by Janet Rising
Two-thirds. We’d qualified!
“I don’t believe it—we’re going to Brookdale!” shouted Katy, hanging around Bluey’s neck and smothering him with kisses. Bluey looked pleased in a pleased-pony sort of way.
Bean did a dance on the spot, causing Tiffany to stick her head in the air and run backward.
“Hear that, Moth? We’re off to the big-time!” James said.
Moth said nothing.
“Drummer, you’re going to Brookdale, what do you think of that?” I told Drum.
“Do I have to wear those ear things there?” Drum replied.
“Oh, I so wish I was on the team. It’s not fair!” wailed Dee.
“But you’re always riding Dolly at all the top shows!” Katy reminded her.
“It’s not the same—really, it isn’t,” Dee whined.
I couldn’t believe we were going. We really were going.
To Brookdale.
I imagined riding around the famous arena, bumping into show jumpers, being applauded in the main ring. Awesome!
We hastily straightened ourselves up so we wouldn’t look too shabby next to the horse trailer–sister–cousin combo, and we were excitedly waiting to go into the main arena to collect our ribbons when the loudspeaker crackled into action again, informing everyone that an objection had been lodged. And that it needed to be cleared before the placings could be recorded. It boomed out across the showground to tell everyone that the objection was against a member of the Great Eight.
Pia Edwards.
Me.
Chapter 12
I gulped. What had I done? Had I broken the rules? If so, how? Which bit of equipment had I left off Drum? Thoughts raced around my head, but I couldn’t imagine what the objection could be about.
“It’s your awful granddad,” Bean hissed to Dee. “I bet it’s against the rules to get help from dead relations.”
“Who would know?” mumbled Dee guiltily.
“You should let dead granddads lie,” Katy told her.
“What could be the reason, Pia?” James asked, and I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders. How could I know?
“I’ll come with you. Let’s go,” he said grimly, and leaving Drum and Moth with the others, we made our way to the secretary’s tent. And guess who was there with two of the organizers—a woman in glasses and a man in a tweed coat? Cat and Leanne. My heart sank. If Cat was behind this, it had to be bad. James said who we were, and the woman looked all flustered at me over her glasses.
“I’m Julia Williams and this is Robert Best. We’re two of the judges for this Sublime Equine Challenge.” We knew that. They both wore name badges under another enamel badge that said JUDGE.
“What seems to be the problem?” James asked briskly. My throat seemed to have dried up, and I didn’t trust myself to speak. I felt guilty, even though I was sure I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Julia Williams turned to Cat. “Er, well, this young lady seems to think your teammate has an unfair advantage,” she explained.
“You know what I’m talking about,” cried Cat, lifting her chin defiantly. Leanne looked a bit uncomfortable.
“No, I don’t,” I croaked. Because I didn’t.
“You’re a Pony Whisperer. You can communicate with the ponies. That’s how you do your wild card show. It isn’t fair, and you know it!”
I sniggered. I couldn’t help it.
“It’s no laughing matter, young lady,” said Robert Best sternly.
“It is!” I said, turning to Cat. “You’ve always said I wasn’t a Pony Whisperer! You’ve always insisted that I was lying. But now that it suits you, you want me to be.” I could feel Epona in my jodhpurs pocket, and a shiver ran down my spine. They couldn’t search me, could they?
“That is true, Cat,” James said. Then he turned to Robert Best. “Honestly, Mr. Best, Ms. Williams, do you really believe that Pia here can possibly communicate with ponies? I mean, do you?” He was a cool one; James knew that I could.
Both judges looked sheepish. Clearly, they didn’t believe it at all. Julia Williams coughed. “Well, we have to take all objections seriously,” she said, “and Catriona here says that Pia has been on the television, with her own show.”
My heart did a somersault. She had me there, I couldn’t deny that. Was I going to be disqualified? If so, our team would be out, with no chance of getting to Brookdale. Cat was just being spiteful—she’d qualified for Brookdale, and getting me disqualified didn’t benefit her or her team at all. I couldn’t understand why she was being so mean. The trouble was, Cat was right—I did have an advantage, a huge one. But then, I realized with a start, so did she. Glancing at James, I could see that the same thought had occurred to him, too.
