Me and Katie (The Pest)

by Ann M. Martin

  “Me, too,” said Scottie.

  “And you and I can look in the woods,” Mom said to Dad.

  “I’ll stay in the house in case she comes home by herself,” suggested Miss J.

  So we split up. But after pretending to search the yard for a while, I began to feel sort of sorry for myself. I was starving because we hadn’t eaten dinner. I had a headache, and on top of everything else, I had expected Mom and Dad to be angry with the Pest. They didn’t seem angry at all.

  “I found her! I found her!” Mom suddenly shouted.

  A few seconds later, Mom and Dad and Katie came out of the woods. Dad was carrying the suitcase. The Pest was crying. She had fallen down and skinned her knees. She’d been chased by a dog. Two big boys had teased her. And she’d lost her fake diamond ring.

  For awhile, Katie got a ton of attention—a bubble bath and supper in bed.

  I fumed.

  But the evening wasn’t a total loss. After Mom and Dad and the Pest had a long talk, they said no more TV for another week, and no allowance for two weeks.

  And the Pest never said a word about me.

  11.

  August

  BY TUESDAY, THE PEST had gotten over Sunday. Sort of. We went off to Hasty Acres with notes that said we could be in the show on September second. We didn’t speak much, but that was okay with me. I was busy thinking about something else. I had another note with me. This one was for Paula and it said I wanted to take a few private lessons before the show.

  That had been my idea. I remembered Paula’s offer. The one she had made way back before my birthday and before Peanuts got hurt. Well, now I had a good reason to want some extra help. I was determined to win a prize in the show. Nothing was going to stop me. Not even Katie. I was a good rider, but I had to be better. (Katie had asked for private lessons, too, but Mom and Dad said absolutely not. Her schedule was too busy already. And Katie hadn’t argued. I don’t think she’d really wanted the lessons. She just wanted to copy me.)

  When our lesson was over, Mrs. Larrick collected our notes. Everybody in our group was going to be in the show except Tom. His family would be away that weekend.

  Then I gave Paula the other note.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “It’s from my mother and father. I want to take some private lessons. Before the show. You said I could, remember?”

  “Sure I do. That’s great, Wendy. Can you come out here on Saturdays?”

  “I think so,” I said. “I’ll have to check, but I think that’s okay.”

  It was okay. Mom and Dad said I could have private lessons on the three Saturdays before the show. And that was how August got to be the busiest month of my life.

  On Saturdays, Paula and I would spend about an hour in the ring, and then another half hour or so riding in the fields. In the fields, Mr. Chips could trot to his heart’s content, and I really got the feel of posting. Sometimes he would break into a canter, which scared me, but I knew how to slow him down.

  Mr. Chips was the horse I was going to ride in the Hasty Acres horse show. After Peanuts had been injured, I’d started riding him. When Mrs. Larrick asked us to choose the horse we would compete with, I was the first one to raise my hand and tell her my decision.

  I began jogging in the mornings. Paula said it was important to stay in shape. She didn’t tell me to jog, but Mom and Dad usually went jogging before breakfast. I decided that joining them was as good a way as any to stay in shape. Also, I went over to Jennifer’s house and swam laps in her pool a few times.

  I was feeling very good about myself, and very good about my riding. “Wendy,” Paula told me on the second Saturday lesson, “I hope you’re going to keep coming to Hasty Acres. I think you could skip the advanced beginners’ class and join the intermediates this fall.”

  “All right!” I cried.

  “And something else. Chris has been complaining lately. He says he needs help. We’re looking for someone to give him a hand mucking out stalls and grooming the horses. Would you like an after-school job? You could learn a lot.”

  “Would I? Oh, yes!” I threw my arms around Paula, and then planted a huge kiss on Mr. Chips’s nose. He looked startled at first, but the next thing I knew he was whuffling in my ear. Just the way Peanuts used to do.

  A few days later, Katie and I went to our next to last Tuesday riding class. The Pest had a particularly good lesson, from start to finish. She mounted Daffodil easily.

