For Sale Or Swap (6 page)

The weather report had forecast rain, but it was a
beautiful mild morning. Shelby hummed as she got
dressed into her Pony Club uniform. Out in the lounge
room her brothers were watching cartoons. She could
hear the TV blaring.

Her father helped her with her tie. 'You're chirpy
this morning,' he said, flipping and rolling the tie in a
complicated knot around his own neck. He slipped it
over his head and passed it to her.

'I'm moving up to advanced this morning,' Shelby
explained.

'So, this swap has turned out for the best after all,'
he said.

Shelby concentrated on straightening her tie. She
had slept through the night before, not waking in a
slick sweat of panic about Blue as she had on the
previous nights. She wondered if Hayley would still
want her to come over to watch
McLeod's Daughters
when she no longer had a beautiful pony – or any
pony at all. Still, it was a beautiful day and Shelby
was going to enjoy it. She would start worrying again
tomorrow.

Brat wasn't waiting for her at the gate like Blue
used to. She was at the very back of the paddock next
to the fence and hardly raised her head when Shelby
slid through the sliprail.

'Come on,' called Shelby. 'Breakfast.' She opened
up the shed door, scooped chaff into Brat's feed bin
and placed it on the ground outside, then she disappeared
back into the shed to get her tack ready. She
rubbed down her saddle and boots with an old towel,
and shook out her Pony Club saddlecloth. Some of
Blue's long white hairs floated to the ground. She
reached out to grab one of them in midair, but it
slipped away from her, dancing in the sunlight.

Peering out the door, she noticed the feed bin was
exactly where she had put it. No Brat. Shelby put her
hands on her hips. 'Come on,' she called out. Brat
hadn't moved from the very back of the paddock.

Brat skipped once on her back legs. She jumped
sideways and then Shelby heard an alarming metallic
twang. Shelby gasped. Brat was caught in the fence.

She ran towards the pony. Brat panicked. Shelby
could see the whites of her eyes and her nose flaring in
distress. As Brat jumped up and down in fear, Shelby
could see the entangled foot twist, and the wire in
which it was caught biting into the flesh.

'Whoa,' Shelby said. 'Settle down.'

Far from settling, Brat writhed all the more. Shelby's
heart beat faster and faster as the wire got tighter and
tighter around the pony's limb. She leaned forward,
trying to catch hold of the flailing leg. A thought, eerily
calm, crossed Shelby's mind – s
he's going to rip her
hoof off.
And then,
snap!
The wire broke, ricocheting
fast towards Shelby's face. Shelby shut her eyes and the
loose wire whipped her cheek. Shelby put her hand to
it. It stung so much that she was sure it had slashed her
face open, but when she looked down, there was
nothing on her palm but perspiration.

Brat lifted her tail and fled at a gallop down to the
other end of the paddock. Shelby watched as she
approached the sliprail.

She's not stopping. She's going to sail right over
the top of it and onto the street.

Shelby started to run. Maybe she could stop her.
But how?

Brat galloped closer and closer and then tucked her
back legs underneath her.

She's going to jump.

Less than a metre before the sliprail, Brat skidded
to a stop, her hooves churning up the soil into four
long channels. She stood still, snorted, and then
limped over to the feed bin, where she buried her face
in the chaff.

Shelby bent over, leaning her hands on her knees,
and exhaled. She stayed that way until her heartbeat,
hammering against her ribs, slowed down to normal.
Shelby put her hand to her stinging face and felt a
long line of raised flesh, like Braille, on her cheek.

That was close
, she thought. The paddock had
been fine for Blue, who had never shown any desire to
escape, but the wobbly pickets and loose strands
would not hold Brat if she was bent on breaking out.
The fences had always been ugly, but now they were
dangerous too.

Shelby watched as Brat picked up her injured leg
and put it down again. As she walked over to where
the pony was standing, Brat skipped away, snorting,
and Shelby's heart started beating again.

'It's OK,' Shelby said, holding out her hand.
'I won't hurt you.'

Brat sidled away from her and then nosed at the
feed bin from the opposite side, eyeing Shelby.

