Pony Club Secrets
Victory and the All-Stars Academy
Stacy Gregg

www.stacygregg.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2009. HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd, HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street london SE1 9GF

Text copyright © Stacy Gregg 2009

Illustrations © Fiona Land 2009

Cover design copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020 Cover photography © Shutterstock.com CBBC logo © British Broadcasting Corporation 2016

The author and illustrator assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2009 ISBN: 9780007343034

Version 2020-08-18

For my Nan, Stella Walters, with love from your Mokopuna

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Maps

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Issie Brown may have been a long way from Chevalier Point, but from the moment she walked into the stables at Havenfields, she felt like she was home.

It was the smell that did it. That familiar scent of horse sweat, saddle soap and warm straw. Issie took a deep breath and held it. You could always tell a real horsey girl by her sense of smell, Issie thought to herself. If you totally loved horses then everything to do with them was heavenly—even the smell of horse dung!

As she cast her gaze down the main corridor of the stables, Issie felt a tingle of anticipation. There were a dozen loose boxes lining both sides of the corridor. Four of them were empty—the straw had been mucked out and they had been left wide open to air. The remaining eight boxes were bolted shut and behind each of those doors was a horse.

My horse, Issie thought, my horse is inside one of those stalls. But which one? It wouldn’t be long now until she found out. When the rest of the New Zealand Young Rider Squad arrived this morning, choices would be made. Somehow the eight riders would decide which of the horses in this stable would be their new mount for the next two weeks.

It wasn’t what Issie had been expecting at all. When she first found out that she had made the National Young Rider Squad and would be travelling to Melbourne to compete, she had naturally assumed she would be riding one of her own horses. She had been torn, trying to decide which one she should take—Blaze or Comet. Blaze, her beautiful liver chestnut mare, was back in work and doing fabulous dressage, but Comet was her superstar showjumper. It was impossible to choose between them. It came as a total shock when Chevalier Point’s head instructor, Tom Avery, broke the news to Issie and the other club riders that they wouldn’t be taking any of their horses with them.

“It’s not fair. Why can’t we take our own ponies?” Stella had griped. “Marmite would love to go to Australia.”

“Yes, Stella, I’m sure he would love the trip,” said Avery, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “only it turns out that horses can’t fly in economy class like you and me. They need specially built, very expensive crates, in their own cargo hold. A fee of about $10,000 per horse should cover it. If your parents would like to pay that much, then by all means we can take Marmite with us. Otherwise, I suggest you do what the other seven riders in the New Zealand team will be doing and borrow one of the loan mounts that the Australian team are kindly offering us.”

There were four riders from Chevalier Point Pony Club in the Young Rider Squad, and so Avery decided to call a mini team meeting at the clubroom a couple of weeks before they departed.

Issie, Stella and Kate arrived first, and when Avery dashed briefly out of the clubroom to grab the stack of trip itineraries he’d left in his car, Stella instantly lunged at Issie and bombarded her with questions.

“So, have you spoken to Aidan? Are you back together with him? Has he called you? Have you called him?”

Issie groaned. “No,” she said. “No, he hasn’t called me. And I don’t think he’s going to.”

It was three weeks since she had broken up with Aidan. Twenty-two days, nine hours and seven minutes to be exact—not that she was counting.

Issie was the one who had decided that they should break up—but that didn’t make it any easier. It should have been one of the best moments of her life when she was chosen to compete in the Young Rider Challenge against Australia. But when they called her name at the Open Gymkhana prize-giving, Issie knew it was good news for her—and bad news for her relationship with Aidan.

“It’s hard enough trying to see each other with you at Blackthorn Farm and me living in Chevalier Point,” Issie explained to him, “but now that I’m in the squad, I’ll be away in Melbourne, which makes it more than hard, it’s—”

“Impossible?” Aidan finished her sentence. “Yeah, I know. You’re right. We’ll never see each other.” He pushed his long dark fringe back, and Issie caught a last glimpse of those hypnotic blue eyes. “The horses and I aren’t going anywhere,” he said softly. “We’ll still be there at Blackthorn Farm, and there’ll be other summers.”

Issie hoped that he meant it. But he hadn’t called her since. Mind you, she hadn’t called him either. What was there to say?

“Well, I think it’s stupid,” Stella said. “He still loves you. And you still love him, don’t you? You should—”

“Stella!” Issie said. “Can you stop talking about it? Please?”

And so Stella began talking about Chevalier Point’s fourth member of the Young Rider Squad, Morgan Chatswood-Smith, instead.

“Do you really think Morgan should be in the team?” Stella asked. “You know, after everything that’s happened in the past?”

“She’s the most experienced showjumper out of all of us,” Issie reasoned, “and she’s had lots of competition experience.”

“Yeah,” said Stella, “but what if she goes crazy again and pulls one of her weird stunts?”

Morgan’s mum was the international showjumping rider, Araminta Chatswood-Smith, and Morgan was driven to follow in her mother’s famous footsteps. In the past, though, Morgan’s bitter determination to win had made her go off the rails.

“Stella’s right,” Kate agreed. “How do we know that Morgan won’t totally lose it again?”

“Hello? Remember how she cut Annabel’s stirrup leathers in half and nearly killed her?” Stella added bluntly.

“That was a long time ago,” Issie said. “Morgan’s changed. She’s not like that any more…”

“I’m not like what?”

A girl with long, dark hair stood in the doorway. She looked a bit like Issie at first glance, except she was fair-skinned and blue-eyed.

“Hi, Morgan.” Issie smiled at her.

Morgan looked about the room anxiously, only too aware of what they had been talking about.

At that moment, Avery came bounding back in. If he sensed the tension in the room between the teammates, then he didn’t let on.

