by Kate Lattey
I blinked. “Scud?”
“On account of the way he takes off like a missile whenever he gets the ball,” Anders said by way of explanation. “Straight through the opposition. Boom.”
And then it clicked in my head. “He’s in your rugby team.”
Anders reached over and ruffled the top of my head. “You’re so smart,” he teased me.
“Shut up.” I pushed his arm away, and pulled my hair out of its stubby ponytail. “How well do you know him?”
“Scud? Pretty well, he’s been on my team all year. Best winger we’ve had in ages.” He looked over at me. “Bit of a ladies’ man though.”
“Unlike you.”
Anders grinned. “Yeah, well. Me I trust around my little sister. Scud?” He sucked in some air through his teeth, considering. “Not sure on that one.”
“Well you can relax. I only met him today, and he’s definitely not my type.”
Anders didn’t seem reassured. “Sure about that? Because you’re definitely his.”
* * *
It’s weird how you can go for years without even noticing someone, but as soon as they’ve been brought to your attention, you start seeing them constantly. That was certainly the case with Harry (I still couldn’t bring myself to think of him as Scud, which was one of the worst nicknames I’d ever heard). I’d barely walked in the school gates the following morning before a rugby ball came flying towards my head. Instinctively I reached up and caught it, then turned to look where it had come from and saw Harry jogging towards me with a smile.
“Nice catch.”
“Thanks. Crap pass.”
He stopped a few metres from me, his smile playing around the edges of his mouth. “It was a kick actually.”
“Even worse.”
“Think you can do better?”
I didn’t dignify that with an answer, except to drop the ball onto my shoe and punt it cleanly back into his hands.
“Not bad,” Harry said approvingly as he caught it. “You play?”
“I used to. Not anymore. Too busy with the ponies now.”
His smile faded slightly. “Ah, horses. Waste of time and money, if you ask me.”
“Good thing I didn’t, then.”
“Didn’t have to. That gem of knowledge was on the house.”
“Wow. Your generosity knows no bounds.”
Harry grinned wider, shuffling the ball from one hand to the other as he walked towards me, his green eyes fixed on mine. “So how is it that our paths have never crossed before?”
“Pure, unadulterated luck,” I replied.
Harry laughed. “Guess your luck just ran out.”
“You noticed that too?”
He started to say something else, but the bell rang to summon us to class, drowning out his attempt to speak. He waited for it to finish, then sighed.
“Saved by the bell.”
I rolled my eyes. “Wow, so original. How do you come up with this stuff?”
“Hours of practice,” he said, his face deadpan. “Occasional cue cards, but mostly I work without them these days.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” I started walking towards my classroom and he fell in next to me. His friends had dispersed, although one was following us at a slight distance.
“If you think it’ll help my chances, sure.”
I looked at him sideways. “I think you’re dreaming, if I’m honest.”
“I like to think of myself as persistent.”
“Or creepy.”
“You like me,” he insisted, and I snorted.
“Delusional, too.”
“Enthusiastic,” he countered, and I rolled my eyes.
“Is this really the best you’ve got?”
Harry feigned disappointment. “Not working, huh?”
“Not nearly.”
“Hmm. I might have to reshuffle my cue cards and get back to you.”
“Good luck with that,” I told him as I turned towards my homeroom, but he stopped and pointed in the opposite direction.
“I’m going this way.”
“Good for you.” I kept walking, reaching a hand out to push the double doors open into the corridor.
“I’ll miss you,” he called, and I turned around in bemusement to see him watching me, one hand laid dramatically over his heart and a lovelorn expression on his face.
I just shook my head at him as the girls in front of me started giggling. “You’re pathetic.”
Harry grinned. “You’ll come around. Just wait.”
“In your dreams.”
I pushed my way through the doors, letting them swing closed behind me and trying to ignore the looks that the other girls were giving me. A few strides down the corridor and I glanced back over my shoulder, but Harry was gone.