'It's not my fault you hurt yourself,' she said.
'I was only trying to help.'

She edged closer and squatted down to have a
closer look at Brat's leg. It wasn't marked at all. The
hair was scruffy around the top of her hoof, but there
was no blood.

If it had been Blue she would have left him at home
and gone to the Pony Club to learn what she could
from the sidelines, but since it really was her last
chance to ride a horse with a three-barrelled name,
even if it was only a pretend one, and especially to be
instructed by
the
Calvin Protheroe, Shelby decided to
go anyway. Brat would have ample chance to rest
when she got home. After today Shelby was never
going to ride her again. After today Shelby would
report her to the police.

Shelby saddled the pony and they set off across the
gully. Brat was the most subdued she had ever been
and Shelby enjoyed it, relaxing into the saddle and
letting the reins loosen.

On the way Shelby amused herself with a little
daydream. Everyone at Pony Club would ride around
in circles and Calvin Protheroe would call her into the
centre. He would reveal to her that his real purpose
for coming was to scout out very special riders who
had the talent to make it to the top.

'Have you considered going professional?' he
would ask her. Shelby would smile self-consciously.
'Not really.' All the parents would be watching at the
fence, hearing what he was saying. The committee
would be embarrassed that they'd made her stay in
the beginner's group for so long – especially Mrs
Hockings, the Club President, who was the most
snobby of them all. 'I think you've got what it takes,'
Calvin Protheroe would say.

She would have to give up school and travel
around in a big convoy of trucks from city to city
doing demonstrations. The other special young riders
would become her best friends, and they would all
train together, laughing, joking and cheering each
other on. One of the young riders would be a boy who
would secretly fall in love with her from the moment
they met.

Companies would sponsor her, and she would
have so many riding outfits that she could give most
of them away to young girls who couldn't afford their
own. She could start 'The Shelby Shaw Foundation'
and one day win a humanitarian award for it.

Then when she was seventeen, a rich old man
would be watching her training one day and he would
tell her that he had a beautiful warmblood stallion
worth a million dollars, and he wanted Shelby to ride
him in the Olympics. 'He deserves the best,' the old
man would say. Shelby would talk it over with her
friends, and three of them would have received similar
offers, including the boy, except their horses wouldn't
be quite as good.

They would make a pact to only go in the team
events so that they wouldn't have to compete against
each other, because their friendship was more important
than anything in the world.

The team would win gold, of course, and afterwards
they would be asked to do ads for apple sauce
and laundry detergents.

By the time she reached the Pony Club grounds
Brat was quite warm, and not limping in the slightest.
Her arrival attracted a bit of attention. Hayley and
Erin were sitting on the picnic seats with some of the
other girls, and they all turned as she and Brat walked
up the road.

A few of the adults congregated at the door of the
clubhouse to watch her ride past. One of them was
Calvin Protheroe himself, nursing a cup of coffee. He
was wearing real leather top-boots like a professional.
Shelby touched her hat as she rode past the clubhouse
and Mr Protheroe smiled.

Shelby felt a little murmur of disquiet as they lined
up for parade. With all the excitement this morning,
she had forgotten to check that Brat was still properly
brown. What if she had rubbed during the night and
some of her boot polish had come off? From Brat's
back, Shelby couldn't tell what state the pony's face
was in.

Shelby watched Mrs Crook escort Mr Protheroe
down to the arena. Shelby groaned. Mrs Crook was
such a stickler for cleanliness.

When it was Shelby's turn for inspection, she felt
her pulse rise. Mrs Crook frowned as she looked over
Shelby and her gear.

'What happened to your face?' she asked.

Shelby put her hand to her cheek and remembered.
'Oh. Just a bit of wire.'

Mrs Crook chastised her. 'Your boots are a mess.
Don't you ever polish them?'

Shelby peered down. 'Yes, it's just that they're old.'

'Old, my eye,' said Mrs Crook. 'You should invest
in a bit of boot polish, young lady. It would make a
world of difference.'

Shelby nodded. Calvin Protheroe didn't say anything
at all. He just scanned Brat for a moment and then
smiled again.