“Good! We’re all here now? Excellent!” he enthused. “I just wanted to run through a few of the travel details for the trip. As you know, I’ll be accompanying the team as chef d’équipe…”

Stella stuck her hand up. “Can I put in a request now? I want to have pancakes every morning.”

“Pancakes?” Avery gave the bubbly redhead a level stare. “Stella, what in blue blazes are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying I want pancakes. If you’re going to be our chef…”

Avery sighed. “Chef d’équipe doesn’t mean cook. It’s got nothing to do with food. It means I’m the team coach.”

“I knew that,” Stella said, looking miffed as the other girls stifled their giggles.

“As I was saying,” Avery continued, “as chef d’équipe, I’ll be accompanying you to Melbourne. There are eight members in the team, so having four of you chosen from Chevalier Point is quite an achievement…”

“Marsh Fields had three members in the team last year and we never heard the end of it!” Stella pointed out. “This will shut them up!”

Avery ignored this comment, but looked quietly pleased. The girls knew he must have been secretly thrilled to have topped Marsh Fields’ record.

“In fact, Marsh Fields don’t have any riders who made the team this year,” Avery continued. “The four other riders in our squad are all from the south. There are two from Wellington region: Charlotte Grimley is from Hutt Valley Pony Club and Dee Dee James is from Franklin Heights. And then there’s Emily and Laura Swinton, both from the Brighton Pony Club near Christchurch.”

“Are they sisters?” Stella asked.

“Brilliant deduction, Stella,” said Avery. “Yes, they are and very accomplished cross-country riders, by all accounts. You four will be travelling with me,” Avery explained. “We’ll fly to Melbourne and then it’s not far by rental van to Havenfields Station, just outside Lilydale. The other four riders arrive the day after us on a separate flight.”

“Why do they call them stations?” Stella interrupted again. “Why don’t the Australians just say farm, like we do? They should speak English!”

“They do speak English, Stella!” Avery said.

“Yeah, but they’ve got funny accents,” Kate pointed out.

“They eat feesh and cheeps!” Stella shrieked. All the girls burst into giggles.

Avery shook his head in disbelief. “Oh, very mature!” he groaned. “You’re going to be spending two weeks training with the Australian team. I don’t want you lot being reduced to fits of giggles every time one of them speaks!”

“Gidday, mate!” Stella called out and the girls fell about laughing again.

Avery looked at his watch. “I’d like to wrap this meeting up quickly, please, so if you could all stop giggling…” The girls managed to pull themselves together and Avery continued.

“The Young Rider Challenge changes every year,” he explained. “This year we’re doing Express Eventing.”

“Is that like regular eventing?” Issie asked.

“The essence of it is the same. It still has the three basic phases—dressage, showjumping and cross-country—but it’s much, much faster,” Avery said. “You’ll be training at Havenfields and sharing the facilities with the Australian riders. Then there’ll be a friendly competition at the end of your stay, to see who takes home the cup.”

“Well,” said Morgan icily, “if there’s a cup to be won, I don’t imagine the competition will be all that friendly.”

The others looked at her in surprise and Stella surreptitiously elbowed Issie, as if to say, I told you so—she hasn’t changed one bit!

“The whole point of the Young Rider programme is to foster and develop young talent. You’ll be given intensive coaching with specialist instructors in all three eventing phases, alongside the Australians,” Avery continued.

“Mum is going to come over to coach us for a few days,” Morgan told them. “She’s our showjumping instructor.”

This was good news as far as the girls were concerned. Araminta Chatswood-Smith may have been a fiercely competitive rider—but she was also a great instructor.

“What about the dressage and cross-country?” Issie asked.

“Minka Klein will be taking the dressage masterclass. She’s a German dressage rider, but she’s based in Australia and has worked with some of the best riders in the country. She’s very strict, but her methods are very well respected. I’m looking forward to watching her work.”

“Will you be taking us for cross-country?” asked Stella.

“I was planning to,” Avery said, “until we got a better offer. Have you heard of Tara Kelly?”

Issie was wide-eyed. “You’re kidding! You don’t mean the Tara Kelly?”

“Who’s she?” asked Stella.

“She’s this amazing rider!’ Issie enthused. “I used to watch her on TV when I was little. She won the Lexington Three-Day Event on this really cool grey horse called Mighty Mouse.”

Avery smiled. “That was a long time ago, Issie. I’m surprised you remember her.”

“I loved her!” Issie grinned. “She always wore a pale blue jersey and a matching hard hat and she won Lexington, like, three times…”

“Four times,” Avery confirmed.

“Is she still riding?” Kate asked.

Avery shook his head. “She gave up competing and now lives in Lexington, Kentucky, not far from where they hold the three-day event. She’s a riding instructor and teacher at a school called the Blainford Academy.”

“Ohmygod! I’ve heard Mum talk about that place!” Morgan said. “They call it the All-Stars Academy. It’s like this fancy high school where you can take your horse with you—the best riders in the world go there.”

Avery nodded. “It’s just like a regular school, with all the usual subjects—but they teach riding as well. Pupils are invited to bring their own horses with them, which means you see all kinds of breeds and riding styles there. Tara is their Eventing Mistress.”

“So why is she coming to Melbourne?” asked Kate.

“She has some work to do there,” said Avery. “So I convinced her to run the training squads while she’s in town.”

“If we’re her pupils, does that make us New Zealand’s All-Stars?” Stella asked.

“I suppose so,” Avery smiled. “You’re very lucky. Tara Kelly is considered to be one of the best instructors in the world.”

“But what about the horses?” Issie asked. “If we can’t take our own horses with us, won’t we be at a disadvantage?”

