Secret Pony Society by Janet Rising Page A

my new stuff. Target and Kohl’s were our usual haunts. I felt really torn. Shopping with Skinny had almost been fun—and not just because she’d bought me stuff. It seemed the shopping trip had worked as a bonding exercise, after all. It could turn out to be a good day—if only Bean would call!
    It all changed when we got back home and met up with Dad.
    â€œHi, Pumpkin!” he said, kissing both of us. “Did you have a good day?”
    I nodded, showing him the designer T-shirt and boots. Frustration about Bean made me brave.
    â€œDad,” I said carefully, “would you mind not calling me Pumpkin? I’m a bit old for that now.”
    â€œShe is, Paul. Pia’s a young lady now!” Skinny Lynny laughed, reverting back to her giggly and annoying persona around my dad. Actually, I was fed up with being Pumpkin. What was wrong with Pia? My name had been chosen by my mom and dad, for goodness sake, you’d think my dad would want to call me by it.
    â€œOK then, if you think so,” said Dad, ruffling my hair. One way or the other he was determined to keep me his little girl.
    I kept checking my phone as Dad and Skinny discussed where we could all go for dinner that evening before they took me back home. I was going to be home too late to go to the yard, which was annoying, but at least it meant I had all of Wednesday to be with Drummer and get up to speed with Bean.
    Is there anything more frustrating than a cell phone that doesn’t ring when you’ve been given only a fraction of the picture by text? If there is, I can’t think what it can be! Finally, after some more totally unnecessary comments from Dad and Skinny about whether I was expecting a call from James (give it a rest, will you?), I took refuge in the putty-colored guest room and got ready to go out.
    The weather had turned gloomy and rain pelted my window, making me think about Jazz. Huddled in the icehouse in the dark would be bad enough, but with the rain beating down, I could imagine how miserable it would be. Closing my eyes, I pictured Falling Snow sheltering next to a rhododendron bush, her head low, resting one hind leg, rainwater dripping off her sodden mane and tail. I imagined Jazz and her dog huddled together in the spooky icehouse on Drummer’s exercise sheet, the door ajar so Jazz could make out her pony’s outline in the gloom. Brrrrr! I was comfy in the bedroom with its en suite bathroom. The thought made me feel strangely guilty.
    I pulled on my new T-shirt and grinned when I saw the designer label exposed between my shoulder blades. I’d have to tie my hair back to make sure that was on show! All the seams were sewn up to prevent them from fraying—a big change from the cheap shirts I usually wore. As I pulled my new left boot onto my foot, my phone rang AT LAST.
    Snatching it off the bedside table, I slipped and toppled over onto the floor, banging my elbow on the polished floorboards. So not funny.
    It was Bean— finally! “Bean,” I practically shouted, “what’s happening?”
    â€œHi, Pia, hold on a minute…” I couldn’t believe it! I didn’t want to hold on a minute, so I yelled into my phone, “Hey, Bean, talk to me NOW!” Rude, yes, but wouldn’t you? There were lots of muffled shuffling sounds, then the sound of a stable door banging shut and Bean’s voice again.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œBean, what are you doing? I’m dying for news here!” I shouted.
    â€œYeah, well, I’m in Tiff’s stable, making sure no one can hear me,” Bean mumbled indignantly. “Walls have ears, you know!”
    â€œWhat’s been happening?”
    â€œTons of stuff has happened. For a start, Jazz’s father’s been on the warpath,” said Bean. I could tell she was whispering. “James and Cat saw him when they were out riding yesterday, and he ranted and raved at them, shouting that