do something about Skinny Lynny. Like make her disappear. Or get tired of my dad, or diet away to nothing—or at the very least, never want to go riding again. Or could I influence my dad and get him back together with my mom? And if I could, would Mom want that? Would I?
And then my thoughts meandered on to considering whether I could make Greg less of a nerd, or even make him go away altogether. Perhaps he could join the navy or get lost on a school trip in the mountains. But just as I had Greg stuck down a hole in the Rocky Mountains, calling for help, with no one within earshot, a spider dropped down too close for comfort and forced me outside.
In the sun, I realized I was getting really carried away with this spirit stuff. How easy it is for evil to take hold, I thought. I really had to get a grip. Mom says it’s seriously bad karma to wish ill on other people (she usually says it after a mega whining session about Skinny Lynny), and that it will only come back on you twofold. So then I got to wondering whether I would try the Ouija board thing out on Skinny and Greg if karma wasn’t the only thing stopping me, and whether karma and conscience were the same thing, and in the end my head started to feel a bit full with so many thoughts so I took Drummer for a ride and let the dust settle in his stable and my brain.
When I got into bed that night, and started imagining all sorts of things—mainly when I heard a floorboard squeak or could hear all the usual night sounds, which seemed suddenly spooky—I totally wished we hadn’t let Dee talk us into the Ouija board thing. I made up my mind I was never, ever going to do it again.
Chapter 11
T he third qualifier was make-or-break time. If we didn’t place in the first three here, it was bye-bye, Brookdale dream. I couldn’t help wondering whether Dee’s granddad really was looking down on us. (Or up. I mean, how could we tell?)
It took us forever to ride over to Lambourne Farm, which is a really fancy equestrian center on top of a hill. It was a hot day, so we got there early so the ponies could rest before the competition. The dressage was held in the massive indoor school. Tiffany and Bean were up after a particularly good test by a gray pony ridden by a very tall girl who sniffed all the way around.
“Why doesn’t she blow her nose?” hissed Bean.
“Perhaps it’s a habit,” I hissed back. “Can you remember the test?”
“Don’t ask!” she said. “And don’t put me under pressure, for goodness sake!”
Tiffany and Bean performed in their usual fashion— two missed transitions, one wobble when Bean was undecided about a circle or a turn, and one stop-dead-and-check-out-the-letters-before-proceeding-with-caution. Her score was thirty-nine. What could we say? Bean had warned us how it would be. Outside the arena, Tiffany rubbed her nose on a front leg to get rid of the feel of the noseband.
“You think it would get easier,” she said to me. “But actually, it’s worse each time.”
“We all appreciate your bravery, Tiff,” I told her, patting her snowy mane.
“Still trash, though. You all have to pull your hooves out,” Tiff told Drummer and Moth. “I’m done for the day! I don’t like the look of those flags, by the way. Very nasty.”
Our ace in the hole, Bluey, completed his customary fast clear. He was like a machine. We sponged him down with some cool water as Katy slithered out of the saddle and thanked him. Scott and Warrior thundered around with no penalties whatsoever, and it looked like it would have taken a natural disaster to stop them or even slow them down.
“I wish we’d had a big fat horsefly on our side today.” Bean sighed, obviously not the slightest bit worried by karma.
“We only have to come in third to qualify,” James reminded us.
Drum gave his best performance yet (“The sooner it’s over, the sooner I can get out of this ridiculous costume!” were his exact words) and we got a high score from
And then my thoughts meandered on to considering whether I could make Greg less of a nerd, or even make him go away altogether. Perhaps he could join the navy or get lost on a school trip in the mountains. But just as I had Greg stuck down a hole in the Rocky Mountains, calling for help, with no one within earshot, a spider dropped down too close for comfort and forced me outside.
In the sun, I realized I was getting really carried away with this spirit stuff. How easy it is for evil to take hold, I thought. I really had to get a grip. Mom says it’s seriously bad karma to wish ill on other people (she usually says it after a mega whining session about Skinny Lynny), and that it will only come back on you twofold. So then I got to wondering whether I would try the Ouija board thing out on Skinny and Greg if karma wasn’t the only thing stopping me, and whether karma and conscience were the same thing, and in the end my head started to feel a bit full with so many thoughts so I took Drummer for a ride and let the dust settle in his stable and my brain.
When I got into bed that night, and started imagining all sorts of things—mainly when I heard a floorboard squeak or could hear all the usual night sounds, which seemed suddenly spooky—I totally wished we hadn’t let Dee talk us into the Ouija board thing. I made up my mind I was never, ever going to do it again.
Chapter 11
T he third qualifier was make-or-break time. If we didn’t place in the first three here, it was bye-bye, Brookdale dream. I couldn’t help wondering whether Dee’s granddad really was looking down on us. (Or up. I mean, how could we tell?)
It took us forever to ride over to Lambourne Farm, which is a really fancy equestrian center on top of a hill. It was a hot day, so we got there early so the ponies could rest before the competition. The dressage was held in the massive indoor school. Tiffany and Bean were up after a particularly good test by a gray pony ridden by a very tall girl who sniffed all the way around.
“Why doesn’t she blow her nose?” hissed Bean.
“Perhaps it’s a habit,” I hissed back. “Can you remember the test?”
“Don’t ask!” she said. “And don’t put me under pressure, for goodness sake!”
Tiffany and Bean performed in their usual fashion— two missed transitions, one wobble when Bean was undecided about a circle or a turn, and one stop-dead-and-check-out-the-letters-before-proceeding-with-caution. Her score was thirty-nine. What could we say? Bean had warned us how it would be. Outside the arena, Tiffany rubbed her nose on a front leg to get rid of the feel of the noseband.
“You think it would get easier,” she said to me. “But actually, it’s worse each time.”
“We all appreciate your bravery, Tiff,” I told her, patting her snowy mane.
“Still trash, though. You all have to pull your hooves out,” Tiff told Drummer and Moth. “I’m done for the day! I don’t like the look of those flags, by the way. Very nasty.”
Our ace in the hole, Bluey, completed his customary fast clear. He was like a machine. We sponged him down with some cool water as Katy slithered out of the saddle and thanked him. Scott and Warrior thundered around with no penalties whatsoever, and it looked like it would have taken a natural disaster to stop them or even slow them down.
“I wish we’d had a big fat horsefly on our side today.” Bean sighed, obviously not the slightest bit worried by karma.
“We only have to come in third to qualify,” James reminded us.
Drum gave his best performance yet (“The sooner it’s over, the sooner I can get out of this ridiculous costume!” were his exact words) and we got a high score from
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