“A little,” Avery admitted, “but some of the Australian team will require loan mounts too. There are riders coming from Sydney and Adelaide. Besides, the horses that Havenfields are providing will be solid eventing prospects. It’s usually a bit of a mixed bag when you borrow horses, but you can be certain that these ones will all be talented.

“There’ll be eight horses waiting for you when we arrive in two weeks’ time,” Avery said. “All you have to do is choose one.”

Chapter 2

The grey pony was galloping fast, but Issie knew they would never make it in time. Up ahead of her the other horses had already reached the road. There was the sharp honk of a car horn as two cars sped past, one of them only narrowly missing Toby.

For a brief moment Issie thought about stopping, but instead she pressed her pony on, asking him to gallop faster. She had no choice. No one else would be able to reach the horses in time. She would have to ride out on to the road and herd them back towards the pony club, and out of harm’s way, or they would be killed.

“Come on, Mystic!” Issie heard the chime of the grey pony’s shoes beneath her as they hit the tarmac of the main road and she wheeled the grey pony around to confront Toby, blocking his path. She waved her arms at the big bay hack. “Go back!”

If she could convince Toby to turn around and go back towards the pony club then Goldrush and Coco would be bound to follow. But she had to be quick. Two cars had already nearly hit them. How long could their luck last?

Starting at the sight of Issie and Mystic, Toby turned abruptly, leading the other ponies back up the gravel driveway and out of harm’s way. Issie was about to follow when suddenly the deep, low boom of a truck horn sounded off behind her. She heard the sickening squeal of tyres and smelt burning rubber. As the truck rounded the corner, coming towards her, everything seemed to go into slow motion.

Mystic turned to face the truck, like a stallion set to fight. As he did so, the grey horse reared up in the air, unseating Issie. There was a sickening feeling as Issie felt herself thrown backwards out of the saddle and then she was falling, falling…

This time she didn’t hit the ground. You never hit the ground when you fall in your dreams. Instead Issie woke up with a jolt, her heart racing. She looked around her. Where was she? What was going on? She was in bed, but this wasn’t her bedroom. And then she realised. She was at Havenfields.

The house at Havenfields had been cloaked in darkness when they arrived. Exhausted by the flight and the long drive from the airport, the girls had gone straight to bed without even unpacking. Now Issie had woken up from her nightmare, alone and disoriented, in this strange new bedroom.

She gave a shiver and pulled the duvet up around her. The dream had spooked her. Even though Mystic’s accident had happened over two years ago, the wrench of waking up and realising that it was true, and that the grey pony really was gone, still upset Issie as if it were yesterday.

Mystic had been Issie’s first pony and she had loved him more than anything. It hurt so badly when she remembered the events of that horrific day at the pony club.

The last thing she recalled was falling from Mystic’s back as he reared, then the crack of her helmet on the tarmac and the taste of blood in her mouth. The next thing she knew she was waking up in a hospital bed with her mum beside her. Issie would never forget the awful look on her mum’s face when Issie asked, “What about Mystic, Mum? Is Mystic OK?”

Mystic had saved her that day. Issie was sure that he had thrown her clear of the truck and taken the blow to save her life. How could she forget what had happened and move on? It hurt so much when he died, she told herself she would never love another horse and that she would never ride again.

Then Tom Avery brought Blaze to her. Poor, broken, abused Blaze. Together, the girl and the horse had helped each other to heal and Issie had found the strength in her heart to love again and ride again.

Through it all though, she never let go of her love for Mystic. Issie had always known that her pony was special—but Mystic was much more special than anyone could have realised. He was like a guardian angel for Issie—and for Blaze. After the accident at the pony club, the grey gelding came back to Issie. The bond they shared couldn’t be broken and whenever she really needed him, Mystic would turn up. Not as a ghost, but real and ready to help. Mystic had a sixth sense for danger. He had saved Issie’s life so many times, she had lost count.

Now here she was, thousands of kilometres from home, in a strange bed, dreaming of him once again. Issie looked out the window. In the past, a dream like this was a portent, a signal that Mystic would be outside waiting for her, ready for an adventure. Was he waiting for her now? Would it really be so strange if he had followed her here to Australia? After all, he had turned up in Spain when Issie had needed his help to rescue Blaze’s foal, Storm.

There was no sign of Mystic when she peered outside though, and Issie somehow knew that her pony wouldn’t be coming this time. Things had been different lately. She had been dreaming about Mystic a lot—always the same dream—and yet the grey pony was never there when she woke up.

She pressed her face up to the glass and stared out once more. It was growing light outside. What time was it anyway? Issie checked her alarm clock: 6.03 a.m.

She couldn’t just lie around in her room for hours and wait until breakfast. She could make out the shadowy outline of the stable block in the distance. She wiggled restlessly underneath the duvet. She was dying to get to the stables. When they had arrived at Havenfields last night, the girls had been desperate to go and meet the horses, but Avery had told them it would be better to wait until morning when the other riders arrived.

Surely Tom wouldn’t mind though? If she walked down to the stables now, Issie could have a quick look and be back again before anyone missed her.

She got out of bed and pulled on her jeans and a T-shirt. The other bed next to hers hadn’t been slept in. Issie’s room-mate was due to arrive that morning. Avery had decided it would be a good idea to split the Chevalier Point girls up for once. When the other New Zealand girls got here, one of them would be sharing Issie’s room. But until then, she had the whole place to herself, so no one would notice that she was gone.

The buzz of cicadas filled the air as she walked down the driveway towards the stable complex. The dirt beneath her boots was so dry, little clouds of dust rose up with each step she took.

