Pony Passion (8 page)

“That’ll be it then,” said Mrs McAllister firmly. “Nothing to worry about. Just nerves and excitement on an empty tummy. Here…” I heard a rustle and then felt something pushed into my hand. It was a cereal bar.

“Have a munch on that,” said Mrs McA, “and we’ll try again in ten minutes.”

“Can I come back another day instead?” I looked up, but she was already striding back to her office.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she called over her shoulder. “If you give in to nerves today, tomorrow you’ll feel worse. I’ll be back in ten minutes!”

That afternoon the other Sleepover girls were due to pile round to mine for a big session painting the
cardboard cut-outs for the presentation. I’d been looking forward to it. But now I didn’t want to see anyone, and I didn’t want to do anything. I felt like a cuddly toy that’s lost its stuffing.

“Buck up,” said Mum. “Your friends’ll be here in a minute.”

When the doorbell rang it was all I could do to stretch my face into a smile.

“Hey, Fliss, are you moving in?” laughed my dad when he saw her lugging an enormous holdall into our sitting room.

“I haven’t brought that much,” she said to me. “Just a few costume options…Hey, Lyndz, is something wrong?”

“Yes,” I said flatly. “I—”

But before I could tell her what had happened, the doorbell rang again.

Frankie and Kenny were standing on the doorstep, attacking each other with paintbrushes.

“See – we brought our own!” squealed Frankie, as Kenny tried to ‘paint’ her ear. They lurched past me, still grappling with one
another, just as Rosie’s car drew up.

“Mum’s on her way to take Adam to his riding lesson,” Rosie said a moment later, waving as the car pulled out of our driveway. (You probably know this already, but Rosie’s brother has cerebral palsy, and he goes to the same stables as me. Mrs McAllister’s a registered Riding for the Disabled teacher.) As the car disappeared, Rosie turned to me. “So – how’d it go this morning?”

I opened my mouth and shut it again. I felt pathetic. If Adam, with his celebral palsy, was brave enough to sit on a pony, how come I wasn’t?

“Dreadful,” I said at last. “I just couldn’t do it.”

“Couldn’t do what?” yelled Kenny from the sitting room.

Rosie smiled and led me in. “Nosy Parker,” she said to Kenny.

Kenny shrugged. “A problem shared is a problem doubled.” She frowned. “Or have I got that wrong?”

“Go on, Lyndz,” said Rosie, flopping on to
the sofa. “What were you saying?”

“This morning,” I said. “I just couldn’t ride. I tried – twice – and it was no use.”

“Why not? Was your arm hurting?”

“No, nothing like that.” I hesitated. I could still hardly believe it myself. “I was scared. Maybe this’ll sound crazy to you, but I’ve just never thought of riding as dangerous before. Now all of a sudden it terrifies me.”

“Oh, I’ve always known riding was dangerous,” said Fliss. “Remember that time I was stuck on a runaway horse? I could’ve been—ouch! What was that for?”

Kenny had kicked her. “Horses give you the heebie-jeebies anyway, Fliss, so you don’t count,” she said.

Rosie grabbed my hand and pulled me down to sit next to her. “Of course you can get some bumps and bruises riding but, well, you’re not exactly going to do something really hard, like ride in the Grand National, are you?”

“Rosie’s right,” said Frankie. “You were really unlucky, Lyndz, but you’re a seriously good rider. And riding’s not mega dangerous – not like an extreme sport or something.”

“Like that rock climbing Tom Cruise does in Mission Impossible 2,” said Kenny, her eyes lighting up. “When he dangles off this enormous cliff by one arm! Molly had it out on dvd,” she explained.

“Or that thing they do at the Winter Olympics when people lie on a tea tray and whizz head-first down a chute at a million miles an hour,” said Fliss.

“Yeah, that is so wicked!” said Frankie. “Hey, Lyndz, you’ve got to admit it – riding’s pretty tame by comparison, isn’t it?”

