Pony Jumpers 3- Triple Bar

by Kate Lattey

  Im sorry.

  I felt bad.

  I know. Im sorry too. Im just tired and grumpy. Its been a real long wkd.

  I wondered whether to tell him the worst part. I’d been standing in line at the water tap yesterday when I’d overheard Anna Harcourt wondering out loud where Teddy was, and Connor Campbell had said that we’d probably had him shot for not jumping properly anymore. And then they’d turned around and seen me standing there, and they’d stared me down for a moment, waiting for me to contradict them. But I couldn’t. I’d stayed silent, because I couldn’t make myself say out loud that Teddy was dead, let alone tell them that he had died suddenly, and that we didn’t know why, or what had caused it.

  I wasn’t handing over that kind of ammunition. Now they probably thought they were right, and I couldn’t be completely sure that they weren’t.

  Im just so over this, I told my brother. Im over it all. I just want to get away from here. U got a spare room?

  I was kidding. But when Pete’s message came back moments later, I knew that he wasn’t.

  YES. You should come here. Get away from all dad’s BS.

  Nice thought. Never gonna happen.

  Wish I could!

  Why not? Pack ur bags, grab a flight, ill meet u at the airport.

  So many reasons. I picked the easiest one.

  No money.

  I’ll pay.

  My heart started beating faster, even though I knew the whole thing was an unrealistic dream. It wasn’t about the money, or the fact that my passport expired last year, or that Pete was still living with relatives who didn’t necessarily want to take both of us in.

  It all came down to one thing.

  They’d never let me go.

  Even that didn’t put Pete off.

  So run away. I hear teenagers do it all the time.

  Haha. Think I’d get far? Theyd probably have me arrested at the airport.

  Wear a disguise.

  Good plan I will get a mustache and beard

  And a turban. Wait, on second thought no… what if I come get u and smuggle u back in my suitcase

  His plan was getting sillier by the minute. I smiled at his response, even as my heartbeat sank slowly back down. Stupid to even entertain the thought, even for a second. I constructed another light-hearted response.

  Genius. I’m in. as long as I fit (get a big one)

  I sent the message, and my eyes glazed over as I watched the small screen, waiting for his response. It came only seconds later.

  He’d given up on light-hearted.

  Srsly tho, if u need me I will come get you. just say the word sussie

  I felt my heart lift again. My Afrikaans was as limited as his was – or had been, though his was probably much better now that he was living in Pretoria – but I knew that meant ‘little sister’. It had been a running joke between us for years, that it was my name and also, by definition, my status. It had been a long time since I’d heard it though. When we were small, Mum had used Afrikaans a lot around the house, but Dad had distanced himself from both the country and the language since moving to New Zealand. He never used it anymore, and didn’t approve of Mum speaking it to us either. She must have defied him at first, but gradually she’d stopped. Maybe we’d stopped wanting to learn. I wondered how hard it had been for Pete to recall the language, and whether he was fluent by now. I tried to think of the word for brother, but I couldn’t remember it.

  I miss you bro. I wish I could come visit you. I wish you could come home and see us.

  The bubble popped up to indicate that he was typing a response, and I watched the row of three dots as they rose and fell. He must have had some qualms about sending his reply, because I had to wait for several minutes before it finally came through.

  Think u will ever forgive me?

  I barely hesitated as I started writing back. It was a moment for brutal honesty. We owed each other that much.

  Already have. Don’t get me wrong I was mad at you for ages. but nobody likes me anyway so might as well still have a brother since I don’t have any friends.

  Aw. That bad?

  You have no idea. Worse than its ever been. Nobody listens to me or cares what I want. Its driving me crazy. I just want a way out and I cant find one.

  I sent the message, then read back over it and cringed. I shouldn’t have told him all that. He didn’t need to worry about me. I watched the screen, waiting for his response. None came, so I composed another message, trying to do damage control.

  JK its not that bad I am just grumpy right now. But the ponies are amazing and they make everything else ok

  Still no response from Pete. My eyes fell closed, despite my attempts to keep them open. After a few minutes of forcing my eyelids apart to check for new messages that didn’t appear, I gave up and dozed off.