The stable complex was functional, not flashy, the buildings constructed from cedar weatherboards that had bleached silver-grey in the harsh Australian sun. Issie walked up to the sliding door, leaning hard against it to push it open, until the gap was large enough for her to step inside.

The first thing she noticed was the familiar warm smell of horses. She took a deep breath and held it, enjoying the sweet aroma. Then she looked around at the four open stalls and, beyond those, to the stalls that were bolted shut.

She felt like a kid about to open a chocolate box and find out what flavours lay inside. In front of her were eight stalls, each with a horse inside. One of those horses would be hers for the next two weeks, to groom and care for, and to train and compete on. But which box held her horse?

Issie stepped forward to slide the bolt back on the first door. She got a bit of a shock as the top half of the door was shoved open from the inside and a bay horse with a white stripe down his face thrust his muzzle over the partition to greet her.

“Well, hello there! You’re keen, aren’t you?” Issie giggled at the bay’s enthusiasm and his trick of opening the door by himself.

The bay nickered a friendly hello and Issie stepped closer to his stall so that she could look inside. At a quick glance, she could see that the horse was a gelding, heavily built, with perhaps a bit of Clydesdale in his bloodlines. Yes, definitely Clydesdale, she decided on closer inspection. The gelding’s feathers, the long hair on his fetlocks, and his solid cannon bones were a dead giveaway.

Clydesdale blood could be a good thing, Issie thought. Clydesdales were draught horses, but if you mixed their bloodlines with Thoroughbred they made a good sport horse. They had strong bones and although they were bred to pull wagons, they were also surprisingly bold jumpers.

In fact, in many ways the bay horse would have been perfect for her to ride for the next two weeks. However, she quickly discovered that there was a problem. How could Issie possibly choose him when every horse in every stall at Havenfields seemed equally perfect?

As Issie worked her way down the row, opening the doors one by one, each horse had something special and seemed better than the last. In the second stall there was a gorgeous chocolate dun. He was only about fourteen-three hands, but he was sturdy, a solid hunter-type with a dark chocolate coat, and a pretty blond mane and tail.

The next horse was a leggy grey gelding, almost sixteen hands. He was pale grey with a mane and tail that were so dark they seemed black, contrasted against his pearly coat.

The horse in the next box was a grey as well, dappled with a silvery mane and broad aquiline nose. Next to him was a Skewbald, a bright bay colour, covered with big white patches.

All the horses so far had been geldings, but when Issie reached the sixth stall, the horse inside was a mare. She was a glossy chestnut, about fifteen hands high, with a bright white star on her forehead and a perfectly pulled mane. “Aren’t you beautiful,” Issie murmured admiringly. The mare seemed pleased with this assessment, and thrust her head over the partition so that Issie could admire her some more.

Issie had almost reached the end of the loose boxes and in the seventh one, next to the chestnut mare, Issie found a horse that was the most spectacular so far. At first glance you might have thought that he was a grey. His coat was pale and milky, but it was too creamy to be called grey. Also he had the most haunting blue eyes. Issie knew exactly what he was. She had seen a horse like this once before at a gymkhana and Avery had told her it was a cremello. He had explained that cremellos were like albinos, with the same pink skin and white hair, but instead of pink eyes, the cremello’s were a startling sky-blue.

This cremello was big—probably sixteen hands high at a guess. Issie noted that he was built like a warmblood, with well-muscled shoulders and haunches that were tailor-made for jumping. As the horse stepped forward and put his head over the door, Issie stroked his nose and noticed he had the remnants of some sticky white goo on his muzzle.

Sunblock, she thought. The cremello probably wore it to protect him from sunburn when he was grazing outdoors.

“I think you’re my favourite so far,” Issie whispered to him. Then she moved on to the last box. Her heart was racing as she slid back the bolt and opened the stall.

The horse inside the last stall was brown. Just brown and nothing more. No white markings, stars or stripes—just plain brown with a mealy muzzle. Compared to the exotic cremello, the pretty dun and all the others, the bland, brown coat of this horse couldn’t have been more boring. And yet Issie instantly liked him. Experience had taught her to look beyond colour and sense the quality that lay beneath.

The gelding was a Thoroughbred, built for speed with a fine-boned, well-muscled body. He stood at around fifteen-three hands and had an elegant head, well-set on his neck and, Issie noted, the most thoughtful, intelligent eyes she had ever seen. You could tell so much from a horse’s eyes, and the eyes of this gelding made an immediate connection with Issie. There was something special about this horse.

“Hello, boy,” Issie murmured. “You’re lovely, aren’t you?” She reached out a hand to stroke the horse. “What’s your name, eh?” she cooed.

She was startled when a voice responded.

“You’re early.”

Issie spun around. There was a woman standing right behind her!

“Ohmygod!” Issie giggled. “You gave me a fright!”

The woman didn’t smile back. She stood there stiffly with her arms folded and her brow furrowed into a frown. Despite her gruff expression, Issie could see that she was quite beautiful with glossy, walnut-brown hair, delicate, tiny freckles over her cheekbones and bright green eyes.

“You must be one of Avery’s riders,” the woman said this as if it were a statement, not a question. “I thought you weren’t due at the stables until after breakfast.”

“I’m not…I mean, we aren’t…” Issie faltered. There was something about this woman that made her nervous. She was sure she had seen her somewhere before. “I’m here from Chevalier Point Pony Club. My name’s Issie…Isadora Brown.”

“So which one is it?” the woman asked coolly. “Issie or Isadora?”

“My friends call me Issie.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well then, I’ll call you Isadora.” She paused and then added, “My students at the Blainford Academy call me Voldemort. I don’t know why. Apparently, it’s got something to do with Harry Potter…Anyway, they think it’s hilarious.” The woman looked at Issie with cold eyes. “Do you think it’s funny?”

