Pony Tails 07- Jasmine Trots Ahead

by Bonnie Bryant

It was a perfect summer Monday. The Pony Tails were riding their ponies in long, lazy circles around the Grovers’ paddock.

  “Is this great or what?” said Corey Takamura.

  “Great,” said Jasmine James.

  “Miserable!” said May Grover.

  Jasmine and Corey turned to look at May in wonder.

  “What’s wrong?” Corey asked.

  May took a deep breath. A week earlier, she’d gotten a diary for her birthday. And not a single exciting thing had happened since.

  May knew that a diary was just a bunch of blank pages. She knew her diary wasn’t human. But somehow that didn’t matter. She was beginning to get the feeling that her diary thought she was boring.

  “What am I going to put in my diary?” she asked the others.

  “You could explain about the Pony Tails,” said Corey. “How we’re totally pony-crazy. And how we’re not a club but just good friends.”

  “I did that on Friday,” May groaned.

  “You could tell how Corey moved into the house between your house and my house,” Jasmine said.

  “I did that on Saturday,” May moaned. “I’ve told everything there is to tell.”

  From inside the Grovers’ barn came a thumping sound.

  “What’s that?” Jasmine asked. “That could be interesting.”

  “Dad’s getting a new horse. He’s fixing the stall,” May said. Mr. Grover was a horse trainer, and he was always having horses stay over in the stable.

  “Every day doesn’t have to be exciting,” said Jasmine.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” May grumbled. “You don’t have a diary.”

  Macaroni, May’s pony, snorted and tossed his yellow mane.

  “Did you see that?” May wailed. “Even Macaroni thinks I’m boring.”

  Corey and Jasmine exchanged worried looks. May was really upset.

  Macaroni stumbled.

  “Wait a second,” Corey said. “I don’t think Macaroni is bored. I think it’s something else.”

  Macaroni moved forward in a slow, lurching walk.

  “What’s wrong, Mac?” said May.

  “I think it’s his right front foot,” Corey said. Corey’s mom, who was known as Doc Tock, was a veterinarian. She didn’t take care of horses—she took care of small animals. But Corey had learned a lot from her.

  Suddenly May was all business. If there was something wrong with Macaroni’s foot, she knew she had to find out what it was right away.

  Gently she steered Macaroni over to the fence and got ready to dismount. She kicked both her feet out of the stirrups and put her left hand on Macaroni’s neck and her right hand on the pommel of his saddle. She swung her right leg over the saddle and jumped down.

  She went around to his other side to look at his right foot. Macaroni was holding it cocked forward so that only the front rim of his hoof was touching the ground.

  Macaroni wouldn’t do that unless his foot hurt.

  May led Macaroni to the side of the ring.

  Just then Mr. Grover appeared at the door of the barn. “What’s up?” he asked when he saw May looking at Macaroni’s hoof.

  “Mac has a sore foot.”

  Mr. Grover nodded. “Do you need help?”

  May was glad her father was there in case she needed him. But she wanted to handle this herself. “It’s probably a stone,” she said. “I’ll get the hoof pick and clean out his hoof.”

  “Good idea,” Mr. Grover said.

  May led Macaroni into the barn and put him in his stall. She took off his saddle and bridle and put on his halter. Then she fastened a rope to one side of his halter and another rope to the other side. She tied each one to the sides of the stall. She was being extracareful.

  She went to the tack room and got the hoof pick.

  When she came back, she showed it to Mac. “It’s just a pick,” she said. “I’m going to be supergentle.”

  Macaroni nodded as if he understood.

  May put her right hand on Macaroni’s neck and ran it slowly down to his chest, then to his leg, and finally down to his knee. Macaroni raised his foot.

  May propped his hoof against her leg and looked at it. The inside of the shoe was caked with dirt.

  “This won’t hurt,” she said.

  I hope, she thought.

  Being very careful, she inserted the hoof pick under the edge of the clod of dirt. She pried, but nothing happened. The dirt was firmly stuck. She pried a little harder. One edge of the clod came away. Gently she lifted it off.