  I woke up at last as we pulled into our driveway, and I checked my phone again. There was one last message from Pete.

  See u soon.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Are you paying attention?”

  I snapped my head up and looked at my Economics teacher, who was glaring down at me as she stood next to my desk. I felt the ripple of tension flow around the room as the other girls snuck glances at me from the corners of their eyes, wondering if I was going to get in trouble. I could sense them licking their lips, their hunger for drama almost tangible. Like a pack of hyenas, edging in for the kill.

  “Yes,” I lied.

  I could tell that Miss Rutherford didn’t believe me. She tapped a long fingernail on my desk. It made a hollow sound on the hard plastic.

  “Help the class out, then. What’s the answer to question five?”

  I looked down at the sheet of work in front of me. I hadn’t known the answer to question five. I’d skipped past question five. But she could see that, which was why she’d picked it. She wanted me to say out loud what she already knew, for the benefit of the class.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Miss Rutherford made a brisk tutting noise, her exasperation filling the room. “And why not?”

  The words were on the tip of my tongue. I knew better than to say them out loud. But I couldn’t help it.

  “Probably because you’re not a very good teacher.”

  It was what the class had been waiting for. Another ripple of tension as everyone paused in their work to watch me, to watch Miss Rutherford’s back straighten and her nostrils flare and her talons dig into my desk.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Callie was sitting opposite me, and behind Miss Rutherford’s back, she shot me a grin. I fought the impulse to smile back, because our teacher’s eyes were still fixed on me. But I was pleased .I’d been skirting around the edges of Callie’s clique for a while, looking for a way in. That wink had opened a door that I’d long since given up on.

  I drew my shoulders back. Gave myself strength.

  “I said, because you’re not a very-”

  “Get out.” She didn’t let me finish. Callie was giggling behind her hand now, and Miss Rutherford pulled my chair backwards, making my chin snap reflexively towards my chest. “Now.”

  “Happy to.” I picked up my books and stuffed them into my bag as she stood over me.

  “Get on with your work, the rest of you,” she snapped, and the other girls’ heads returned to their desks, their murmured excitement subsiding.

  My hands started to shake as I lifted my bag. I had no idea where I was supposed to go. I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. So I walked to the door, opened it, and left the room.

  I didn’t get far before I ran into Ms Bryant, the guidance counsellor.

  “Where are you off to?”

  I lied. “Library.”

  She looked at me curiously for a moment, so I waved back towards the Economics classroom. “Miss Rutherford sent me. It’s for an assignment. You can ask her, if you want.” Please don’t.

  Ms Bryant nodded, se
eming to accept that answer. “Off you go then.”

  Once safely ensconced inside the library’s four walls, I found a quiet corner and snuck my cellphone out of my pocket. My parents still didn’t know that I had it, and they certainly didn’t know I was taking it to school. Technically, it wasn’t allowed. But that didn’t stop anyone else, so I wasn’t about to let it stop me.

  There was still no reply from Pete. He hadn’t been back online in days, and I was starting to worry. He wouldn’t have taken me seriously, would he? He wouldn’t really try and come here?

  The bell rang, making me jump. I checked my timetable, wondering if I could get away with skipping my next class. I didn’t feel like facing anyone just now. But it was Biology, my favourite – and best – subject. So I made my way through the throng and sat down at my workstation, trying to ignore the whispers and stares of my classmates.

  Callie came up to me and rested her arms on my desk, leaning forward with a wicked smile.

  “That was the best thing I’ve seen all year,” she declared, and I made myself smile back. The corners of her mouth turned-up, cat-like. Unlike Miss Rutherford, her makeup was flawlessly applied. She shook her long hair over her shoulder and opened her mouth to speak again, but then Mr Gibbons came bounding into the room, over-enthusiastic as usual.

  “Seats please, ladies!”

  Callie rolled her eyes and headed for her own desk.