“Ummm, yes…I mean…no…ummm, I don’t know,” Issie stammered nervously.

“It’s because I’m the toughest teacher at the college,” the woman said, clearly unperturbed by her gruesome reputation. “I expect that once you’ve been through one of my cross-country lessons you’ll agree with them. Although,” she continued, “I’d prefer it if you called me Tara.” She stuck out her hand for Issie to shake.

“Tara Kelly.”

Chapter 3

Issie had never really thought of Tara Kelly as a real person. In her mind Tara was like a superhero, impossibly fearless, dressed in her pale blue jersey and helmet, riding that cross-country course on her enormous grey horse as if her life depended on it—which it probably did, considering the size of the jumps at Lexington. Even though Avery had told the Chevalier Point riders that Tara would be instructing at Havenfields, to actually be standing here face to face with her in real life came as a shock.

“Is there something wrong?” Tara asked. This time when she spoke, Issie noticed that her cool voice had the burr of a soft American accent. She couldn’t believe it. She was really standing here, right next to Tara Kelly!

“I used to watch you riding on TV when I was little,” Issie told her.

“Well, that makes me feel positively ancient!” Tara said. Her face remained stiff and unsmiling. Issie couldn’t tell if she was joking or if she was really offended. Suddenly she felt all flustered, standing there saying the wrong thing to one of her idols.

“No! I mean you don’t look really old…” Issie groaned. Every time she opened her mouth it got worse.

Tara Kelly arched an eyebrow. “Thanks—you don’t look that old either. You must have been pretty young when you watched me on TV—I haven’t ridden competitively in a long time.”

“I was eight, I guess,” Issie said. “I’m fourteen now. I’ll be fifteen in a month or so.”

“And are all the riders in the New Zealand squad the same age as you?” Tara asked.

“My friends Kate and Stella are fourteen like me—Morgan is too, I think. Well, maybe she’s already fifteen. I don’t know about the others—they’re not from my pony club. But you have to be under seventeen, don’t you?”

Tara nodded and looked down the row of loose boxes, noting that the top doors of the stalls had been swung wide open.

“You’ve seen all the horses then?” she said to Issie. “Have you decided which one you’d like to ride?”

“Ummm…” Issie felt like she’d been put on the spot. “I think they’re all amazing.”

“But,” Tara said, looking at her intently, “you must have a favourite.”

“I guess so, well, kind of,” said Issie. “It’s hard though, before I see how they move and feel what it’s like to ride them.”

“If you had to choose one right now,” Tara Kelly persisted, “just by looking, which one would it be?”

Issie hesitated. “I like the cremello. He has strong hindquarters and muscle in all the right places. He looks like he’d be a good jumper…”

“You’re right.” Tara seemed impressed by this assessment. “The cremello’s name is Floyd, and yes, he’s a brilliant jumper. He’s already been intensively schooled by Andrew Hoy, the Australian rider who won a gold medal for eventing at the Olympics.”

Issie continued. “I like Floyd, but I like this brown horse too. He has a completely different body, much leaner and built for speed, which would make him good for cross-country. Plus, he’s got a really honest face and I like his eyes. I think you can tell a lot about a horse from his eyes.”

“His name is Victory,” Tara said. “Victory was schooled by Andrew as well, but as you say, he’s a completely different type to the cremello.”

“He’s a Thoroughbred?” Issie asked.

Tara nodded. “He raced on the track, but never won any decent prize money. When he was four and clearly wasn’t going to make them a fortune, his trainers decided to try him as a steeplechaser instead. They raced him over hurdles for two seasons without much success, before selling him on to the Hoy stables when he was five. He’s eight years old now. He’s been schooled to medium dressage and been over three-star cross-country courses. He’s what you’d call a ‘schoolmaster’—and a very good one too.”

Tara Kelly looked at Issie. “Two good horses. So, if it was up to you, which one would you choose?”

Until now Issie had been looking at all the horses in the stable with a clinical and rational eye. But at that moment, when Tara asked her to choose, she went purely on gut instinct.

“Victory,” she said softly. “I’d choose Victory.”

“Really?” Tara said. Issie felt like she had just sat a test—but she had no idea whether she had passed or failed.

“Well,” Tara continued briskly, “we’ll come back to the stables after breakfast with the others for a try-out. We’ll see if you still feel the same way once you’ve ridden him.”

“We’re trying out the horses this morning?” Issie couldn’t believe it.

“What did you think you’d be doing?” Tara Kelly shot back. “This isn’t a holiday camp, you know.” She still wasn’t smiling and Issie was beginning to think that the students at the Blainford All-Stars Academy were right. Tara Kelly, aka She Who Must Not Be Named, was going to be a tough taskmaster.

After her early-morning interrogation, all Issie wanted to do was go back to her room and hide under her duvet. She never got the chance, however, because when she opened the bedroom door, there was already a girl in her bed. Or at least on her bed, sitting there nonchalantly ferreting her way through the contents of Issie’s duffel bag.

“Oh, hi!” The girl dropped the bag like a hot potato and gave Issie a smile. “You must be Isadora. It’s so great to meet you! I’m Dee Dee. I’m going to be your roomie!”

“Er, Dee Dee? What are you doing?” Issie asked. “Were you looking through my bag?”

“Oh!” Dee Dee was taken aback. “Oh—no!” She shook her head vigorously. “I wasn’t looking. I was just packing it for you.” She smiled sweetly at Issie. “You see, I like to sleep next to an open window, but when I got here, I noticed that you’d taken the bed right next to the window and the other bed is all the way over by the wall, and so I thought to myself, Dee Dee, I’m sure your roomie won’t mind if you swap beds with her. And so then, since you weren’t here, I decided to move your stuff over for you, so that you’d be all settled into your new bed by the time you came back.”

