Finally, right near the end of recess, just when I thought my ordeal was almost over, Ash did exactly what I had been dreading she might do.
“Hey, everyone, Frankie’s starting a new club!”
I felt their gazes on me like a hot spotlight and it was all I could do not to slither under the table.
“What kind of new club?” asked Violet.
Maybe I had been wrong about neither of us wanting to acknowledge each other. She seemed perfectly relaxed, her face clear and her eyes bright. She really was very pretty, I thought, staring at her like a rabbit trapped in headlights. My throat closed over.
“Tell us, Frankie,” said Lesley, nudging me gently and smiling encouragingly.
“I … it’s …” A lump had formed in my throat, making it hard to breathe.
“Frankie’s starting a new kind of pony club,” said Ash, jumping in when she realised I couldn’t speak.
“A new kind of pony club?” said Violet, her eyebrows raised as though in disbelief. You can’t even ride! I imagined her thinking, but instead she smiled in amusement, as though this was a really funny joke.
“It’s kind of an alternative pony club,” I stammered, trying hard to make sense and stay calm even though my heart was pounding and I could feel sweat forming on my forehead.
“You mean like a hippy pony club?” Violet laughed, and everyone else laughed along with her. “Let’s just hope they’re hippy horses!” she said to the others, and they laughed even louder.
“I …” I swallowed, but it was useless. My throat had closed over and I couldn’t speak.
“It’s not so much hippy as it is cool,” said a voice behind me. I turned around to see Kai, standing behind me holding a sheaf of papers.
“Hey Violet,” he said, nodding to her. “Hi everyone.”
Where I was a sweaty strangled mess, he was as cool as a cucumber, I thought admiringly.
“Hi Kai,” Violet smiled at him.
It seemed to me like it was a special smile, but I wasn’t exactly objective when it came to Violet.
“I just dropped by to give Frankie some flyers I’ve done up,” he said, smiling briefly back at Violet before turning to me and waving the sheaf of papers in his hand. “But now that I’m here I may as well just hand them out, hey, Frankie?”
I nodded, stunned, as he handed each girl a flyer. It was the one I’d done last night, except it was on glossy paper, with brighter colours, and a photo of me and Zen had been added, with our noses touching, beneath the writing. A hand drawn heart had been traced around it, in rainbow colours.
Comments like “This is gorgeous!” and “What a cute picture!” and “So we can do this and pony club?” swirled around me while I sat, stunned, in the middle of it all. Kai answered their questions, talking about the principles of natural horsemanship and telling them all about Shannon and Pocket of Dreams as though he were an expert, until the bell went to call us back to class.
“Kai,” I called, just as we were about to go back to our classrooms. He stopped and turned to me. The playground had emptied, and suddenly it was as calm and quiet as a wasteland. “How did you know all of that? About natural horsemanship, I mean?”
“I wasn’t just on my phone that whole time. I picked up a few things.”
“Thank you for the flyer. Where did you find the photocopier?”
“Viv did it for me. I hope you like it.”
“I love it! But where did you get that picture of me and Zen?”
“On my phone. I’ve got lots of them, look.” He stood beside me and began scrolling through the pictures on his screen, showing me picture after picture of Zen and I, and Shannon and Gillie and Dad and the horses, and Eloise and Viv and Mum.
“I’ve been taking them for Jingy, and Mum and Dad, so I can show them what my life here has been like.” He shrugged. “And sometimes I just like looking at them.”
I could feel tears welling as I saw all that had happened in the past six weeks whizzing past.
“I really wasn’t hanging out with you just so I could get free wi-fi,” he said quietly. “I wish you would let me explain.”
Class had started – any moment now a teacher was going to come looking for us. I glanced around and took his hand, leading him over to a bench where we both sat down.
“Okay, go.”
Twenty-five
Kai took a deep breath. “The reason Mum and Dad sent me up here is because … I was sort of addicted to my phone.”
“Well I know that,” I said impatiently. Any minute now a teacher was going to come out and send us into class.
“It wasn’t really my phone, so much – I got addicted to this game, Scriptoria. Do you know it? A lot of the kids from school used to play.”
I’d never heard of it, which is hardly surprising, seeing as I don’t even have a smartphone.
“Part of the game is that you dare each other to do things …” His voice trailed off. “It was really dumb.”
“What kind of things?” I asked.
“Dangerous things. Stupid things. It was just online at first, using our avatars, but then somehow it moved into real life.”
“What happened?”
“I dared a kid to jump off a wall at school. And he did it.” Kai was speaking so quietly now I had to lean in to hear. “I forgot that in real life it really happens, it’s not just your avatar.”
I was silent, trying to imagine how you could forget something like that. Kai was looking at me, and I noticed his hands were twisting together.
“Anyway, this kid – he jumped off the wall and cut his head really badly. And so then they found out what happened, and that I’d been the one to dare him and … that’s why I got suspended.” Kai slumped.
“That’s it?” I said incredulously. “I thought you must have killed someone!”