  “I have a very exciting lesson plan for us today!” Everything Mr Gibbons said came out with an exclamation point at the end. “As we continue our study of bovine physiology, we are going to get right to the heart of the matter!”

  And then he swept the covering off the tray at the front of the room, and two girls in the front row shrieked. The rest of the class craned their necks, and I sat frozen in my seat, hoping it wasn’t what I thought it was.

  Bronwyn, sitting next to me, flipped her lab book open to the back and clicked her pen on. “One hundred and twenty-seven.”

  She made a small mark on the page, logging Mr Gibbons’ penchant for terrible puns. It was something we’d started doing at the beginning of the year, when we’d become lab partners and had discovered that we both thought his puns were terrible, but kind of hilarious at the same time.

  Bronwyn clicked her pen off and set it down on the desk, then looked at me.

  “So am I going up, or you?”

  I shook my head, so she slid off her seat and went to the front of the room. Half of the rest of our class were making gagging noises and complaining loudly. Mr Gibbons looked completely flummoxed by their lack of excitement. He smiled warmly at Bronwyn as she collected up our specimen, and came back to our table. Set the metal tray on the desk between us, and passed me a scalpel.

  I looked at the heart. I couldn’t move.

  Bronwyn wrote the date in her lab book, and picked up her scalpel. She wasn’t going to wait for Mr Gibbons to regain control of the room, especially since it seemed unlikely that he would succeed at all. There was a diagram on the data projector at the front of the room, showing the chambers and parts of the heart. Bronwyn looked at my face.

  “Care to make the first incision?” I shook my head, and she looked surprised. “No? I would’ve thought this was right up your alley.” She nudged the heart with her scalpel. “Moo.”

  I swallowed. Opened my lab book. Don’t think about it, just do it. Wrote the date. Picked up my scalpel. Nodded to Bronwyn.

  “Go on then.”

  She sliced eagerly into the organ, her incision careful and precise. I looked at the cow heart as it lay between us. Wondered what kind of cow it was from. What colour it’d been. How old. Whether it’d had a name…

  I couldn’t do it. I stood up, my chair scraping across the linoleum floor. Several heads turned towards me, and one or two people nudged their friends. Apparently I was already gaining a reputation for disruption.

  Mr Gibbons looked up, blinking across the room from behind his thin-rimmed glasses.

  “Everything all right?”

  “I feel sick.” I picked up my books, ignoring Bronwyn’s surprised expression. “I have to go lie down or something.”

  “Oh. All right.” He looked disappointed. “Shame. I thought you’d enjoy this.”

  A week ago, I would have. But not now.

  Definitely not now.

  When the post appeared on my Facebook feed, I clicked on it without thinking. Emotional win for Marshall at Woodhill Sands. It was a report on last weekend’s show, making much of Steph Marshall’s Grand Prix win since her sister’s terrible injury a few weeks ago. I’d seen Steph at the show, surrounded by her support crew, riding her large team of horses. She hadn’t looked any different, and hadn’t ridden any different, still carving up the course and taking out the win. But she wasn’t smiling much in the photos.

  The results for the Pony Grand Prix were listed too, and a few other classes. I clicked on the comments section and scrolled idly through them as they praised Steph for her brave win, her inspired riding, her tenacity. Maybe she just didn’t want to sit at home anymore, I thought, flicking my thumb upwards on the screen, then pressing it down and stopping the feed mid-scroll.

  I wasn’t there but heard a rumour that Susannah Andrews’ grey pony died, can anyone confirm?

  A slew of responses followed.

  Not that I know of but we were only there on Saturday

  Flying High? idk but he wasn’t at the show I don’t think? Didn’t see him out.

  Def wasn’t there, we were yarded next to her, she had an empty yard tho so …?

  I heard he died at home during the week

  Yep that’s what I heard too.

  Where were they hearing this? Why were they hearing this? I didn’t want to read on, but my traitorous eyes flew down the screen.

  Dropped dead on her apparently. Probably from exhaustion after being ridden into the ground.

  Poor pony what a life

  My hand started to shake, and I shoved the phone back into my pocket as the door to Miss Bryant’s room opened. She poked her head out and smiled at me.