  “Excellent, Katie!” said Mrs. Larrick.

  We walked around the ring.

  We trotted around the ring.

  I kept watching the Pest.

  She took her turn trotting alone.

  “Nice!” called Mrs. Larrick.

  But when Katie reached the end of the line, she didn’t stop Daffodil quite soon enough. And she wouldn’t pull his head away when he nibbled at Daybreak’s hoof long enough to make Daybreak look like he might kick Daffodil.

  After that, though, the Pest was great.

  And I was worried.

  I knew I was a very good rider. I kept thinking about everything I was learning with Paula, and about skipping into the intermediate class.

  But I was still worried.

  No question about it. Katie had improved. She was a good rider, too.

  It was after this lesson that Paula pulled me aside and said, “Can you come out on Saturday about half an hour earlier than usual?”

  “I guess so,” I replied. “Why?”

  But before Paula could answer, the Pest tripped over a rock, skinned her elbow, and bit her lip.

  We had to find the first-aid kit, and Mrs. Larrick thought the Pest might even need stitches in her lip. But her lip stopped bleeding after a few minutes and we got her bandaged up and loaded on the bus. I didn’t remember about going to Hasty Acres early until we were halfway home.

  On Saturday, Dad drove me to my lesson. I got there twenty-five minutes early. I would have been a whole half an hour early except that before we left, the Pest was sure she had lost her piano book in Dad’s car. She made us look under the seats and in the glove compartment and everywhere before she found it inside the piano bench.

  Dad dropped me off in front of the farmhouse. The first thing I saw was Paula striding over to me. The next thing I saw was a horse van.

  “Hi, Paula! Are you taking one of the horses to a show?” I asked. I shut the car door and waved to Dad as he turned the car around and drove away.

  Paula shook her head. “No. This is why I wanted you to come early. The van is for Peanuts. She’s well enough to be moved, and we’ve found a home for her.”

  “You have?” I gulped.

  “A very nice family—the Fords. They have three children and a big farm with plenty of room for Peanuts. The kids are glad to have another pet to take care of. They love horses and don’t mind that they can’t ride Peanuts. And they live just three miles from here.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “I thought you might want to say good-bye to Peanuts.”

  I nodded. I could feel a lump in my throat.

  “Come on,” said Paula. She took my hand.

  We walked to the stable where Peanuts had been moved back to her stall several days ago. Paula let me go in alone.

  I noticed that Peanuts’s nameplate had been taken down. I wondered if it would go with her to her new home. I wondered what name would go up in its place.

  Peanuts was in her stall, still wearing the bandage on her leg. She was moving around restlessly. She knew something was going on. People had been bustling in and out of her stall all morning, Paula said.

  “Peanuts,” I called.

  She jerked her head up.

  “Hi, there.” I tried to swallow that lump in my throat.

  Peanuts rolled her eyes. She looked a bit wild.

  “Here,” I said. I pulled a sugar cube from my pocket and held it toward her.

  She shook her head, her mane and forelock swishing, and stumbled away from me
.

  “Peanuts? Come here. Calm down. It’s okay. You remember me, don’t you? … Don’t you?”

  She came close enough for me to pat her nose. That calmed her down a little. I tried the sugar cube again. This time she took it quickly. But she retreated a few steps to eat it. When she finished, she stayed where she was.

  “Aren’t you going to come back?” I asked.” Come on. I want to kiss you good-bye. That’s all.”

  “Wendy!” Paula called from outside. “Mom and I are coming in now.”

  “No!” I cried. “Just a—”

  “I’m sorry. Mr. Ford is waiting,” said Mrs. Larrick.

  She and Paula came in and led Peanuts from her stall.

  “Is she okay?” I asked Paula tearfully.

  “She’s nervous,” Paula replied. “She senses something, a change. But she’ll adjust.”

  I watched as Mrs. Larrick and Mr. Ford coaxed her up a ramp into the van and closed the door.

  “Good-bye, Peanuts,” I whispered as the van rattled down the driveway.

  “Hey,” said Paula, coming over to stand next to me. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to come out for this.”

