Pony Rebellion, page 2
Aaaaanyway, we trotted around behind the others and I thought the different colors of the ponies looked really nice from my vantage point—and was grateful Drum was nowhere near his beloved Bambi. This, I thought, is a great place to be in an activity ride and perfect for someone (like me) who isn’t blessed with a superduper memory. I could easily see what I had to do and just follow the others. A weight-off-my-mind moment, definitely.
Unfortunately, Sophie didn’t share my thoughts.
“James, you’ll have to slow down. You’re leaving the others behind,” she told him as Bluey struggled to match Moth’s stride and the gap between them widened.
James turned in the saddle. “Oh, come on, Moth’s barely trying!” he said. Moth rattled on, eating up the ground. A bright chestnut with a white blaze and four white legs, she always went everywhere in a hurry. She was the one pony I never heard speak. Trusting James alone, Moth talks only to him—when he borrows Epona from me as translator.
“Moth always storms along as though her tail’s on fire,” moaned Cat. Lively Bambi wasn’t exactly a limo, horse-wise either, and couldn’t keep up with James. Tiffany, on the other hand, had a longer stride.
“I’ll go behind James,” volunteered Bean, cantering into the gap.
“Oh great,” moaned Katy, after another circuit, “now both of you are lapping the rest of us.”
It was true. Moth and Tiffany were streaking ahead.
“Mmmm, that won’t do,” said Sophie, shaking her head. “You two are going to have to slow down. And besides, if you’re in second, Bean, you’ll be a leader at some point, and Tiffany isn’t reliable enough to do that job. Let’s try Katy in the lead.”
So we did. But that didn’t work either. Poor Bluey, Katy’s chunky blue roan, held up everyone. The best at jumping cross-country, Bluey’s stride was too short to be a leader.
“You’ll have to go at the back, Katy,” Sophie told her. “You can cut the corners to catch up without hurrying poor Bluey along. Let’s try Cat and Bambi in the lead—Pia, you put yourself behind them, then James behind Drummer, Bean behind James as Moth’s and Tiffany’s strides match and they’ll make a good pair, then you, Dee, because you can get Dolly to alter her stride, and finally Bluey. Come on, let’s try it trotting!”
“Thank goodness!” I heard Bluey puff. “I thought I was going to pass out there for a minute.”
Drummer was thrilled. Trotting along behind Bambi’s ample chestnut-and-white backside, I could hear Drummer sigh in contentment. He was thrilled. Thrilled didn’t explain how I was feeling. My plan had been to stay well away from Cat, and here I was, thundering along behind her. And what happened to me being able to copy the others?
Pooh!
“Now we’ll try some simple drill movements!” yelled Sophie. “Whole ride turn up the center from C to A, then split up at A—first left, second right.”
That’s better, I thought as I turned Drum away from Bambi and we rode along the long side with lots of beautiful nothing in front of us. Maybe I could cope after all.
“Now get level with your partner as you ride along the long side and come up the center again in pairs!” yelled Sophie.
What? My partner? Of course, being second meant I was paired with Cat. My heart sank. This was so not turning out as I had anticipated.
We managed it. It’s not easy being a pair with someone you’re not talking to. At least there is one blessing, I thought. Usually, I expected Cat to make snarky comments: with her concentration on the drill riding and with Sophie overseeing us, she was at least mute, rather than rude.
“Oh that’s fabulous!” enthused Sophie. “Drum and Bambi make a perfect pair. Their strides match completely. Moth and Tiffany are good together—I knew they would be—and Dee, if you can get Dolly to shorten her stride just a shade more, she and Bluey will match too. Just remember to cut the corners rather than rushing as it looks more professional. Super!”
Was Sophie joking? Drum and Bambi a perfect pair? Did that mean Cat and I were stuck together for the rest of the ride?
Suddenly, this activity ride didn’t seem like such a great idea, after all.