“Hey, Leanne,” he said. “Got a minute? Outside?”
“What? Now?”
“Oh, yes, right now! Excuse us.” James steered Leanne out of the tent.
“Now, Catriona,” said Julia Williams, “how can you possibly prove your incredible accusation?”
“Yes, Cat, how are you going to do that? Ask the ponies?” I said sarcastically.
“You’re a cheat!” Cat said quietly, her green eyes blazing.
“Well, I really don’t see how we can reach any kind of agreement on this,” said Julia Williams.
“But the fact remains that an objection has been lodged,” interrupted Robert Best. “If this girl has had her own television show, then we have to believe that she has some ability and may, with all things considered, have some advantage...”
Things were looking grim. Where was James? What was he doing? And why was it taking him so long?
“Therefore, I have no choice but to uphold—”
“Stop! ” shouted Leanne, bursting into the tent with James hot on her heels. “We’ve changed our minds. We don’t want to lodge an objection after all.”
“What?! ” screamed Cat, totally losing it.
“Yes, I mean, no, I mean, we honestly don’t want to. Sorry, but it’s all been a terrible mistake. Come on, Cat, let’s go.”
“But she’s about to be thrown out!” Leanne whispered something in Catriona’s ear. Cat said nothing. She just pressed her lips together, turned white, and stormed out of the tent with Leanne running to catch up with her.
“That seems to be the end of the objection,” said James meekly, smiling at Julia Williams and Robert Best.
“This is all very irregular,” said Robert Best.
“Well, I’m glad it’s all resolved.” Julia Williams sighed, clearly not a fan of confrontation.
Relieved, we bolted back to the others and got them up to speed.
“Good thing we had an ace up our sleeves,” explained James. “If Pia hadn’t overhead the Dweeb fessing up to the piebald, we’d have been out for sure. It was a close one.”
“But that just makes it worse,” said Katy, who is very honest. “It was Pia’s pony whispering skills that allowed her to find that out in the first place, proving Cat’s point. Maybe we should be disqualified.”
“Oh, Katy, don’t be so noble!” exclaimed Bean. “Cat’s team has a red-hot show jumping pony to help them. That’s cheating, too. Even more so!”
“But now they go through, too,” Dee pointed out. “That can’t be right either!”
“Well, we’ll just have to beat them fair and square at Brookdale!” said James.
I shuddered. It had been a narrow escape, and I felt a bit shivery about it. Technically, Cat was right, I did have an advantage, a big one. But they had championship show jumper Platinum Bell on their team. If either team won the Sublime Equine Challenge, would that be right? How could we justify two wrongs—when everyone knows they don’t make a right.
Whether it was wrong or right, I couldn’t let the team down now. I twirled Epona around in my pocket. Ever since I’d found her, she’d presented me with problems— this was just her latest. But I was in this thing now, and in too far to stop. James was right; we had to beat Catriona’s team fair a
nd square. But could we? And if we did, weren’t we just as bad?
Why were things always so difficult? Oh, pooh, pooh, pooh!
Chapter 13
Despite the bad feeling with Leanne and Cat, I was really excited about Drummer and me going to Brookdale. I mean, how totally fab was that? I kept grinning to myself and jumping up and punching the air and shouting “Yes! ” to no one at all. I couldn’t wait to tell Mom all about it. But when I got home, there was a note in the kitchen to say she’d gone to some classical concert with Greg, and that she’d left me a chicken pot pie in the fridge. Mom always said she hated classical music, said it put her in a bad mood. She always preferred modern music. She even liked some rap. I wondered whether she’d told Greg about that. It seemed Carol was right—Greg was training my mom, and music was the latest subject.
A vision of life with Greg wafted before my eyes: Greg taking up valuable space on our sofa, feet up, eyes shut, hands conducting a violin concerto. Greg in charge of the TV remote, forcing us to watch cultural programs instead of the usual mindless stuff we like, and asking us questions all the way through to check whether we were paying attention. Greg going on about collective nouns and personal pronouns and being all teacherish—all the time! It was too unbearable for words. As I banged a plate onto the countertop and slammed the cutlery draw shut, the séance idea never seemed so appealing.