“It was pretty serious. He’s okay, luckily, but there was a lot of blood.”
“And your parents sent you up here, just for that?”
“Partly. I mean, I can see their point, actually. They were worried that the kid who jumped was going to give me an even bigger dare and that I would feel like I had to do it. The whole screen thing was getting out of hand in general, but especially between me and those other kids.”
“So why were you back online here, then, if you knew it was dangerous and dumb?”
“The thing is, they’re my friends, and since moving up here, the only friend I’ve had in real life is you.”
“That must be tough,” I said, not sure whether I was being sarcastic or not.
“It’s hasn’t been that bad, actually,” he said.
I looked into his face and I knew he was speaking sincerely.
“Hey!” I said excitedly, struck by a sudden flash of inspiration. “I just had a great idea.”
“Stop!” Kai put up his hand, laughing.
“But you don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“Yeah, I do, and I thank you for it, but I’m not going to join the Dream Riders.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry! Horses are just not my thing!”
“No, don’t be. I mean, I’m not interested in games. It’s okay.”
“But we can still be friends, can’t we? Even though we don’t have those things in common?”
“I don’t know, Kai. You’re the one who stopped hanging out with me last year because I wasn’t interested in all that stuff.”
“That was so dumb. Would you believe me if I told you I’ve realised how fully stupid that was?”
We smiled at each other.
“So what are you going to do now?” I asked, as I picked up my bag. “Now that you’re banned from talking to your friends online?”
“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we? That’s a good start.”
I was about to head back to the classrooms, when he put his hand on my arm.
“Wait, Frankie. That’s not the only reason my parents sent me up here. There’s something else I have to tell
you.” He was frowning, and his eyes were filled with pain.
“Kai, what is it?”
“It’s about Jingy.”
“Jingy?” I’d been talking to her regularly when Kai’s family phoned him every night. She was always so warm and friendly, she seemed like the same old Jingy to me.
“Since last year she’s had an eating disorder, and then soon after they sent me here, she went into hospital for specialised treatment.”
I gasped. I don’t know much about eating disorders, but I knew that this was very serious.
“I didn’t want to leave her,” said Kai, “but when I got suspended Mum and Dad decided that I needed to have a proper break. Then you were all so nice to me – especially you, Frankie – that when things got even worse, and Jingy went into hospital, we all decided that it would be better for me to stay away.”
“Is she going to be okay?” Suddenly I felt horribly afraid.
“Yeah, she’s doing really well, actually.” He gave me a quick smile and I felt weak with relief. “They were really helpful at the hospital, and so now she’s back at home. She’s started hassling me all the time again, too, which I think is a good sign.”
“Yay Jingy!” It was awful to think of Jingy being in hospital, and Kai’s whole family being so stressed out. Somehow I’d just assumed my family was the one having all the problems. “But why didn’t you tell me?”
“For ages she didn’t want anyone to know. She’s slightly more relaxed about it now, though, and the other day she said it would be okay for me to tell you.”
I tried to imagine what it must have been like for Kai, knowing Jingy was suffering and being so far away from her, and not able to even talk to anyone about it.
“I’m so sorry, Kai. Is there anything I can do? I’d really like to. Even just to send her a present, or call her, or something.”
“Not at the moment. It’s still pretty raw, if you know what I mean. But I’ll definitely tell her that you asked.”
“Then is there anything I can do to help you?”
“You are helping, Frankie, by being a good friend.”
“But I haven’t been!”
“Yeah, even when you were mad at me, you have. You know, at first I felt terrible that they’d sent me away up here, but now, even though I really miss them – Jingy especially – I’m glad.”
“Me too,” I said.
That night Mum and I talked about Jingy, and she repeated what Kai had said: That they’d been able to really help her in the hospital, and that now she was recovering really well at home.
“Thank you,” I said, hugging Mum extra hard before I went to bed.
“What for?” she said, hugging me extra hard back.
“For everything. But especially for convincing me to give Kai another chance.”
Twenty-six
“Okay Frankie,” said Shannon. We were standing in the covered arena. “We’re going to practise something that will be brilliant in your liberty demonstration, if you can pull it off. Otherwise it’s going to be a humiliating failure.”
“Uh huh.”
“It’s going to test you. It’s going to break your heart. It’s going to …”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “Stop!”
She was laughing and so I laughed, nervously, too. “What is it? Seriously. I’m terrified!”
“You’re going to send Zen away from you all the way to the edge of the arena, and then you’re going to ask him to come back to you. It’s called The Draw.”
“That’s it?”
“If it goes well the effect is spectacular.”
“Okey dokey.” Things had been going really well lately with Zen, I reminded myself. I had every reason to feel confident.
The basic starting point, Shannon explained, was to stand face to face with Zen, and ask him to disengage his hindquarter – which means crossing his back feet over each other as he stepped away from me – either to the right or to the left. The first thing to do, as always, was to think about him doing it. The next phase of firmness was feel, so I lifted my hand, with my arm bent at the elbow, holding up his lead rope.