“The colors work well too,” Sophie continued. “A skewbald and bay in front, Moth and Tiffany look well together being chestnut and palomino—especially with Moth’s white legs—and Dolly and Bluey are shades of gray. Perfect! You all look fantastic!”
Cat glanced across at me with a thunderous expression, and I realized that she hated being paired with me just as much as I with her. Sophie must know how much we don’t get along, I thought. She had to realize how tricky it made things, putting us together.
Cat could bear it no longer. “Are you certain Bambi and Drum should be paired?” she shouted. “I think Drummer’s having trouble keeping up with Bambi.”
“He most certainly isn’t!” I said, angry on Drummer’s behalf.
“No, I most certainly am not!” said Drummer testily.
“Yes, yes, you look fabulous together!” enthused Sophie, ignoring her cell phone’s ringtone for once. “Now let’s try some more movements. As you come up the center line this time and split up, I want you to come across the school from the quarter markers and go across the middle diagonally, one at a time, in the same order you are in single file. Got that?”
I thought so. We came up the center in trot, we split up, we turned diagonally across the school, and I let Catriona and Bambi go first before urging Drummer onto the opposite side, aware that James and Moth were storming along behind Cat and racing us across the middle.
“Slow down, James!” yelled Sophie.
“Hurry up, Pia!” yelled James, reining in Moth.
“You’re going too fast!” I yelled back, urging Drummer on. Drummer broke into a canter and sped for the opposite side of the school.
“Slow down, Pia. You’re not supposed to canter!” yelled Sophie.
“Who am I supposed to go in front of?” asked Bean.
“Me!” shouted Dee. “Hurry up!”
“Slow down, Bluey can’t go that fast!” complained Katy as her blue roan scuttled along, puffing.
“Stop, stop!” shouted Sophie, rather unnecessarily as Tiffany, Dolly, and Bluey formed a pileup in the center.
“Is everyone supposed to be just milling around?” asked Drummer, and we pulled up.
I leaned forward and patted his bay neck. “No, we’re not,” I explained. “We haven’t got the hang of it yet.”
“Yet? You’re optimistic,” I heard him murmur.
“You have to keep your heads on straight,” instructed Sophie, “and look at what everyone else is doing so you can adjust your own pony’s stride. You need to ride without looking at your pony, but at everyone else so you know where they are and where you’re supposed to be next. Don’t worry, though, these things are always a mess at the start. You’ll soon get the hang of it after a few practices.”
“Are you sure?” said Bean doubtfully.
“Positive!” said Sophie firmly. “You’ll soon be flying over the jumps in formation. I promise you! Now let’s try again.”
“What does she mean, a few practices?” asked Drummer.
“We need to practice—we’re going to perform at an Equine Extravaganza,” I told him.
“How many is ‘a few’?”
“Don’t start,” I said, my heart sinking.
“No, really, how many? Three? Four? More than four?”
“A lot more than four,” I told him.
“Hummph!” snorted Drummer, shaking his head.
“Now I want to try another formation…” Sophie said, rearranging the jumps so that instead of a line of five up the center, she had four in the center arranged with each jump at right angles to the next like a big X, and designed to be jumped from quarter marker to quarter marker. Luckily, the poles were made of hollow plastic, so they were easy to move around.
“OK, now as you come across from the quarter markers I want you to jump over these—keep to the left-hand one—in the same order as you did when they weren’t there, so Cat jumps first, then Pia, followed by James, Bean, Dee, and Katy. You need to keep straight and get your timing right. Up for it?”
We all nodded, getting ourselves into position—and it seemed to work well. Drum flew over our jump just before Moth crossed over behind us, with Bean close on our heels. It was actually starting to feel like fun!
“OK, now I want you to tackle the cross jumps in pairs, so everyone needs to ride around on the left rein in pairs. Ready?”
We were. I was on the inside, which meant Drummer had to do fairy steps as we cornered while Bambi kept wiggling around. Cat and I still weren’t communicating, but as both of us were determined not to give the other anything to complain about, we both made sure we kept in step. I could hear James and Bean having a loud argument behind us—James was accusing Bean of going too slow and Bean was telling him not to be so bossy. Perhaps Cat and I, with our silence is golden policy, had it pretty good after all.