  She turned the clod over. All she could see was dirt. But a stone could be hidden inside. She crumbled it.

  There was no stone.

  She looked at Macaroni’s hoof. Something must be wrong with it. Softly she touched it.

  Macaroni jumped. He jerked his foot away. His coat twitched. His ears went back. For a second May was afraid he was going to rear onto his hind legs. But then he sighed, as if he were sighing the pain out of his body. He shook himself, sending his yellow forelock into his eyes.

  May knew she needed to tell her father about this.

  She walked to the end of the stall and called, “Dad?”

  Mr. Grover appeared almost instantly.

  “It’s not a stone. It’s something else,” May said. “When I touched the inside of Mac’s hoof, it was really sore.”

  Mr. Grover nodded. “What do you think you should do?” It was one of the rules of the Grovers’ stable that May was in charge of Macaroni.

  “I guess I’d better call Judy Barker,” she said. Judy Barker was a horse vet in Willow Creek, the town in Virginia where the Pony Tails lived.

  “Good thinking,” Mr. Grover said.

  An hour later May felt a lot better. Judy Barker had come and examined Macaroni and said that it was nothing serious, just a corn.

  “Great,” May said. “Er … what’s a corn?”

  “A corn is like the calluses that grow on people’s feet,” said Judy. “It has a virus inside.”

  To May this sounded totally creepy. “Is there a cure?” she said.

  “All you have to do is call the blacksmith,” Judy said. “He’ll come and take it out.”

  “Will it hurt?” May said.

  “A little.” Judy nodded. “But Macaroni will be glad to be rid of that corn. And, knowing Macaroni the way I do, I’m sure he’ll handle the whole thing well.”

  “That’s Mac,” May said proudly. Macaroni was famous for his calm, friendly nature. At Pine Hollow Stables, where she, Corey, and Jasmine took riding lessons, Macaroni was known as the smartest, sweetest, and friendliest pony. In fact, since Macaroni was the color of macaroni and cheese, and since he was totally cool, his nickname was Mellow Yellow.

  “After the blacksmith takes the corn out, he’ll fit Macaroni with a special shoe,” Judy said. “The shoe will protect the sore spot where the corn used to be.”

  “So that’s it,” said May happily. “Everything will be fine.”

  “Absolutely,” Judy said. “Of course you won’t be able to ride Macaroni for a week or two.”

  “A week or two?” May said.

  “He’ll sleep a lot,” Judy said. “He won’t even miss riding.”

  “Hey, that’s … great,” May said. She walked with Judy to the blue pickup truck and waved good-bye as Judy drove away.

  Corey and Jasmine ran over to May.

  “What’s the story?” Jasmine asked.

  “It’s a corn,” May said. “No big deal. The blacksmith will come and take it out in the morning.”

  “That’s great,” Corey said.

  “Yeah, I guess,” May said.

  “What’s wrong?” Jasmine said.

  “I can’t go riding for a week,” May said. “Or two.” She shook her head. “Why did I wish something exciting would happen?”

  2 The Craft Fair

  “Just because Macaroni has to rest doesn’t mean you can’t ride,” Jasmine said. “You can ride Outlaw.”

  Outlaw was
Jasmine’s pony. He had a white mask that looked like an outlaw’s mask, and a brown coat and mane. Not only was he called Outlaw, he was an outlaw. When Jasmine told him to trot, he wanted to canter. When she wanted him to canter, he wanted to gallop.

  May knew that riding Outlaw would be a challenge.

  “That’s really nice of you,” she said. “I totally appreciate it.”

  “You can also ride Sam,” Corey said. Sam had a curved white blaze like a samurai sword on his nose. Sam was as bold and independent as a samurai warrior.

  May knew she would have fun riding Sam.

  “Thanks,” she said. “That’s really great. The only thing is”—she took a deep breath—“I already miss riding Macaroni.”

  “I know how you feel,” Corey said. “If it was Sam, I’d feel the same way.” She put her arms around May.

  “Me too,” said Jasmine, putting her arms around the two of them.

  “Poor May,” Corey said. “We’ve got to do something.”