“You’re right,” I said. “I’m being a wimp. Let’s just forget it. I’ll be fine.” And in a few moments it was forgotten – except by me.

“Fliss? Don’t you want the rest of your crumble?”

Fliss shook her head. “I’m full,” she said, pushing the bowl across the table to me. We were in the dining hall at school. It was Thursday, the day before our presentations.

“You’re packing it away today, Lyndz,” laughed Frankie. “Have your mum and dad stuck you on a diet at home, or something?”

I smiled. “No way! I’ve got another riding lesson after school today, that’s all. And I reckon
the problem last time was that I hadn’t had enough breakfast. That’s why I felt faint.”

“Hope the ponies are feeling strong,” said Kenny, with a cheeky wink.

I didn’t mind the teasing but, to be honest, I wasn’t in much of a mood to laugh along. I was too nervous about going to the stables. More than anything else in the world, I wanted to get it right this time. For now, I tried to concentrate on the rest of Fliss’s apple crumble and hoped I wouldn’t get indigestion.

By the time I got home from school later that afternoon, though, my nerves were worse than ever. “You’ll be fine, sweetheart,” said Mum, seeing my worried face. “You just need to get back into the swing of it, that’s all.”

Get back into the swing of it – that sounded about right. But how? When I got to the stables I fetched Bramble’s brushes, combs and sponges and groomed her slowly and carefully. “We’ll be OK, won’t we, Bramble?” I said. Her soft eyes stared back at me, and
suddenly I felt much better. How could anything to do with such a lovely, gentle pony be scary?

Later, when I jumped up into her saddle, I really felt almost fine. There were only three or four butterflies flapping in my tummy rather than hundreds. I was so relieved.

But I shouldn’t have been. As soon as I put Bramble into a walk, the sick, dizzy feeling came flooding back.

“I can’t do this, Mrs McAllister,” I said, shaking my head in desperation. “I just can’t. I’ve got to get down.”

“Come on, now, Lyndsey,” said Mrs McAllister. I could see she was annoyed. “Don’t give in to it again, for goodness’ sake. Have a bit of courage!”

My stomach was churning, my head was spinning. Leaning forward, I clung to Bramble’s neck. “I’m sorry, dear Bramble,” I sobbed into her mane. “It’s not that I don’t want to ride you – you know that, don’t you? I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so sorry…”

The next morning I should’ve woken up feeling on top of the world. It was the last day of school before half-term – and the day we were due to give our presentations. Sometimes I think the last schoolday is even better than the holiday itself, because you’ve got all that lovely free time still to come. It’s like the delicious moment just before you dig in to a big piece of chocolate cake!

This morning, though, you could’ve given me the most enormous chocolate cake ever baked and I would hardly have smiled. I couldn’t remember feeling so miserable before in my entire life.

When I arrived at school, Kenny and Frankie bounded out of the playground to help me and Dad get the cardboard cut-outs from the car.

“Wow! They look sooo cool!” squealed Rosie, who was watching us over the railings and waving Frankie’s horse mask.

Soon the bell rang. As our class lined up to go inside, I noticed several people clutching
strange-shaped bags and boxes filled with costumes and props. Everyone was whispering excitedly. Even Mrs Weaver looked cheerful.

“Pipe down, now!” she called when we got into the classroom. “The sooner I take the register, the sooner we can get on to the fun!”

Once the register was finished, Mrs Weaver delved into her bag and pulled out two enormous boxes of sweets. There was a huge tub of Roses – “For the team giving the best presentation,” explained Mrs Weaver – and a slightly smaller box of Celebrations for the runners-up.

“Prizes – even better!” whispered Kenny with a grin. “The Roses are ours, guys!”

Next Mrs Weaver wrote a running order up on the board – the order the teams were going to perform in. We were second, after Regina Hill’s team, who were doing ‘Houses and Homes’. So, while Regina and co. were performing, we legged it over to the cloakroom to get our costumes on.