The ponies got a little competitive in their pairs and flew over the jumps with Moth and Tiffany both trying to get ahead of the other, which meant they were breathing down our necks. Sophie scolded James and Bean a little bit, but praised everyone else. We tried it on both reins, and it was really good. I found that I was riding Drummer without thinking about it. Instead, I was looking around and making sure I was level with Cat, and in line for the jumps, and my riding became more instinctive. Asking Drummer to lengthen and shorten his stride to keep with Bambi and get away from Moth and Tiffany behind us made me concentrate more too, and I couldn’t hear the ponies moaning as much as usual because they had so many instructions from their riders. This activity ride was improving our riding—which was an added bonus.
“OK, that’s wonderful!” cheered Sophie as we all came to a halt. The ponies were puffing a bit—and so were we. “I think you’ve all done really well. You look like an activity ride already!” Sophie continued. “We’ll call it a day. Can you all make tomorrow for another practice? And then Monday after school, say five o’clock?”
Everyone could.
“What? More of this?” asked Drummer, still puffing.
“Yes, isn’t it great?” I told him, patting his neck.
“Hummph!” Drummer snorted again.
“What’s this all about?” I heard Bambi ask him.
“It seems to be an ongoing thing,” I heard Drummer reply. “More activity planned for Tuesday, can you believe it?”
“Oh well,” Bambi sighed, sidling up to Drummer, “at least we’ll be together.”
Snatching the reins out of my hands, Drummer leaned over and nuzzled Bambi’s neck. “Mmmmm,” I heard him murmur, “there is that to it!”
Bambi giggled. I know. Giggled!
I let out a sigh. Looking up, I could see Cat giving me an evil look from Bambi’s saddle. I looked away again. How on earth were we going to get through this activity ride if we had to continue riding as a pair? It wasn’t possible.
As if she could read my mind, I heard Sophie start talking about how our ride would be helping everyone at Taversham. Well, I thought, if that wasn’t an incentive to knuckle down and get on with the ride, I didn’t know what was. I could do this! Hostilities could be put aside for this one ride, surely?
The problem was, I didn’t know whether Cat felt the same way.
Something is going on,” I told Bean.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, usually I can’t get Mom to shut up whenever she gets a new boyfriend—or boyfriends, plural,” I said. “But this time she’s being very secretive.”
“How so?”
“Just sort of quiet when she reads texts, and not reading her emails when I’m around and not jabbering on about her new boyfriend—or boyfriends—being this and that and Mr. Wonderful, like they all are when they start out and, oh, I don’t know, sort of weird.”
“Can you have a talk with Tiff before I tackle this line of jumps?” Bean asked me.
We were in the outdoor school, trying to get Tiffany used to the jumps for the activity ride—as promised. I explained to Bean’s palomino mare all about it—how she needed to take the jumps steadily, not running out. “They’re only tiny jumps, Tiff,” I said, “hardly worth getting all worked up for.”
“You want me to go over them like everyone else does?” Tiffany asked.
“Yes, that’s it. Just for the ride. Can you?”
“I’ll try.”
I told Bean. “You could have told her that. She can hear you,” I said.
“Yes, but it’s just a one-way thing when I do it,” she pointed out. “No opportunity for feedback.”
Bean headed for the jumps and Tiffany did her best. It was better. It wasn’t fantastic but an improvement.
“How’s that?” Tiffany asked.
“Fantastic!” I lied. “Can you do it even better than that?”
She could, it turned out. Bean was ecstatic and gave her pony a hug.
“You are the smartest pony ever!” she told her, wrapping her arms around her golden neck and planting a kiss on her pony’s nose where the noseband would have been if it hadn’t been taken off due to Tiffany’s noseband phobia.
“That’s sorted that out, then,” I said. “Job done—way to go, Tiff!”