  I looked at Paula, who was brushing tears from her eyes.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’m glad I got to say good-bye.”

  Paula nodded.

  “Maybe we could go see Peanuts at the Fords’s farm sometime?” I suggested.

  “Sure.”

  Paula and I looked at each other.

  “Well, come on, kiddo,” she said finally. “You’ve got some work to do. There’s just one week until the show.”

  One week! Was I really good enough to win a prize? Good enough not to be beaten by Katie?

  I mounted Mr. Chips and worked out harder than ever.

  12.

  Hasty Acres Horse Show

  THE HEAT WAVE BEGAN the day after my last private lesson. On Monday, the temperature rose to ninety-five degrees. It stayed around there until Thursday, when it crept up to ninety-eight degrees. When I woke up on Saturday, the morning of the horse show, it was already ninety-one degrees. Ninety-one degrees at seven o’clock. Yech. I had dripped and perspired my way through the Tuesday and Thursday lessons. I hoped I wouldn’t look too horrible in the show.

  I rolled out of bed and stumbled over to the mirror. I had butterflies in my stomach. There must have been an awful lot of them in there. My stomach was jumping all over the place.

  I took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm down. “You don’t have a thing to worry about,” I told myself. “You’ve been practicing hard with Mr. Chips. You and Mr. Chips are almost as good a team as you and Peanuts were.”

  Katie crept into my thoughts.

  “And you do not need to worry about the Pest,” I scolded myself. “Even if she is the Prize Queen. You’d better concentrate on yourself and forget about her.”

  I brushed my hair until it shone, then pulled it into two pony tails. My hair was really too short for pony tails, so a lot escaped at the sides and down the back of my neck. I decided to ignore it. It was going to be too hot to leave my hair loose.

  I found two red ribbons and tied them around the pony tails. There. That looked better.

  I put on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. I’d put on the riding outfit later.

  I went downstairs to the kitchen.

  “Morning, lamb,” Dad greeted me.

  He and Mom had just gotten back from jogging. I’d decided not to go with them. I wanted to save all my energy for the show.

  “Morning,” I said.

  “It’s going to be hot again today, honey,” said Mom. “Maybe over a hundred degrees. Dress as coolly as you can, okay?”

  “Okay. Gosh, why does it have to be a hundred degrees for the show? We’re going to look awful. We’ll sweat and the horses will sweat and the dust will stick all over us. I bet a lot of people won’t even come, because it’ll be so hot.”

  “Well, we’ll be there,” Mom assured me with a smile.

  Right. What was I complaining about anyway? This was my big chance to win a prize. I had to stop thinking about the weather and Katie and start concentrating on the show.

  At ten o’clock, the thermometer on the back porch read ninety-six degrees.

  Mom, Dad, Miss J., Scottie, the Pest, and I piled into Dad’s car and backed down the driveway. Waiting by our mailbox were Carol and Sara. They tumbled into the back of the station wagon with me.

  “I’m so glad you could come!” I exclaimed.

  “Oh, we wouldn’t miss it. I want to see you win a prize,” said Sara.

  I poked her. “Shh,” I warned.

  But nobody had heard. I hoped.

  The Pest was in the front seat between Mom and Dad, complaining about the heat, and wanting to know why we didn’t have an air-conditioned car. In the backseat, Miss J. was showing Scottie all the stuff she’d brought along in case he got bored.

  I leaned against the window and tried to relax. Those butterflies were fluttering up a storm. I hadn’t even been this nervous when I’d had one of the biggest parts in the play last spring.

  “Calm down,” I told myself sharply. “You’ll be riding Mr. Chips, and Mrs. Larrick says you’re a good rider. It’ll be okay.”

  The driveway to Hasty Acres looked like a freeway. I guess the heat wasn’t keeping people from the show after all. There were cars backed up from the road to the farmhouse. We crept along until we reached the end of the drive. Charlie was there directing traffic. He motioned us into a wide field where Dad parked the car.

