressage on her good-looking dun pony, Mr. Higgins. Poor Mr. H is always covered up with blankets, even in the summer, to keep his coat clean and lying flat, and Leanne, being a bit older than me and one of Catriona’s best buddies, is not exactly my best friend. Actually, I think she’s pretty stuck-up most of the time. And she’s got multiple ear piercings, so when the sun’s out, the glare can be blinding. At least she’s civil to me, which is more than can be said for Catriona.
I was going to tell you about Catriona, wasn’t I?
Cat hates me.
Let’s count the ways.
Cat hates me because everyone says I’m a Pony Whisperer, and she insists that I’m lying.
She hates me, James says, because she used to be the one everyone at the yard sought advice from until I rolled up, able to tell it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.
And Cat really likes James.
And I refused to swap stables with her when I first arrived—Drummer’s stable is sandwiched between Moth’s and Bambi’s, and Bambi is Cat’s skewbald mare.
I hope you’re following this ’cause it’s not easy. Anyway, you get the general gist: Cat hates me; Drum’s stable is between Bambi’s and Moth’s; we both like James (but he doesn’t know—I’d die if he did!). Oh, and as if that wasn’t enough, Drummer really likes Cat’s pony, Bambi, and Bambi hates Drum. So now you know. And if anyone out there has ideas on how we can all live happily ever after, I’m all ears!
When I’d finished grooming Drummer, I saddled him up, and as I led him out, Bean asked whether she and Tiffany could ride with us. So I said, yes, of course. It seemed I really was starting to be accepted at the yard. The drive led straight to the bridle path, and we soon passed the place where Drummer and I had found Epona, where I first had heard Drummer and his take on life, and my life had changed completely.
When my mom and I had moved to this area, after my mom and dad’s marriage broke down, we had known it was rich with history. There had been Roman settlements in the area two thousand years ago (hence Epona!), and as the highest point for miles around, it had been a popular place for buildings through the centuries. Laurel Farm used to belong to the big house, long since gone. And I mean big—I’m talking servants, carriages, and everything.
With Epona in my pocket, I could hear Drummer and Tiffany chatting. Drummer’s bright mahogany neck and black mane contrasted strongly against Tiffany’s snowwhite mane and golden palomino coat as their heads bobbed in unison.
“What’s this about some competition—this Brookdale thing?” asked Drum.
“Oh, that!” replied Tiffany. “Sounds worrying. Still, if it wasn’t that, it would be something else. Oh, what’s that?” Tiffany put in an abrupt stop, waggled her ears, and then walked on again. She’s like that, always on the lookout for anything a bit suspicious. On a bad day she goes along like one of those balls stuck by elastic to its own bat; forwardback, forward-back, forward-back. Bean’s used to it and just ignores her. They’re completely unalike—Tiff’s all “Whaaa!” while Bean’s so laid-back, she’s practically
zzz
-ing all the time.
“Get a grip.” Drummer sighed. “It’s just an empty bag of chips.”
“Oh, so it is. Phew. You never know...”
“Never know what? When chips might turn nasty?” asked Drum. He’s not exactly sympathetic to Tiff’s nerves.
“You just never know, that’s all. If my ancestors hadn’t had their wits about them, I wouldn’t be here now.”
“So what’s your role in the Brookdale bologna?”
“What? Oh, that. Er, let me think. Oh, I remember, show jumping. I hope they won’t expect me to slide down that derby bank. No, thank you, I don’t do heights!” Tiffany sniffed. “What’s your specialty?”
“No one’s told me yet!” said Drummer.
It didn’t sound like the ponies were exactly bursting with enthusiasm. When we got back to the yard, Katy and Dee-Dee were both outside Dolly’s stable wearing identical thunderous expressions. Dolly nickered to Drummer when we got near. Dee’s beautiful dappled gray show pony has a bit of a thing for Drummer.
“What’s up with you two?” asked Bean. “You look like you want to murder someone.”
“Yes, well, you will, too, when you hear,” said Katy grimly.
“Tell us,” I said, jumping off Drummer and running my stirrups up the leathers.