Issie screwed up her face. “But, Dee Dee, I don’t want to swap beds. I like being by the window too.”

Dee Dee didn’t seem to know what to do with this new information. She had large, owlish features with cropped, curly black hair, enormous dark brown eyes and a beakish mouth. When she realised that Issie was going to be stubborn about swapping beds, the beakish mouth pushed out into a sulky pout.

“How about if we move both the beds?” Dee Dee suggested, refusing to give up. “We can shove them sideways and arrange them so that we both have our heads near the window…”

“Dee Dee, I don’t think we’re supposed to be moving the furniture around,” Issie countered. She sighed with resignation. “Listen, if it really matters to you that much, you can take the window bed. It’s no big deal.”

“Really?” Dee Dee squeaked. “Oh, you’re the best roomie! This is going to be so neato, sharing a room for two whole weeks!”

Elated, Dee Dee went back to her task, gleefully throwing Issie’s clothes into her duffel bag.

“It’s OK, Dee Dee,” said Issie, moving forward hastily. “That’s my stuff. I’ll do it…” But it was too late.

“Oops!” Dee Dee squeaked. “I think I just put your nail polish in there without a lid on!”

“Ohmygod!” Issie scrabbled through her bag and retrieved the polish. Sure enough, Dee Dee had left the bottle open and it had promptly spilt all over Issie’s favourite grey marl T-shirt.

“Dee Dee!”

“My bad!” Dee Dee said with a giggle.

“How did the lid get off my nail polish anyway?” Issie asked, holding up the bottle of dark purple polish so she could see how much was left. Then she looked across at Dee Dee and realised she had the same shade on her fingernails.

“You’re wearing my nail polish?!”

“I thought you wouldn’t mind,” Dee Dee shrugged. “Since we’re roomies and all…”

Issie was so stunned she didn’t know what to say. Barely able to control her anger, she put down the bottle of polish on the dressing table, grabbed her bag and began stuffing in the contents that Dee Dee had been rummaging through a moment earlier.

“Here! Let me help!” Dee Dee lunged forward over the dressing table and somehow managed to bump a leftover cup of tea so that it splashed all over Issie’s bag.

“Dee Dee!” There was tea in Issie’s bag now, as well as nail polish!

“I’ll clean it up!” said Dee Dee brightly.

“Don’t!” Issie snapped. “It’s fine! I’ll do it later.” She flung the bag on to her new bed, out of the reach of Dee Dee, the walking disaster.

“Whatever you say, roomie.” Dee Dee put her suitcase down on Issie’s old bed and gave her a grin. “Ready for breakfast?”

The others were already at the table when Issie and Dee Dee arrived. Tara Kelly was with them.

“Good morning,” Avery said. “Issie, I see you’ve met Dee Dee—and Tara tells me that the two of you have already met as well. I was just doing introductions and explaining the training itinerary. Why don’t you girls sit down and we can get started?”

Issie made a beeline for the chair between Stella and Kate, but Dee Dee cut her off and got there first. She flung herself into the spare seat and Issie was forced to go all the way down to the far end of the table, to sit between two riders that she didn’t know. Grudgingly, she took a piece of toast off the plate in front of her and began to butter it as Avery ran through the schedule.

“I’ve put aside the rest of today for you to select your mounts under Tara’s guidance and get to know the horses,” Avery said. “The Australian team and Minka will arrive tomorrow and we can kick off the dressage training. On Tuesday you’ll be finessing your dressage tests and we’ll have showjumping training when Araminta arrives on Wednesday and Thursday. Then Tara will be taking you for your cross-country training at the end of the week.”

Tara stood up from the table. “Right. Finish up your breakfasts and grab your helmets and boots. We’ll meet at the stables in ten minutes to sort out which horse each of you gets, OK?”

As the girls gathered on the verandah of the classic old Queenslander villa to pull on their riding boots, Issie told Stella all about Dee Dee, her new roomie.

“She’s a nightmare! I came back from the stables this morning and she’d moved all my stuff and spilt nail polish on my favourite T-shirt, and then, when I tried to get my stuff out of her way, she managed to knock a cup of tea over—”

“Wait a minute!” Stella said. “Back it up! You’ve been down to the stables already this morning?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Issie impatiently. “I woke up early and went to see the horses. So anyway, when I got back, Dee Dee was in my room and she had—”

“I can’t believe you went to the stables without me!” Stella said.

“Stella,” Issie groaned. “It doesn’t matter! I’m trying to tell you about Dee Dee. Do you think we can swap room-mates?”

“You know, Issie,” Stella said, refusing to let it drop, “you could have woken me up and I would have come to the stables with you. I am your best friend.”

“Yes, OK, OK, I’m sorry,” Issie said, trying to put the matter to rest. “But I was talking about Dee Dee. What are we going to do about her?”

“I suppose you could ask Avery if you and I can share a room,” Stella offered.

“No way,” Issie groaned. “Tom will never agree. He said it would be good for us to split up and get to know the other girls.”

“Well then,” Stella shrugged. “I guess there’s no way out. You’re going to have to live with Dee Dee for two weeks. It’s not long. I’m sure she can’t be that bad!”

Stella isn’t being very sympathetic, Issie thought. It was all right for her. Stella had the perfect room-mate. Emily wasn’t one bit like Dee Dee. She was totally normal and really nice—a quiet, thoughtful girl with a mouse-brown ponytail and freckles. Laura, Emily’s twin sister, was lovely too. She was almost the spitting image of Emily, except slightly taller and with darker brown hair, and she was sharing a room with Kate. Morgan was bunking with Charlotte, the rider from Hutt Valley.