  “Wait a second. I have an idea,” Jasmine said. “How about some homemade cookies and a glass of milk?” Jasmine knew May was crazy about her mother’s cookies.

  May felt a bit better. Not only was Jasmine’s mother an artist at painting and crafts, she was an artist at baking. May thought Mrs. James’s cookies belonged in the Cookie Hall of Fame.

  “I guess I could handle it,” May said, grinning.

  As they headed for Jasmine’s house, they walked through May’s backyard and then through Corey’s.

  “We’re Pony Tails on the Pony Trail,” May said cheerfully. “We’ve worn our own special trail through the three backyards.” She pointed to the faint but unmistakable path leading from one backyard to another.

  “I like it,” Corey said. “Pony Tails on the Pony Trail heading for a supersnack.”

  The trail led straight to Jasmine’s back door.

  Jasmine opened the door and let them into the mudroom, where the James family kept boots and other messy things. The Pony Tails took off their boots and hung them upside down on the boot rack. Jasmine put on the sneakers she’d left next to the door. May and Corey put on the special felt slippers that Mrs. James had made for guests.

  They walked into the kitchen.

  Mrs. James was sitting at the table.

  “Hi, Mrs. J.,” said May. May had known Mrs. James forever. In fact, she had known her more than forever. May’s mom and Mrs. James had been friends when they were pregnant with May and Jasmine.

  “Hi,” said Mrs. James without much enthusiasm.

  It wasn’t like Mrs. James to give May such a small hello. May wondered if something was wrong.

  Jasmine lifted the lid off the cookie jar and said, “We’ve got chocolate chip cookies. We’ve got oatmeal. We’ve got peanut butter. We’ve got pecan.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs. James.

  “Is something wrong?” Jasmine said.

  “It’s that horrible cookie smell,” Mrs. James said.

  May, Corey, and Jasmine looked at each other in amazement. How could the smell of freshly baked cookies be horrible?

  “What is it, Mom?” Jasmine said.

  “It’s morning sickness,” said Mrs. James, putting her hand on her stomach.

  “Mornings make you sick?” said May.

  “It’s because I’m pregnant,” Mrs. James explained. “The first thing in the morning I feel kind of …”

  “Yucky?” May said.

  “That’s just the word I was searching for,” Mrs. James said with a wan smile. “I feel better as the day wears on.”

  “When you were pregnant with me, did I make you sick?” asked Jasmine.

  “It’s part of being pregnant,” Mrs. James said.

  “That’s terrible,” Jasmine said. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Believe me, it was worth it,” Mrs. James said. “I have you.”

  But she still looked miserable.

  Jasmine put her arms around her mom’s shoulders and said, “What’s wrong?”

  With their long hair and their delicate faces, Mrs. James and Jasmine looked a lot alike, May thought.

  “I signed up for the craft fair at your school before I knew I was pregnant. And it’s on Friday,” Mrs. James said. “And I’ve been so tired I’ve hardly done anything.”

  May knew that Mrs. James was great at arts and crafts. But if Mrs. James felt sick because she was pregnant, May was sure the school would understand.

  “Just tell them,” she said.

  “I hate to let them down,” Mrs. James said. “They’re raising money for the library.”

  “Wait a second,” May said to Corey and Jasmine. “I think this calls for a meeting of the Pony Tails.” She turned to Mrs. James. “If there’s one thing the Pony Tails are good at, it’s—”

  “—solving problems,” said May, Corey, and Jasmine at the same time.

  When the Pony Tails said the same thing at the same time, they always gave each other the Pony Tail salute—they slapped each other high fives and said “Jake.” In Pony Tail lingo, jake meant great.

  “This is a pretty big problem,” Mrs. James said.

  “No problem is too big for the Pony Tails,” May said. She motioned Corey and Jasmine over to a spot next to the refrigerator.

  “So what do we do?” Jasmine said.

  “Er,” May said, “there’s bound to be a terrific solution. I know there is. I’m totally sure.”

  She tried to look as if she were about to come up with a great idea. But her mind was blank.

  “Wait a second,” Corey said. “We can …” She paused dramatically.

