Team Challenge by Janet Rising Page A

the judges. I didn’t see Cat and Bambi’s performance as they had been the first to go. From the scoreboard, I could see they had a good score—better than mine.
    “No pressure, James,” remarked Bean. “But it’s all up to you now!”
    “Piece of cake!” said James. But he pulled a face to show he wasn’t taking anything for granted. Since altering his stirrups, Moth had hardly touched a pole, and although he and Moth had a nasty moment at a tricky fence, and Moth slipped going into the style, causing us all to hold our breath, nothing fell, and we all leaped up and down and squealed like boy band fans when James rode out with a clear round and no penalties. The Great Eight were on their way up!
    “See,” said Dee, “I said my granddad would help us.”
    “I don’t see why he should take all the credit,” said James.
    “He didn’t help me much,” grumbled Bean. “It took me ages to get to sleep that night. I kept imagining all sorts of things whenever I heard a squeak or a thump. It was a lousy idea.”
    I was glad I hadn’t been the only one who’d imagined things when I’d gone to bed. I didn’t think it worth mentioning.
    India was next to jump on the Dweeb. As she cantered into the ring, we had a bit of a powwow.
    “Is that the pony who’s overqualified?” Katy whispered to me.
    “Yes. She was called Platinum Bell when she jumped at nationals.”
    “It doesn’t make sense,” said Dee. “Well-known ponies command a higher price, so why would anyone want to keep it a secret? I can’t believe India doesn’t know her pony is so experienced.”
    “Maybe there’s a reason for it,” suggested Bean. The bell rang, and India headed the Dweeb, aka Platinum Bell, toward the first jump.
    “What kind of reason?” I said.
    “I don’t know. Perhaps India stole her,” Bean suggested wildly.
    India and the Dweeb cleared the first jump and cantered neatly toward the next. I couldn’t get the image of India, in cartoon-burglar garb of a black-and-white striped top and black mask, unbolting the Dweeb’s stable and leading her away in the dead of night. No, that couldn’t be it.
    “Or,” said James, “perhaps she just likes winning at local shows on a pony who can blow the opposition away.”
    Tucking up her forelegs neatly, the Dweeb cleared the style with plenty of room to spare.
    I looked at James. “Are you serious?”
    “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’m just clutching at straws. India doesn’t seem the sort to pull a fast one. She’s actually pretty nice.”
    Twang
went my heart. James thought India was nice.
    “I know,” agreed Katy. “I can’t believe she knows about her pony’s past.”
    The pony who had told the piebald that she thought these qualifiers were a bit “provincial” got it all wrong at the next and dropped her hind legs onto the pole, knocking it off and collecting ten penalties.
    “Hooray!” yelled Bean, immediately clapping her hand over her mouth and turning bright red. “Oh, dear, I so didn’t mean to say that out loud. Sorry.”
    Several people nearby tut-tutted, so we crept away, trying to look ashamed.
    A team of two chestnuts, an Appaloosa, and a bay won the qualifier, ridden by three sisters and their cousin. They had a big horse trailer and looked very serious about it all. Cat and Leanne’s team was second, and we went wild when the loudspeaker announced that the Great Eight had taken third place.
    Two-thirds. We’d qualified!
    “I don’t believe it—we’re going to Brookdale!” shouted Katy, hanging around Bluey’s neck and smothering him with kisses. Bluey looked pleased in a pleased-pony sort of way.
    Bean did a dance on the spot, causing Tiffany to stick her head in the air and run backward.
    “Hear that, Moth? We’re off to the big-time!” James said.
    Moth said nothing.
    “Drummer, you’re going to Brookdale, what do you think of that?” I told Drum.
    “Do I have to wear those ear things there?” Drum replied.
    “Oh,