Secret Pony Society by Janet Rising

hugging my T-shirt and feeling guilty for loving it so much. But then, I reasoned, actually my dad was paying, not Skinny, because although Skinny Lynny goes to work, my dad earns most of the money. And as Skinny pounded her PIN in again, my cell chimed with a text. Flipping it open, I saw it was from Bean.
    ALL MESSED UP HERE AGAIN—CALL ME!
    Oh. Oh pooh , I thought, my momentary shopping buzz oozing down to my toes. I dialed Bean’s number, but her phone was off. I didn’t dare leave a message in case she listened to it within earshot of anyone else, so I texted her instead: U CALL ME!
    With Skinny’s blouse and belt safely encased in a cool JayCee bag, we continued window-shopping along Fairview’s main street—but my heart was no longer in shopping. I was far too worried about Bean’s message. What could possibly have happened? Had Jazz been discovered? If so, how? Had her dad found her? Or, even more worryingly, could it be about Drummer? Had something happened? Tensely chewing the inside of my cheek, I tried to rekindle an interest in belts and boots and dresses with outrageous price tags without success.
    â€œHow’s Drummer?” asked Skinny Lynny, flicking her hair back behind her ears and showing off a twinkly, dangly earring. It was as though she could see inside my head. Spooky! I remembered how, following me giving Skinny Lynny a riding lesson on Drum in the summer, she had taken up riding at a swanky riding school nearby, Stocks Farm. So I asked her how it was going.
    â€œOh, OK,” she said airily. “I still go occasionally—it got more interesting when I started cantering and jumping, but it’s not like I’m addicted to it. I mean, I like wearing all the clothes, and there’s a lovely gray horse there called Cloud that I like, but it’s not my favorite thing to do. I know you love it, Pia—and I know your dad got all excited about us going riding together, but this is fun, too, isn’t it?”
    I nodded because actually, before Bean’s worrying text, it had been. It was a change to go shopping and be able to try on stuff that I normally couldn’t afford. And—and this was the strange bit—Skinny was actually OK when she wasn’t with my dad. She didn’t grin and flirt and act all little-girly. She was much more, well, ordinary somehow. I felt a bit guilty for not disliking her as usual and wondered why I felt that way. I was just so used to her being the enemy. Mom and I had both blamed Skinny for enticing Dad away from us, but I was beginning to realize that Dad hadn’t needed much in the way of enticement. He seemed really happy with Skinny. More so than when he’d been with us , I thought with a pang.
    If only Bean would call me and I could get up to speed, I could have continued to enjoy shopping some more. However much I willed my cell to ring, it stayed stubbornly silent. I kept checking it to make sure I hadn’t missed a call but no—nothing. Why didn’t Bean call?
    â€œAre you expecting a call from James?” asked Skinny, pausing to look at shoes in a shop window.
    â€œNo, my friend Bean. She’s looking after Drummer,” I explained, shoving my phone back in my bag.
    â€œOh, look at those gorgeous boots,” Skinny cooed, drawing me into the shoe shop and trying on a pair of white boots adorned with fringe and studs. “Try those suede boots, Pia,” she added. “They’ll look great with your jeans.”
    She was right. I looked at the black suede toes peeping out from under the denim and wondered whether Skinny was going to buy them for me, too. I hoped so. They were just gorgeous. But why didn’t Bean call?
    I got the boots. I didn’t even ask for them. Skinny just decided they were destined for my feet. I hoped Mom was going to be OK with it all—I didn’t want to upset her, and I knew she could never afford the prices Skinny had paid for