  May and Jasmine leaned closer.

  “We can make craft items for her,” Corey said.

  “Great idea,” Jasmine said. “I know how to use the sewing machine.”

  Terrible idea, May thought. If there was one thing May was bad at, it was sewing.

  “I can’t run the sewing machine,” Corey said. “But I can sew by hand.”

  They looked at May.

  “Um,” she said.

  Jasmine and Corey ran over to Mrs. James.

  “Can we help?” Jasmine said. “We can make craft items.”

  “Could you?” said Mrs. James, smiling hopefully. “That would be wonderful.”

  “We’ll be neat,” Corey said.

  May could see that the situation was getting out of hand. No way was she going to spend the entire week sewing. “We can do some sewing,” she said, “but don’t forget we were going to go swimming. And pick blackberries.”

  “That can wait,” Jasmine said.

  May was stunned. How could swimming wait? How could picking blackberries wait?

  “What should we make?” Corey said.

  “I’ve got a craft book upstairs,” Jasmine said. “It’s crammed with ideas.”

  Jasmine and Corey headed toward the stairs.

  May watched them. Were they crazy? Were they planning to spend this beautiful day inside?

  “I guess I better check on Macaroni,” she said in a loud voice. “I guess Macaroni is wondering where I am.”

  “Say hi to him,” said Jasmine over her shoulder.

  “Give him a big hug,” said Corey.

  As if they care, May thought. The only thing they can think about is their project.

  Jasmine and Corey disappeared at the top of the stairs.

  “See you,” said May softly.

  She jammed her hands into her pockets and turned toward the door.

  “Is everything all right?” asked Mrs. James.

  “Sure,” May said. “Absolutely. Completely.”

  “Would you like to take Macaroni an apple?” Mrs. James asked. She pointed to the bowl of apples in the center of the kitchen table.

  They were tiny red-and-green apples, Macaroni’s favorite.

  “Thanks, Mrs. J.,” May said.

  “Take two,” Mrs. James said. “They’re small.”

  May nodded. She took another apple, popped one into each
pocket, and headed toward the door.

  She could tell Macaroni about how her friends were ignoring her because of the craft project, she thought. He would understand.

  3 The Idea

  May stuck her head into Macaroni’s stall. “Hi, Mac. I’ve got a couple of apples for you.”

  He turned, blinking heavily, and yawned.

  Great, May thought, he’s supposed to be resting and I woke him up.

  “Go back to sleep, Mac,” she said.

  His head bobbed. His eyelids went down. May heard a faint snorty sound. Macaroni was snoring.

  She wandered into the tack room, where her dad was cleaning a saddle.

  “Hi, May, what’s up?” Mr. Grover asked.

  “Nothing,” May said.

  “Where are Corey and Jasmine?”

  “They’re doing a craft project,” May said glumly. “It’s sewing. You know me. When I sew, people laugh.”

  “No one’s good at everything,” Mr. Grover said.

  “You’re telling me,” said May miserably.

  Mr. Grover eyed her curiously. “How long is this sewing project going to last?”

  “Forever,” May said. But then she could see her dad waiting for her to be more precise. “Until Friday.”

  “This is Monday. It’s going to last until Friday,” Mr. Grover said. “That’s a long time.”

  “Long is putting it mildly,” May said.

  Mr. Grover finished polishing the saddle and put the chamois cloth back into the plastic carrier that held the polishing supplies. He lifted the saddle back onto the rack.

  “Why don’t you come and get the new horse with me?” he asked. “It will give you something to do.”

  May thought about it. She didn’t want Corey and Jasmine to see her moping around the barn. And anyway, meeting a new horse would be interesting.

  “Thanks, Dad,” she said.

  As they headed out of the barn, Mr. Grover said, “You’re not going to believe what this horse is called.”

  “What?”

  “Zeus. Isn’t that strange?”

  “Totally strange,” said May as she walked with her dad toward the family station wagon. “Um … why is it strange?”

  “Zeus was the king of the gods in ancient Greece,” Mr. Grover said.

  “Well, it must be some horse,” May said.

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Mr. Grover with a smile.