  We got out and followed a stream of people to the grassy field where the riding rings were. Then we managed to find a shady spot. Dad put the picnic basket down, and Miss J. spread a blanket on the ground.

  “Attention, please,” boomed a voice. Paula had told me a loudspeaker system would be hooked up, but the voice startled me anyway.

  “Will all riders please report to the judging booth? You must sign in and get your number. Please report to the judging booth.” It was Mrs. Larrick. I could tell.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” asked Mom.

  “That’s okay. Thanks, Mom. I can find it. … Come on, Katie,” I added grimly. I hated being in charge of her.

  I set off across the field with the Pest. Sara and Carol came along.

  The judging booth looked crowded, but we got in line and only had to wait a few minutes.

  “Hi, there, Champ,” said Paula when we reached the booth.

  I grinned.

  “Okay … Wendy and Katie White.” Paula checked off two names on a sheaf of papers attached to a clipboard. “Now step over there to Chris and he’ll give you each a number to wear when your class shows.”

  Chris was sitting behind a table with a stack of cardboard signs on it. Each one had two little holes at the top. Across the middle was a big black number, and under that, in red, were the words RED ROSE FEEDS and a picture of a rose.

  “Hey, Wendy! Hey, Cute Stuff! All set for the big show?” Chris handed each of us two safety pins. Then he gave me number 108 and the Pest number 74. “Pin these to the backs of your shirts, okay? And remember your numbers.”

  “Okay,” we said. The Pest looked as nervous as I felt.

  Sara pinned number 108 on my back, while Carol pinned number 74 on the Pest’s back.

  Then we set out for Mom and Dad and the shade. I looked over my shoulder at the thermometer on the judging booth.

  One hundred degrees.

  When we reached our spot, Miss J. gave us each a cup of apple juice. Then I read Scottie a story, mostly to keep my mind off my butterflies.

  We had almost finished his picture book when Mrs. Larrick came over the loudspeaker again. She announced the order in which the classes were going to show. Our class would be seventh.

  That meant we wouldn’t show for about two hours. Two hours. How could I wait? Those butterflies felt as if they were tap-dancing inside me.

  Sara and Caro
l and I left the shade and went to the ring to watch the first event. It was the other beginners’ class. A boy with orange hair and lots of freckles was riding Mr. Chips. Not very well, though. He was hardly even paying attention.

  The next event was held on the jumping course. It was an adult class. Mr. Chips was being ridden again, this time by a woman wearing a green riding hat just like mine. She was a good rider. She controlled Mr. Chips well, and he took all the jumps smoothly.

  We watched one more event and got so hot we could hardly stand it. I felt damp all over. Sweat was running in my eyes and down my back. And I hadn’t been doing anything but standing around.

  “Come on, you guys,” I said to Sara and Carol. “Let’s go get something to drink. Gosh, Mr. Chips must be hot. He’s been working hard already, and he’s got a few more events to go today. I hope he’s not too tired by the time I ride him.”

  It was twelve-fifteen before Mrs. Larrick called for our class to get ready. The temperature had risen to a hundred and one. Katie and I stood around outside the main riding ring with the other kids, waiting for our horses. One by one, Chris and Paula led them to us.

  At last everyone was mounted and ready to go—everyone except me. Where was Mr. Chips?

  Paula ran over to me. “Wendy,” she said breathlessly. She walked me away from my class. “There’s been a … a little change. Mr. Chips has been ridden in four events this morning. He’s overheated and very tired. We’ve got to cool him off and let him rest. I’m afraid you can’t ride him.”

  “Oh, no,” I cried. “Come on, Paula. Please? Just one more event.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “We can’t. It’s this heat. You don’t want Mr. Chips to get sick, do you?”

  I shook my head. “Can I ride Daybreak?” I asked desperately.

  “Well, no,” said Paula. “Mandy’s riding her. And here’s the thing. The only horse you can ride is Sky High—”

  “Sky High?” I shrieked.

  “Shh,” said Paula. “Calm down. It’s just that Sky High is the only horse who’s free and cool. He’s been ridden just once today.”