“Now send energy from your bellybutton to his hindquarter.”
I tried not to giggle as I sent out a laser shaft of dancing energy to Zen’s butt.
“If he doesn’t step his back feet away when you are face to face, move one step at a time around him to direct your energy more at his bum,” said Shannon. “You’re using your soft eyes to look. Once you’ve got him to take a step, you stop.”
That came surprisingly easily, and we quickly moved on.
“Now I want you to send Zen out into a circle around you to the edge of the yard and ask him to stop moving. It’s called The Disengagement, which is when he crosses his hind feet over into a stop. Instead of asking him to stop completely, though, you’re going to ask him to turn and keep coming towards you in a straight line, through the centre of the circle.”
We had only been working on this for half an hour so far, but my brain was already starting to feel full.
“To do that, you’ve got to magnetise him towards you.”
“Magnetise,” I repeated flatly.
“You’ve got to scoop him up with your energy. Draw him towards you.”
I imagined a wave of energy springing away from me, curling under Zen and drawing him near. It worked! Zen came walking towards me in a straight line, stopping just a foot away from me.
“And voila!” said Shannon, delighted. “That’s why it’s called The Draw.”
That was all good, but there was no way I would be able to remember all the things she was telling me, let alone reproduce them when I was on my own. Shannon got me to send Zen out in a circle to the edge of the ring again, but this time when I sent the wave out to scoop Zen up and magnetise him to me, he turned around and walked off to the right instead.
“The critical moment to ask him to turn to you is when his ribcage is passing your bellybutton,” said Shannon. “The timing of this is crucial.”
The next time I tried, Zen turned and went the other way, and after that things went from bad to worse.
“You’re focusing on the wrong part of his body,” Shannon reminded me gently, every time.
“That’s because he keeps moving,” I snapped as I tried desperately, over and over again, to scoop him up and magnetise him the way I had the first time.
“You’re giving him mixed messages,” said Shannon finally, when Zen had come towards me like I wanted him to, but then kept walking straight through me. He would have run me over if I hadn’t stepped aside.
“What’s got into him?” I gasped. “He’s never been like this, not even on that first really bad day at pony club.”
“Well, now he’s got an opinion,” said Shannon. “He knows you’re listening to him, and he’s telling you that you’re making him feel horribly confused.”
“I’m making myself feel horribly confused,” I said miserably. Maybe this liberty demonstration was a really bad idea.
Over the next two weeks I practised The Draw, and failed, every day. Zen would trot when I wanted him to walk, or he would simply ignore me. After each session I spent time re-establishing our connection, going over our basic groundwork exercises to make sure we ended with something positive, and taking extra care when I was grooming and feeding him, only to wreck it all again the next day when we practised The Draw again.
“Can’t we just not do this move?” I begged Shannon after one terrible afternoon. “With the music and the way we play together and chase each other, it’s still going to be a fun routine.”
“But not nearly as exciting, Frankie. This is a really profound and challenging move.”
“What’s so profound about it?” I muttered. It was hard to see what was so profound about bickering for half an hour every day with an equally irritated horse.
“Most people, when they talk to a horse, are talking to their head, but the place they really need to be focusing on is their
backside. A horse’s hindquarter controls how the horse goes forwards, and how they stop, and you need to be talking to, and managing, the energy coming from there. And some horses won’t just give it over. The more self-confidence they have the more you really have to earn it.”
“I guess I should be glad Zen has a lot of self-confidence,” I said, glumly.
“Zen won’t stop moving when you ask him to, or move his hind legs, until he has total respect and complete trust in you as his leader. When you can do The Draw, Frankie, you’ll know that you’ve won Zen over.”
I kept working at it, taking Zen into the arena to practise every morning or afternoon. Somehow, every day, I would be so keen to get The Draw happening that I would forget to do something, so even though I had learned something new the previous day, I was still getting it wrong. I would forget to start by facing Zen, or forget to get him to move his hindquarters gradually at first and yield just one step.
The trouble was, Zen had found his voice by doing natural horsemanship with me, so now we were having a two-way discussion. If I got it wrong too many times, or started out with something confusing, he would simply take off, snatching the lead rope, spinning on his haunches and trotting away from me.
“When I began learning natural horsemanship I cried every day,” said Shannon after one particularly frustrating afternoon.
“How long did that go on for?” I asked Shannon through my tears. Sometimes it was hard not to think that Zen just didn’t like me any more.
“Two years.”
“Is that meant to be encouraging? This is so hard.”
“It’s all just part of working with horses, Frankie.” Shannon shrugged. “You have to see this as part of building your mettle. You’ve got to be prepared for the hard stuff as well as the great stuff. You’re training for the moment that your horse is going to say no to you, so that when those nos come along you will have a toolbox full of ideas learned from hard experience like now, or from tips and tricks you have picked up along the way to know what to do in those difficult moments with confidence.”
Dream Riders Page 10