  “Susannah?” She pretended not to see the phone sticking out of my skirt pocket. “Come on in.”

  I followed her into the room and she motioned to me to sit down. The padded chairs had wooden armrests, polished to a high gloss. I rested my arms on them and felt the chipped edges underneath, where other students had picked away at the splintering wood. Miss Bryant’s desk was in the corner, pushed against the wall, but she ignored it, sitting down opposite me in a similar chair. I wondered if her chair’s armrests were as damaged as mine. Maybe she should swap the chairs over periodically.

  Maybe she already did.

  She crossed one leg over the other and jiggled her foot, smiling. “So. What brings you here today?”

  She knew why I was there, of course, but I obliged her. “I walked out of class.”

  “Twice in one day,” she commented, confirming that she already knew exactly what had gone down. Well, not exactly, and I corrected her.

  “I was kicked out of one. I walked out of the other one.”

  “Care to tell me why?”

  “I’m sure you already know.”

  She smiled again. “I’d like to hear it in your own words, if you don’t mind.”

  And if I do mind? I sighed, and looked at the wall behind her head. “I was rude to Miss Rutherford, so she told me to leave. And I didn’t want to dissect a cow’s heart, so I walked out of Bio.”

  “It says here that you felt sick,” she told me in quiet contradiction. Got me. I awarded her points for that one.

  “I did. Cow hearts are disgusting.”

  I expected her to commiserate, but she just raised her eyebrows at me. “Mr Gibbons was particularly surprised your reaction,” she said. “He said you have aspirations of being a large animal vet. Thought it would be right up your alley.”

  “Yeah, well.” I picked at the underside of the armrest. That was before, I wanted to say
, but I kept my mouth shut. Being a vet was an old dream. Even if I still wanted it, nobody in the equestrian world was going to hire me to be their vet. And I wasn’t looking for a job shoving my arm up cows’ bums, or giving Tibbles his shots. But I didn’t say anything, because I knew that conversation wouldn’t lead anywhere good.

  A splinter of wood jabbed me painfully under my fingernail, and I jumped.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” I forced myself to meet her eyes. “So what’s my punishment?”

  “That’s not up to me,” she said. “That’s up to your Dean. I expect they’ll let you know in due course.”

  “Okay. So can I go?”

  “Why didn’t you want to dissect the heart?”

  Why wasn’t she focusing on how rude I’d been to Miss Rutherford? Surely that was the greater of the two crimes.

  “Because I didn’t feel like it.”

  “But if you want to be a vet-”

  “I changed my mind.” I uncrossed my legs, crossed them the other way. “Is that a crime?”

  “No. Just a shame.” I felt my face flush at her words. “Well, if you’re sure that you’re okay, you can go.”

  I stood up quickly, grabbing my bag and heading towards the door.

  “Susannah?”

  I turned to face her, one hand on the door handle. “Yes?”

  “If you ever need to talk – about anything – my door is always open.”

  I looked at the door in front of me, then back at her. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

  I spoke so confidently, with such assurance, that I almost believed myself.

  Almost.

  But not quite.

  * * *

  I counted Buck’s strides out of the corner, keeping his pace steady, controlled. Five, four, three, two, one. He cantered smoothly over the crossrail, transitioned to a trot through the poles, picked up a smooth left lead canter and jumped down the grid of bounces without touching a single pole.

  “Good boy.” I brought him back to a walk and gave him a brief pat, then sighed. I wasn’t supposed to be jumping, because I was home alone this afternoon, but it seemed to be a day for breaking rules. It was the first time I’d ridden in the arena since Teddy’s death. The jump I’d been schooling him over that day had been dismantled, the stands stacked in the corner, the poles placed on the brackets by the gate. But the rest of the exercises were still there, and I’d decided to give Buck a quick tune-up before the Manawatu A&P this weekend. Not that he needed it. He knew everything he needed to know – far more than I did – and at his age, I should have been conserving his jumping efforts for the times when it would count. But I needed something to do, something to take my mind off everything else.