Charlotte was fifteen. She had blonde hair, which Issie suspected had been highlighted, as it had glamorous lighter blonde streaks. Charlotte seemed very grown-up. Issie was pretty sure that she was wearing make-up—blusher, lip gloss and mascara. She also wore a pair of very tight, sparkling-white jodhpurs, even though it wasn’t even a proper training day and they were bound to get dusty.

Everything was dusty at Havenfields. The landscape here was so different to the green fields of Chevalier Point. The paddocks were burnt by the endless sunshine so there was very little green grass, and at nine in the morning the horses grazing outside were already seeking shade under the tall gum trees that bordered the paddocks.

The sun was scorching and the idea of saddling up a horse seemed positively exhausting in the thirty-plus degree heat. Luckily, the Olympic-sized sand arena where they would be working the horses was covered.

“Not to keep the rain off obviously,” Avery said. “I don’t think it’s rained in Lilydale in months.”

They entered the stables and the other girls who hadn’t already seen the horses began to ooh and aah over the ones that they liked best.

“Here’s the drill,” Avery said. “We’ll be giving all of you a chance to try out the horse of your choice. Tara and I will be watching you ride and we’ll be swapping certain riders over if we think they’d be better off teamed with other horses.”

Stella raised her hand. “Who gets to choose the first horse?”

“There’s no totally fair way to do this,” Avery admitted. “So let’s go in alphabetical order, shall we?”

He looked at the list on his clipboard. “Let’s see…Ah, Charlotte! Which one would you like to try out?”

Charlotte couldn’t believe her good fortune at being the first to choose. She bit her lip pensively as she looked down the row of horses in front of her.

“I’d like the grey,” she said.

Tara led the grey horse with the dark mane and tail forward and handed the lead rope to Charlotte. “His name is Kanga,” she said. “You’ll find his tack in that loose box over there. You can go and get him ready now and I’ll see you in the arena.”

Charlotte led Kanga away and Avery consulted his list once more.

“Isn’t this neato?” a voice hissed in Issie’s ear and she turned to see Dee Dee standing next to her.

“OK, next on the list we have…Dee Dee!”

“Here!” Dee Dee squeaked, raising her hand and grinning like a maniac.

“It’s your turn, Dee Dee,” Avery told her. “Pick yourself a horse.”

Issie watched Dee Dee’s eyes widen as they scanned the row of horses.

“It’s so hard to choose!” Dee Dee giggled. “They’re all so…so…”

“So neato?” said Issie scathingly. But Dee Dee hadn’t heard her. She gave another squeak of delight and bounced in the air, clapping her hands together.

“I’ve decided!” she said. “I’ll take the one on the end.”

Issie watched in total horror as Tara led the chosen horse forward and handed his lead rope to her scatterbrained room-mate. She couldn’t believe it. Dee Dee had just chosen Victory.

Chapter 4

Floyd wasn’t such a bad consolation prize. At least no one else had chosen the stunning cremello before Issie had the chance to put her hand up for him. It turned out that as well as being a cool colour, Floyd had a gorgeous nature. He stood perfectly still and well-behaved in his stall while Issie threw on the numnah and saddle, cinched the girth and slipped the bridle over his head. Adjusting her helmet, she put her left foot in the stirrup and bounced up neatly into the saddle.

Issie had ridden big horses before. Destiny, her Aunt Hester’s warmblood stallion, was massive, and Angel, the big grey Andalusian at El Caballo Danza Magnifico, was at least sixteen hands. Floyd was about the same—much bigger than Blaze or Comet, who were both only ponies. It felt a long way off the ground up on his back, and for a moment, the butterflies in Issie’s tummy began to churn. She was about to go into the arena on a horse that she had never ridden before, with the great Tara Kelly watching her every move. It was a nerve-wracking prospect.

Issie took a deep breath and subconsciously told herself to relax. Nerves were bad. If she got tense then her horse would get stressed out too.

In the arena Charlotte and Kanga, and Dee Dee and Victory were ready and waiting. If Dee Dee is half as clumsy on a horse as she is on the ground, Issie thought, then I don’t want to be anywhere near her! She rode past her room-mate and headed for the other end of the line, pulling up next to Charlotte to wait for the others.

Issie had been expecting Charlotte to be quite snooty, with her make-up and her blonde-streaked hair. But she was just the reverse and super-friendly. “I’m Morgan’s room-mate,” she told Issie. “You go to the same pony club as her, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Issie replied. “We…” She was about to tell Charlotte about Chevalier Point, but she didn’t get a word out because Dee Dee interjected and took over the conversation.

“Issie and I are roomies too!” Dee Dee said brightly. “We’re like best friends already, aren’t we, Issie?”

“Well…I wouldn’t…”

“We even use each other’s stuff,” Dee Dee added. “Like, this morning, after breakfast, I couldn’t find my toothbrush and so I used Issie’s instead.”

Charlotte pulled a face at this. “Ewww.”

“You did what?” Issie couldn’t believe it. She felt like gagging. She had just brushed her teeth before they left for the arena—she must have used her toothbrush after Dee Dee had brushed with it!

“I didn’t think you’d mind,” Dee Dee shrugged.

“What! Ohmygod…”

Issie was about to tell Dee Dee exactly how much she did mind actually, but she didn’t get the chance because at that moment the other riders entered the ring on their chosen horses.

Kate had been thrilled with her choice of the Clydesdale-cross. “His name is Costa,” she told Issie with a huge grin on her face. “I’m so glad I got him. I love his fluffy feet!”