After the parade, the members were divided into two
groups. Group B, mostly younger children on led ponies,
moved around to the flat grassy area behind the clubhouse.
They were to go over poles under the supervision
of Mrs Hockings, who was wearing, as she always did,
a pair of lemon-coloured jodhpurs almost up to her
underarms, with her jumper tucked in. Shelby didn't
know why she wore them, since she never actually rode.

Group A, to which Shelby found herself elevated,
moved in single file into the arena.

Just as she reached the gate Mrs Hockings stepped
forward, blocking her path.

'Did you remember to bring your membership fees
today?' she asked.

'Oh.' She hadn't even thought about it. 'No,
I forgot.'

'Well, I'm sorry, Shelby, but you'll have to sit this
one out.'

Shelby looked around desperately at the other
parents. This couldn't be happening. One day was
all she was asking for. Erin's mother stepped forward.
'Let her go, Joy. I'm sure she'll remember next week,
won't you, Shelby?'

Shelby nodded. 'Yes, I promise.'

Mrs Hockings sniffed and folded her arms. 'I'll
let it go this time, but that's it. This isn't a charity,
you know.'

'Of course, Mrs Hockings, I understand.'

Shelby joined the others in the ring. She could
hardly keep from grinning. It was so good to finally be
where she belonged. She looked over at the edge of the
arena where the parents were lined up. Erin's mum
gave her the thumbs-up sign and Shelby responded
with a little wave.

Calvin Protheroe had them all walk around in a
circle, and then move into a trot. He made a few
comments here and there about the placement of
people's hands and heels, but he didn't single Shelby
out. She thought that must mean she was riding well.

Once all the horses were warmed up Mr Protheroe
divided them into two groups. She waited at the side
with Erin while the first group had their lesson. He
was quite severe on Hayley, telling her that she had
stiff arms and shoulders, and that this was restricting
the movement of the horse. He called one of the other
girls into the centre of the ring and took her stirrups
away, crossing them over onto the horse's shoulders
the way Miss Anita had when she rode Brat.

Erin whispered that he was being mean, but Shelby
thought it was good. He only had an hour to make an
impression on their lives. Shelby preferred him to be
honest with them, even if it was hard to hear. She was
listening carefully. In the background she could hear
Mrs Hockings's high, strident voice. That sound used
to go through Shelby's head like an icepick. She
indulged in another smile.

A little while later it was the second group's turn.
Erin and Shelby climbed on their ponies and joined
the others around Mr Protheroe. Shelby had barely
completed half a circle when the instructor called her
into the ring. She felt the blood drain from her face. It
was happening exactly as she'd imagined.

'Hop down,' he said, holding one of Brat's reins.

Shelby dismounted. She looked around at the other
riders and smiled, trying to keep the smugness out of
her eyes.

'Your horse is lame,' Mr Protheroe said, pointing.
'She's got a bit of swelling in the near fore.'

'She'll be OK when she warms up,' Shelby said.

Calvin Protheroe stared at her.

'I've really been looking forward to your lesson,'
Shelby said. 'I think I can learn from you.'

'The first thing you can learn is that when I say
your horse is lame, it's lame. It needs rest. I suggest
you put her on your float and take her home.'

Shelby didn't want to tell him that she didn't have
a float.

'Can I put her in a yard and watch the rest of
the lesson?'

He shrugged. 'Suit yourself, but I think it's
irresponsible.'

Shelby was ashamed. She wanted to explain that
she was a responsible owner – if it had been Blue she
wouldn't have brought him at all. But Mr Protheroe
had already turned his attention to the other riders.
She led Brat, now limping noticeably, out of the arena
and towards the yards.

Erin's mother fell into step with her. 'What's
happened?'

'Brat's got a sore leg,' Shelby said.

'That's a pity,' she said. Then she walked back to
the other parents to report. Shelby could feel their
eyes on her back. She wondered if they were saying
that she was irresponsible too. She wished she hadn't
come. Shelby led Brat past the yards and down the
road. She didn't turn back.