“Maybe he’s married,” suggested Bean.
“Who?” I said, used to Bean’s way of starting a conversation in the middle. As it happens, she wasn’t starting a new one but continuing an old one.
“Your mom’s new boyfriend.”
“That,” I declared gloomily, “would be just the end.”
“Or he could be hideously disfigured—like in Beauty and the Beast or Phantom of the Opera.”
“Er, do you think?” I asked, frowning.
“Or, maybe he’s famous!” Bean was off on one now, totally going for it. “He could be a film star or a singer or royalty! Or a politician—his relationship with your mom could bring down the government! Or, or…”
“Stop!” I said.
“But it is a possibility, isn’t it?”
“No. Stop right now. Maybe my mom’s realized that there are better ways of handling her relationships. Maybe she’s decided to stop embarrassing her only daughter and lie low. I hope so, anyway.”
I did too. With all my heart. How wonderful would that be? My mom being all grown-up and sensible and discreet instead of conducting her romances via Facebook and discarding boyfriends like old socks. Bliss! She’d been dating ever since we’d moved to our tiny house—after my mom and dad divorced—and she was still out there, looking for love. I thought it unlikely she was toning things down.
“If you say so,” said Bean huffily. “I like my theories better. I bet she’s got some famous big shot wrapped around her finger and has had to sign the official secrets act or whatever it is.”
“I’m sure you don’t have to do that just if you’re going out with someone,” I said doubtfully.
“I bet you do. I bet you do if you’re seeing a prince—or a spy. I bet that’s it, she’s seeing a spy! And maybe”—Bean’s eyes narrowed and she prodded my arm with her finger like it was my fault—“he’s an enemy spy. That’s why she’s keeping it under wraps! Or—oh I know, I know, your mom’s a spy! Has she been sidling up to people in raincoats in parks with briefcases and starting conversation with The snow is beautiful in Moscow this time of year or Red Squirrel flies tonight?”
“No,” I said, without bothering to even try to remember.
“She wants to be careful. She could end up in Alcatraz waiting to be tried for treason.”
“Well, it’s been great talking this through with you, Bean,” I told her sarcastically. “I feel much better about it now.”
“I would hate for you to get a nasty surprise,” Bean said darkly.
“Too bad you didn’t think of that before—it’s too late now,” I replied dryly, all Bean’s possibilities swimming around my head like piranhas in a tank.
When I got home, Mom was still acting weird.
“What are you doing?” I asked her as I walked into the sitting room to see her hastily gathering up a mountain of brown paper in her arms.
“Er, nothing. Just tidying up. What would you like for dinner?”
She’d tried the dinner diversion on me before when I’d spotted her shopping online. I was sure the brown paper contained a vital clue to her weird behavior.
“What’s that?” I asked, peering at it and thinking it was very plain, like it was disguised.
“Just some trash,” she replied, a bit too innocently. “I’ll put it in the recycling.” Only she didn’t, she hid it away upstairs.
Could she be a spy? No, I shook my head. Bean had gotten under my skin—I’d be as crazy as she was in no time if I listened to her. It was living with her artistic mom, dad, and two gifted sisters that did it, I decided—too much creativity around. Get a grip, Pia, I told myself. Mom’s a grown-up and entitled to have a few secrets of her own, isn’t she? I mean, what would spies buy off the Internet? Bugging devices? Code books? Maybe the plain package was a disguise for my mom. Would I recognize her in the future? Could it be kinky stuff? Oh please no! Kinky stuff came in brown paper, didn’t it?
“Mom,” I began when she came back downstairs and started rummaging in the fridge. “Mom, what’s going on?”
“Going on?” she asked, ever so casually. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’d tell me if there was something,” I continued, “right?”
“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” It was still a bit casual for my liking, as though she’d been expecting me to ask and had thought out all the answers beforehand. Like a spy would. The thought sprang into my mind uninvited and unwanted. Bean really had gotten me going! I decided to bite the bullet and ask her.