“Dee’s mom won’t let Dee enter Dolly for the dressage.”
Bombshell!
“What? Why not?” exploded Bean.
“Oh, well, get this,” Dee whined. “She says we’ve got too many top shows to go to. Says it will ruin Dolly’s chances. Says she’s hoping we’ll qualify for the Horse of the Year Show.”
“But—” began Bean.
“No buts!” interrupted Katy, doing an uncanny impersonation of Dee’s mom and sticking her hand up, palm toward us. “Subject closed!”
“Jeez, Dee,” I said, “can’t you do something?”
Dee rolled her eyes. “What do you think? It’s all right for you. Your mom isn’t horsey. You know how much I hate being dragged off to shows every weekend. I’d rather be having fun with all of you. My mom’s made it clear that while she’s paying the bills, she’ll have the last say. I never get to have any fun on Dolly. I just wish she was an ordinary pony, like all of yours.”
“Excuse me?” cried Katy, her hackles rising.
“Oh, you know what I mean!” moaned Dee, lost in self-pity.
I sucked in my cheeks. Dee’s mom Sophie is a showing fanatic and used to getting her own way. She has her own show horse, a liver chestnut called Lester (with some fancyshmancy show name) and their horse trailer is probably bigger than the house I live in with my mom. And Sophie is the sort of horsey woman who won’t take no for an answer. Pooh! I was getting super excited about this competition. Now we seemed to have failed before we’d even begun.
“You’re reprieved then,” I heard Drummer say to Dolly.
“Yes.” Dolly sighed. “And I was so looking forward to spending more time with you, handsome,” she added, batting her eyelashes at my bay pony.
I told you, didn’t I?
“Maybe we’ll all get out of it.” Tiffany sounded hopeful.
“Bet we’re not that lucky!” Drummer groaned.
“But what about me? What am I supposed to do all summer?” moaned Dee, picking flaking green paint off Dolly’s door with her fingernail.
“Don’t worry about that,” Katy said brightly, smiling at Dee. “When you’re not qualifying for HOYS you can be the team groom.”
“Oh, big deal!” exclaimed Dee, flicking her brown hair and storming off in a huff to the barn.
“How about James?” Katy suggested. “He might be on our team.”
“Cat and Leanne have already bagged him,” I said.
“We have to find someone,” Bean wailed, jumping off Tiffany. Tiff woke up with a start, suddenly alert to any tigers or crocodiles or wolf packs that could be lurking—like they do around a stable yard.
“We will!” I said grimly. “We just have to!”
Chapter 2
D
espite our depleted team, we began to practice for the Sublime Equine Challenge. At least, Katy and Bean did. I just sat about wondering what on earth Drummer and I could do for the wild card event. What would the judges be expecting? I couldn’t get my head around it—whatever could we do that was different and exciting? I couldn’t let Katy and Bean down.
I explained the concept to Drummer.
“Why can’t we just do the show jumping?” he said.
“Because Bean and Tiff have claimed it.”
“Well, ask if we can do the cross-country. I can do that— if I have to.”
“Bluey’s doing it. He’ll die of disappointment if anyone else does it, and he’s way, way better at it than anyone else.”
“Well, I could just about manage the dressage, I suppose,” said Drum in his best martyr voice.
Of course! Now Dee was out, perhaps Drum and I could grab the dressage slot. I thought hard. Dressage isn’t our best thing, really. To be honest, we’re not great at anything in particular, but we are sort of passable at everything—you know, we get by and win the odd ribbon. We’d probably do a better dressage test than a pathetic wild card routine, I thought.
I found Bean in the outdoor school, putting Tiffany over a few jumps. Katy was doing the groom bit—charging around and changing the height of the poles. She was a bit red in the face, which clashed with her red hair. The effect was sort of a raspberry topped with grated carrot. I didn’t think she’d thank me for telling her, so I kept it to myself.
“Me and Drum really want to do the dressage!” I shouted from the gate. I decided it would be better to be positive about the dressage, rather than negative about the wild card event. To be honest, I didn’t like my chances much in either. Katy stopped in mid-stride and frowned.