Then my cell phone rang. It was Dad.
“Hi, Pumpkin!” he boomed down the phone. He was always so happy these days, and I realized with a pang that I couldn’t remember him being like that when he’d been with us.
“Hello, Dad,” I replied, glad I could tell him about Brookdale. I was dying to tell somebody! I’d worry about the “pumpkin” thing another day.
“Oh, that’s marvelous, Pia,” enthused Dad, after I’d explained. “I’m very proud of you. When is it? We’ll have to come and see you, especially as Lyn is having riding lessons at Stocks Hall. Her instructor says she’s a natural.”
What?! A green film of jealousy misted over my eyes. What I wouldn’t do to have lessons at Stocks Hall—I’d ride like an Olympic gold medalist if I did! There could only be three reasons why Skinny’s instructor said she was a natural:
1. The instructor was either a. blind or b. stupid (or both!).
2. He was sucking up ’cause lessons at Stocks Hall cost an arm and a leg.
3. Skinny was, indeed, a natural.
Obviously, it had to be one of the first two—or possibly both.
“You’ll have to go riding together,” Dad went on. “How about on vacation? We could go to Greece, or Spain, or a riding safari in Africa. I might even try riding myself! A vacation together would be fun, wouldn’t it, Pia?”
I decided not to go there. My brain was hijacked by the image of the Ouija board again. I had to get a grip and put that out of my mind—talk about evil taking hold!
Dad rattled on some more, telling me all about how he and Skinny had been there, done that, blah, blah, and I said “oh, nice” and “really?” and “sounds good” in all the right places, and then he hung up after reminding me of his plan for us all to go riding together. He was certainly on a mission there.
He didn’t ask about Mom. He used to in the early days when he left her for Skinny, but now he didn’t seem to care. I heard myself sigh. Maybe an African safari would be cool. I wondered what the horses would be like in the bush, and whether Epona would let me hear what the zebras were saying.
The smell of burning pastry snapped me out of my thoughts, and I turned off the oven, feeling a bit sorry for myself. Dad hadn’t got the relevance of my Brookdale news at all. I wanted someone to get excited with me, to scream and be all animated and tell me what a terrific, thrilling, amazing thing I’d done and how clever I’d been. I mean, that’s what parents are for, aren’t they? To build you up? Not run on about their girlfriends or leave you with a chicken pot pie for company while they go and listen to Schubert or Chopin or whatever. Right now, I wanted it to be about me. Me, me, me!
Mom still wasn’t home by the time I went to bed, so she still didn’t know her daughter’s huge, amazing news. I went to bed really annoyed—which seemed very wrong seeing as I’d qualified to go to Brookdale, if anyone was interested. Which they clearly were not!
The next day, I decided to sulk and keep my Brookdale news to myself. Mom, however, couldn’t wait to tell me all about her evening.
“But you always said you hated classical music,” I muttered, determined to remind her.
“Yes, I know, Pia, but I need to keep an open mind. New experiences are so broadening. Greg says I need to go places I wouldn’t think of going to, to open my mind to new experiences. He says I really ought to learn to appreciate the arts.”
“Not if you don’t enjoy them,” I said, determined to disagree with everything Greg said.
“But Greg says I don’t know whether I’ll enjoy them. I need to discover that there’s a whole world out there.”
“OK, does that include asking whether other people have exciting news?” I hinted.
“I need to go shopping,” Mom said, ignoring me. “I’ll ask Carol to come with me. I need some new clothes, something more suitable for classy events. Everyone there last night was more dressed up than me. Greg says I need something long, an evening dress. I’m letting him down.”
“Did he actually say that?” I said, feeling my hackles rising.
“Well, not in so many words, but I did feel kinda frumpy,” she continued. “I could tell Greg was uncomfortable— embarrassed even, especially when we bumped into some friends of his. They all looked very elegant. Perhaps I’ll try that fancy boutique in town…what’s it called…Toto… Totum…Too-too?”