* * *
“Pass the mashed potato.”
“What’s the magic word?”
“Pass the mashed potato, asshole.”
“AJ!” Dad scolded me as Anders widened his eyes and tightened his grip on the bowl.
“Well now you’re definitely not getting any,” he told me primly. “What kind of example is that setting for the younger generation?”
I looked around the table. “What younger generation? Astrid’s not even here.”
Anders’ eyes followed mine. “Huh. So she isn’t.” He set the potatoes down again and started looking around the room, then ducked his head under the table. “Astrid, you down there?”
Ignoring his attempt at humour, I stood up and reached over in front of Lexi to reach the unguarded dish of potatoes, scooping some onto my plate as I sat back down.
“Astrid’s at a friend’s place,” Dad explained as Anders sat back up.
“A sleepover on a school night?” Anders sounded scandalised. “I know they say the rules don’t apply to the youngest child, but this is taking it a bit far! Next thing you know she’ll be staying out all night and coming home plastered, setting a bad example to us all.”
“She’s not sleeping over, Aidan’s picking her up on his way home from the gym,” Dad said. “Lexi, you’re not to leave the table until everyone’s done, you know that,” he warned my sister as she abruptly got to her feet.
“But AJ eats so much,” Alexia complained, slumping back down into her chair and glaring at me.
“Better get her a grazing muzzle like Squib’s, what d’you reckon?” Anders asked her, and she smirked.
I lifted my fork and flipped a chunk of mashed potato in my brother’s direction, but he just moved his head and caught it in his mouth.
“Thanks sis,” he said once he’d swallowed it. “I heard you were showing off your footy skills to Scud this morning.”
I half-choked on my mouthful of potato, which only made Anders’ smile widen. After taking a swig of water, I started defended myself.
“He kicked the ball at my head,” I told him. “If I hadn’t caught it I’d have been knocked flat.”
“He’s just pulling on your pigtails,” Anders teased, making me roll my eyes.
“Well you can tell him to give it up,” I replied. “He’s not nearly as charming as he thinks he is.”
“Are you talking about Harry Conrad?” Lexi said. “Because people call him Scud.”
“Yes we are, and yes they do,” Anders said agreeably.
“He’s in my History class.”
“Is that so?”
“I think he likes me.”
Anders and I looked at each other across the table, then both of our heads swivelled back towards Lexi.
“Oh yeah?” Anders asked. “Why d’you say that?”
“Because he told the other boys to stop annoying me, and they did.” Lexi looked pleased with herself. “They didn’t stop when I told them to, but they listened to him and then they left me alone.”
“Well that’s good,” I said, my throat thick with potato.
“And he sat next to me in class and he liked it when I had to remind Mr Gibson that Rasputin was sho
t three times, not four. Once in the stomach, once in the kidneys and once in the head. I think he’s going to ask me to be his girlfriend.”
We all knew that she wasn’t talking about Rasputin anymore. I shot an astonished look at Anders, who raised a sceptical eyebrow at me.
“That’s great, hon,” Dad said, sounding genuinely pleased and clearly oblivious to the nuances of the situation. “I’ll look forward to meeting this young man.”
“I’m going to invite him over for dinner,” Lexi said decisively, standing up and breaking into one of her rare, genuine smiles.
“I hope he can make it,” Dad said diplomatically.
Lexi left the room, and we could hear her humming to herself in the kitchen as Dad stood up and followed suit, leaving Anders and I alone at the table.
“Huh.” My brother leaned back in his chair and cracked his knuckles. “This is going to go well.”
CHAPTER THREE
“There’s a Pony Club rally tomorrow,” I told Katy the following afternoon as we groomed our ponies before our ride.
“Ugh, I know.” She ran her body brush over Molly’s gleaming hindquarters. “Mum’s trying to make me go because they have some coach coming to do a desensitising clinic and she thinks it’s the perfect time to take Rascal back to his owners and show how much improved he is.”