“Oh, OK. We just need a wild card person now,” she said. “Hey, Bean, you almost ran me over!”
“Well, you’re in the way!” wailed Bean, hurtling toward the next jump, her long blond braid flying out behind her like a tail. I couldn’t help noticing Tiffany’s peculiar jumping style: between jumps she cantered around all collected, looking every inch the show jumper. Then, three strides away from the jump, she stuck her head in the air, launched herself forward like a rocket, and took off almost straight up, like a Harrier Jump Jet. Upon landing again, she resumed her rocking horse canter and melt-in-the-mouth expression. Weird!
I could hear her muttering to herself as she did it: “Oh, there’s the jump…OK…here we go…it’s a big one…
I can do it!
Oh, no, I can’t…maybe…yikes…
Yes!!!
”
“How do you stay on when she does that?” I asked.
“Does what?” asked Bean airily, as Tiffany did her rocket-launcher-jump-jet impersonation over the planks with a grunt. I supposed Bean was used to it.
I went and told Drummer the good news. He was dozing with his head in the far corner of his stable.
“So we’re doing the tip-tuppy thing now?” he said, not bothering to turn around.
“If the tip-tuppy thing is Drummer-speak for dressage, then yes,” I told him.
“Oh, good, I can sleep through that,” he said, yawning. “I don’t suppose…”
“What?”
“There’s an eating category? I’m sure to win that.”
“You’re right there, fatso!” I told him. “In fact, I think I need to cut down your grazing hours. I may keep you in at nights for a while until the grass dies down a bit.”
“
What?
” yelled Drummer, swinging around to face me. “Are you
joking?
I hardly eat anything. I barely manage to scrounge enough out there in the field at night by the time Tiffany and that pig Henry have lawn-mowered their way around. It’s a wonder I’ve not been reported to the authorities, I’m so starved.”
Henry is a hefty, bad-tempered Dales pony who belongs to an ancient old lady called Mrs. Bradley. I didn’t doubt he was a bit of a pig, but Tiffany never carries any weight— she and Bean are both identical in the skinny department. I decided to move the conversation on.
“We need a final team member, so put your thinking cap on.”
“James and Moth,” said Drummer.
“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” I said sarcastically. “Oh, wait a minute, I know—because he’s been commandeered by Cat and Leanne!”
“Pippin?” Drum asked, doubtfully. I gave him a look. Pippin is tiny, and his rider, Bethany, is just a kid.
“In that case”—Drum sighed—“I can’t think of anyone. Can Bluey do two events? He’s always got energy to spare. He makes me tired just looking at him. Speaking of which, you’ve interrupted my nap.”
Drum is so irritating at times! I decided to turn him out in the field and go home.
When I told my mom about the Sublime Equine Challenge, she thought it was a great idea.
“Oooh, imagine if you qualify for the finals,” she enthused, her blond hair bobbing in excitement, “and you get to ride at Brookdale. How thrilling would that be?”
“Well, unless we find our fourth team member, that’s never going to happen,” I replied. We were munching our way through Indian takeout, plates on our laps, watching TV. Empty cartons littered the side table.
“I’ve got a new date tomorrow,” announced Mom. My heart sank. We moved here to this cottage when my mom and dad split up. Dad went off with some size double-zero chick from work, and Mom kinda fell apart. But since we’ve been here she’s brightened up and she’s been looking for love, as they say.
On the Internet.
I know, I know, it freaks me out, but what can I do? She’s really careful and sensible about it, and I’ve promised to support her. Her friend Carol supports her, too, which isn’t surprising, seeing as how Carol dates men like we’re all on a downward slide toward the end of the world. I blame Carol and her interfering ways for getting Mom into it all.
“That’s nice,” I said, managing to make it sound as though I meant it. I’m getting better at that. “Who’s this one? Old or new?”
“Second date,” mumbled Mom, stuffing half a samosa in her mouth and leaving filo pastry crumbs on the side of her face.
“Well, if you’re going for Indian food, don’t do that,” I advised. “It’s most unattractive. Who’s this guy?”