“I’m so nervous!” giggled Rosie, pulling on a tweed waistcoat over her white school shirt.
She had a matching cap, too – she’d found them in a charity shop. “You’re all right, Kenny – you can hide behind Frankie.”

“Why d’you think I wanted to be the back end of the horse?” grinned Kenny, who was trying to work out which way to put on her brown tights. We’d made a woollen tail for her and attached it to a belt that she was going to wear over her tights.

“Lyndz, can you do me up?” asked Fliss, backing towards me. A long row of hooks and eyes ran down the back of her dress.

“I’ll give it a go,” I said.

I was going to be the driver of Fliss’s carriage. I didn’t have anything really Victorian to wear, but I thought a posh lady’s servant should look quite smart, so I’d got a pair of black trousers and a black blazer that my brother Tom had grown out of. They were only a bit too big for me.

By now Frankie, Kenny and Rosie were ready. “We should go back and sort out the props,” said Frankie. “You two catch us up, OK?”

“All right,” said Fliss, breaking off from muttering her speech under her breath. “Hurry, Lyndz!”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” I said. I’m no good with fiddly things if I’m in a hurry, and I kept getting the wrong hook in the wrong eye. At last I was finished.

“You’re all done,” I said, and flopped down on the bench.

“Come on, Lyndz,” Fliss said. “We’ll be starting in a sec, and you haven’t even got your shoes on.”

I didn’t want to move. What was the point? I was bound to muck this up, just like I’d mucked up my riding. “You go on without me,” I said, flapping a hand towards the door. “I bet Rosie knows my speech, anyway. And I’ll only get it wrong. I’m so hopeless.”

“You’re not!” said Fliss, putting her hands on her hips. “You were brilliant in that run-through the other day!”

I shrugged. “That was before.”

“Before what? Lyndz, what is wrong with you today? You’re being a right misery-guts!”

And so I told her about my riding lesson. By the time I’d finished I had hot tears dribbling down my cheeks. “I’ve got about as much chance of riding a horse again as Frankie and Kenny have of turning into one!” I wailed.

Fliss crouched in front of me and took hold of my elbows. “Look, Lyndz. I know you must be really upset. But this presentation’s got nothing to do with riding. You can do this standing on your head.” She smiled. “It’s nearly half-term. We’re about to win a monster box of chocolates. A couple of reasons to be cheerful, don’t you think?”

“I guess.”

Just then Frankie poked her head round the door. “Hey, guys, can you hurry up? They’re waiting for us.”

Fliss stood up and held out her hands. “We can talk about your riding lesson afterwards,” she said, pulling me up. “The Sleepover Club will come to the rescue! We’ll think of something, I promise. OK?”

“OK.” I took a deep breath and wiped my cheeks. “Let’s go.”

Our presentation went down a storm, right from the first moment when Rosie climbed on a chair holding the cardboard bicycle. We’d painted legs on the bicycle, wearing trousers that matched her waistcoat, so it looked like she was riding it. Everyone clapped even before she started her speech!

Next, Frankie and Kenny came clip-clopping on as the horse, with me holding the ‘reins’ (actually brown ribbons) behind them. They looked so hilarious in their costume that the whole class fell about laughing, which was way cool. Behind me came Fliss in her long party dress, holding up the big cardboard picture we’d made of the side of a carriage. She held it in front of her legs so that it looked like she was sitting in the carriage, being pulled along.

I got through my piece about horses OK, though I think I rushed it a bit. Then Fliss and Rosie struck up a conversation about “these newfangled
things called trains” and how fast they went and how dangerous and dirty they were. At this point I had to sneak away and grab the cardboard steam train we’d made and make it chug along at the back, as if it was going past while they talked. When they’d finished, I pressed ‘Play’ on Mrs Weaver’s tape recorder and Frankie and Kenny went into their dance routine as a finale.