“Rebel,” I corrected her. “His name is Rebel, not Rascal.”
Katy looked at me. “What?”
“The roan pony that you’re schooling,” I clarified, and she nodded. “His name’s Rebel.”
“No it’s not.”
I grinned. “Yeah it is. Squib used to graze with him, remember?”
“Really?” Katy looked confused, then shrugged. “Oh well, same difference. Either way it’s a stupid name for such a well-behaved pony. I’ve got no idea what those muppets who own him were on about when they said he’s naughty. He hasn’t put a foot wrong since he got here.”
“Nervous riders make nervous horses,” I said, remembering how petrified Alyssa was of her pony.
“If she doesn’t want her pony to go forward when she puts her leg on, she should buy a tricycle,” Katy said. “I can’t stand kids who scream and grab at the reins the second their ponies move faster than a snail’s pace. Poor Rascal, having to go back to them.”
I ignored her error. It was probably too late for her to change now anyway. “So he is going back?”
“Yeah, I’m sick of riding him and I think they’re sick of paying me when every time they ring up to find out how he’s going I just say the same thing. As well-behaved as he was the day he arrived. Which he has been, but as soon as they get him back and he puts a toe out of line, they’re going to accuse me of lying or being a useless trainer, and send him to someone else, throwing more money at the exact same problem. Yet somehow buying the kid some lessons never crosses their mind.”
“The funny thing is, her little sister would be able to ride him,” I said, thinking of Carrie’s bubbly confidence. “But Sandra would never allow it.”
“Ugh. Parents are stupid,” Katy muttered, just as her mother appeared around the side of the building, leading the roan pony we’d been discussing. I’d have been mortified if my mother heard me say anything like that, but Deb seemed to take the insults for granted.
“I hope you’re talking about your father, not me,” was all she said as she tied Rebel to a ring in the wall and started taking his covers off.
“Actually I was talking about the people who own Rascal,” Katy told her mother.
“Rebel,” I said, but my correction fell again on deaf ears.
“They’ll be here in half an hour,” Deb told Katy, who looked stunned.
“What? Who?”
“Rascal’s owners. They’re coming to have a ride and see how Alicia gets on with him, if there’s any improvement. I told you that last night.”
“It’s Alyssa, actually,” I interjected, but neither of them heard me.
“You did not! You said I had to take him to Pony Club, not that they were coming to ride him.”
Deb sighed and started explaining that the owners thought they might want to take him to Pony Club themselves, and she’d had to convince them to come and ride him again first. Katy made a lot of grumpy interruptions and I just listened wryly to their argument as I finished picking out Squib’s hooves, checking carefully around his white line for any embedded stones. Katy’s arena had quite a bit of fine gravel mixed into the surface, and it was notorious for getting trapped inside Squib’s white line, which could cause bruising or abscesses if I wasn’t vigilant about it.
Once his hooves were done, I lifted Squib’s saddle onto his back, setting it too far forward and then sliding it back to make sure the hairs under his saddle blanket didn’t get ruffled the wrong way. Reaching under his belly for the girth, I pulled it up snugly but not too tight, then gave his solid neck a firm pat.
Deb went off to get some brushes for Rebel, and Katy looked over at me with a pained expression.
“Ugh. Now we can’t go over to the Fitzherberts’ today, because we won’t have time to ride there and back before these people turn up to see Rascal or Ratbag or whatever you said his name is.”
“Rebel.”
“Rebel,” she repeated, looking at the pony with some scepticism. “I’m never going to remember that. I guess we’ll have to ride these two in the arena.”
I pulled a face at her. “Squib wanted to go for a hack.”
“Well, tell him that we can’t always have what we want,” Katy replied curtly. “Sometimes life just bites you in the butt and you have to get used to it.”
“Speaking of that, have you heard from Tess?” I asked, but Katy shook her head.
“Nope, not since Dad dropped her home a fortnight ago. You?” I shook my head as well, and she looked concerned. “I hope she’s okay.”