“The one you said was run by the old bag with the facelift?” I reminded her. “Who sells the sort of clothes you always said were over-the-top and overpriced?” I went on, rubbing it in. Honestly, what had Cotton-Ball-Hair done to my mom?
“Well, I need something. I don’t want to feel like that again. Greg’s taking me to an exhibition at Splash! that fancy art gallery next week, and he said I’ll need to dress up. But I’m not sure I can carry off anything too couture. I’m still carrying some extra weight. Greg says I need to loose at least five pounds, and—”
“What?” I screamed.
Mom stopped and looked at me as though she’d just remembered I was there.
“Listen to yourself!” I ranted. “Greg says this, Greg wants that, Greg thinks something else. What do you want, Mom? Do you really want to be with a man who makes you feel shabby? Who tells you you’re fat? Who tells you what to wear? Shouldn’t you be with someone who likes you because of what you are now, not what he wants to make you into?”
Mom looked stunned, but I was off, and I couldn’t stop now.
“You were fine when you met Greg, now all you do is what he wants. Remember how you were when Dad left? You’re ten times more confident now. You don’t need Greg—or anyone like him. You need someone who accepts and appreciates you for yourself. Who does Greg think he is, anyway? He’s so nerdy, Mom, he doesn’t deserve you.”
“That’s enough, Pia!” Mom found her voice at last, and I realized how rude I’d been. But I’d had it up to here with Greg. My mom didn’t need him. Couldn’t she see it?
“I’m going to see Drummer!” I yelled, running out of the door and slamming it behind me. I was behaving badly, but I was really upset at the thought of Greg telling my mom what to do—and he’d completely overshadowed my news of qualifying for Brookdale!
By the time I got to the yard, I felt dreadful. I hate fighting with Mom. Close to tears, I found Drummer in the field, rubbing his tail on a tree.
“Hey,” I said crossly, “stop that!”
“I think I’ve got pinworms,” he grumbled.
“So not the greeting I was hoping for!”
“Well, I thought you would want to know, so you can do something about it,” he said. “You’re sweetness and light this
morning. What’s up?”
“Family!” I said. “Oooh, they’re so annoying!”
“Skinny Lynny?” asked Drummer.
“Not this time. It’s Mom. Or rather, it’s her latest boyfriend. He’s such a know-it-all and he keeps bossing her around. I can’t seem to make her see what a total loser he is.”
“Mmmm, love is blind,” Drummer said, his gaze drifting toward Bambi, who was rolling in the dust patch by the gate.
“Are you still infatuated with her?” I asked him.
“What can I say? She’s the one.” He sighed.
“She hates you,” I reminded him.
“We’re destined to be together. Bambi just doesn’t know it yet. Besides”—he looked at me again—“people and ponies have to make their own mistakes. You can’t stop them from taking wrong paths. It just makes them more determined to prove you wrong.”
I don’t know how Drummer knows so much about life and love and the universe and everything. Either he’s very wise or he’s just good at talking horse poop, which sounds more likely. I chewed the inside of my mouth and thought about it.
“But Greg’s such a dork!” I wailed.
“Yeah, well, if that’s true, your mom will see it eventually,” Drum assured me. “Now, how about taking me in for a bite to eat? Something tasty, some pony cubes, maybe some sugar beet, a few handfuls of coarse mix? It must be breakfast time—and if we don’t get a move on, it will merge into lunchtime, and I’ll miss out. Come on!”
So we wandered in, and then Bean and Katy arrived, and we spent the morning practicing braiding manes and tails and dreaming about winning Brookdale and galloping around the big arena, and although Mom was still seeing Greg, and Skinny was still having riding lessons at Stocks Hall, and nobody seemed impressed that I was going to Brookdale, it somehow didn’t seem so bad when I was with everyone else and I had Drummer to talk to. It didn’t seem so bad at all.
Chapter 14
It was James who thought of it. It was such a totally obvious thing to consider.
But nobody had.