“Yeah, me too.”
We were quiet for a while then as we finished tacking up our ponies, both lost in thought. Tess was a friend who competed at lots of the same shows as we did, usually riding her sister Hayley’s outgrown show jumping pony Misty, who was even more of a handful than Squib on his worst days. I didn’t have much time for Hayley, who was a bully with a real mean streak, but she’d started having unexplained seizures lately and I knew Tess was worried about her. Personally I thought it might provide a good wake-up call to Hayley to deal with her own weakness, but I didn’t want to say that out loud and appear to be heartless.
“You forgot Squib’s martingale again,” Katy told me as she put her helmet on and snapped up the chinstrap.
“I thought I’d try riding without it today,” I replied, keeping my voice casual. I’d never ridden my pony in anything other than a snaffle bridle until I’d first met Katy, and although the martingale and copper roller bit that she’d added to my tack had helped me keep my pony under control, I didn’t want to rely on them forever.
Katy rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself.” She swung gracefully into Molly’s saddle, used her foot to push her offside stirrup down then leaned down to tighten her girth. “But don’t come crying to me when you have to start picking his ears out of your teeth.”
“We’ll be fine,” I assured my friend, rubbing Squib’s head affectionately as I tightened his girth another hole and picked up my own helmet.
There was no malice in my pony, just a lack of training. And as his owner and rider, it was my job to train him so that he didn’t need any artificial aids to keep him under control. Horses are remarkably sensitive animals, and I’d watched countless videos in the past few days of riders who’d trained hot, excitable horses that were considered unruly or dangerous and made them into balanced, relaxed and willing partners, simply by removing unnecessary tack items and dedicating time to correct schooling. Squib butted me with his nose, and waited as I swung myself into the saddle and followed Katy into the arena.
* * *
“Oh my God. What is all that junk?”
Squib was havi
ng the exact same reaction as Katy to the sight laid out before him. The bare paddock of our Pony Club grounds often had jumps set up on it, or games equipment, but never before had it been covered in quite so many strange things. There were blue tarpaulins laid out on the grass, their edges weighted down by bright orange road cones, a flimsy-looking metal archway with streamers hanging down from it, a narrow passageway between two jumps with balloons tied to the poles, flags and barrels and signs and stuffed animals, all making a series of strange and spooky obstacles that were, presumably, part of the Pony Club’s desensitising rally. Squib had slammed to a halt at the sight of it all, and was now staring around in horror, trying to take everything in while he tried to decide which was the most dangerous and whether to just turn around and run back to the truck.
“Come on Squibbles, don’t be such a wimp,” I told him, squeezing him forward with my legs. Horrified by this suggestion, Squib went immediately into a fast reverse. Of course he timed it perfectly to literally crash into Donna, one of our regular Pony Club coaches who had never thought much of Squib anyway. She stumbled clear, just managing to stay on her feet before she started yelling at me.
“Haven’t you got that creature under control yet?”
I didn’t bother trying to reply, even though generally Squib was a whole lot better than he’d been only a few months ago. I’d so wanted to turn up to the rally today and have him going beautifully, showing Donna and all the other doubters how much he’d learned and how much potential he really had, but of course Squib had other ideas. For the first year I’d owned him, all I’d heard from Donna was that he was crazy and out of control, and my parents shouldn’t have bought him for me, and I was going to get myself killed, etcetera. Since I’d started riding with Katy, I’d come to appreciate that Squib was actually a very talented pony with a big future, but Donna still didn’t want to admit any such thing. And judging by Squib’s current behaviour, she wasn’t going to have her mind changed any time soon.
I gave my pony a firm kick in the ribs and he shot forward again with his head in the air. I was glad I’d put the martingale on today despite my reservations about using it, since he’d been perfect schooling without it yesterday. But at home in the arena was very different from being out in a large group at Pony Club, and Deb had talked me into putting it back on.