Emily had picked the Skewbald and her twin sister, Laura, had taken the chestnut mare with the white star. Since they’d been choosing in alphabetical order, Stella had been the last to pick and was left with the stocky little chocolate dun. Despite the fact that she didn’t have a choice, Stella actually didn’t mind. The dun was just her type.

“His name is Woody,” she told them, giving the pony a slappy pat on his neck. “He even tried to bite me when I did up his girth—do you remember how Coco always did that?” Stella looked quite wistful as she said this. Since she had sold Coco last season, she had been struck with misty-eyed nostalgia for her tubby, grumpy old pony—she was even sentimental about Coco’s nasty vices!

Morgan, meanwhile, was mounted up on the dapple-grey gelding whose name was Arista. “What do you think we’ll actually have to do?” she wondered out loud as they watched Tara walk towards them, talking intently to Tom. As it turned out, their instruction was to do whatever they liked.

“You’ve got twenty minutes to work your horse in. Just treat it as if you were training them yourself at home,” Tara explained. “I want to see how you ride and how the horse responds. Try them at a walk, trot and canter, and also pop them over the cavaletti we’ve set up in the centre of the ring if you like.

“After the twenty minutes is up, you will choose another rider to swap horses with. You must choose your next horse carefully because you won’t be trying all of them today. You’ll each try just three different horses before you have to make a decision.”

“But what if we all want the same horse?” Stella asked.

“Then I’ll make the decision for you,” said Tara firmly.

“OK,” Avery said. “Find a free space and work your horse in. Remember, with eight of you riding freestyle in the arena, it’s important to remember to always obey the rules of arena riding. Can anyone tell me what they are?”

“Ohhh!” Stella raised her hand. “Always pass each other so that your left shoulder is passing the other rider’s left shoulder?”

“That’s right,” Avery nodded. “And make way for anyone doing a faster pace than you. We don’t want a game of dodgems going on out there.”

Issie looked over at Dee Dee, who grinned at her from the other end of the lineup and gave a wave. Issie was still feeling queasy after the toothbrush story. And if Dee Dee really thought she was her new best friend, she must be crazy!

Determined to be as far away from Dee Dee as possible, Issie rode all the way to the far end of the arena before she began to work Floyd in. She gathered him up and pressed him into a trot, sitting for a few paces before she began to rise. As soon as the cremello settled into a stride though, Issie was thrown back. Floyd’s paces were huge! It was like the horse covered half the length of the arena with each trot stride. He was so forward, so free-moving, that Issie was really struggling to keep in time with him.

Issie decided to try a canter instead, and discovered that Floyd’s canter stride was even bigger that his trot. She brought him back to a trot almost immediately, a bit freaked out by the speed that the cremello had in him. Perhaps she’d try walking him for a bit.

“Are you all right there, Isadora?” Tara called out to her. She looked concerned.

“I’m fine,” Issie said. “He’s just got a really big stride.”

“He’s a very forward horse,” agreed Tara. “Try and collect him up a bit.”

Issie asked Floyd to listen to her hands and accept the bit, asking him to drop his head into that wonderful arched outline that dressage horses need to have.

She was so busy focusing on Floyd’s head that she kept looking down and forgot to look where she was going. Floyd was racing forward, doing a particularly huge trot, when Issie heard Dee Dee’s voice bearing down on her from the other direction.

“Hey, roomie!”

By the time she saw Dee Dee, it was too late. Dee Dee was just a few metres away on Victory and heading straight for her. She was about to crash into them head first! At that moment Issie’s mind went blank. She totally forgot what Avery had just told them five minutes ago about arena etiquette. All she knew was that they were on a collision course. Issie didn’t know which way to turn to avoid a head-on crash.

“Dee Dee!” Issie shrieked.

She needn’t have panicked. Dee Dee knew exactly what she was doing. When she was just a couple of strides away from Floyd, she nudged Victory with her right leg and swerved expertly to the outside wall of the arena, breezing easily past Issie without even breaking her rhythm.

“Pass left-to-left, remember, roomie?” Dee Dee chirped as she zipped past. They had been a whisker away from colliding, but clearly Dee Dee had been in control of the situation the whole time!

Issie pulled Floyd up and sat, watching in astonishment, as Dee Dee rode Victory in a serpentine down the arena in the most beautiful collected trot Issie had ever seen. Then she turned Victory down the centre line and pushed him into a perfect extended trot, finishing off with a leg yield across the arena.

It was unbelievable! Clumsy, ditzy, goofball Dee Dee, who didn’t even seem to be able to pick up nail polish or pack a bag without causing total chaos, was a total genius when she was on a horse!

Issie watched as once more Dee Dee guided Victory expertly between two other horses and riders, cantering him easily around the arena. Dee Dee’s timing, her sense of cadence, was exquisite. As she steered Victory, her hands remained perfectly still and steady on the reins, her legs tapping along lightly in perfect rhythm with the horse’s stride. Her face showed how totally focused she was as she worked her horse with the deceptive ease of a true professional rider. Issie was stunned. How could anyone be so useless on the ground and so brilliant in the saddle?

“Hey!” A shout brought her back to reality. It was Tara Kelly. “Come on, Isadora,” she snapped. “Are you daydreaming or are you riding? You’ve only got fifteen minutes and then you’re swapping horses. I suggest you get Floyd moving!”

Moving? That was the problem! It was hard to stop Floyd. His paces were so huge and free that at times he could be terrifying to ride, and at best he felt like he was a little bit out of control. He was strong too. He pulled so hard on the reins as Issie took him through the trotting poles, she felt her arms were being wrenched from their sockets and she had to use all her strength to keep him in check.

“Give him his head and go with him, Isadora,” Tara called out to her. “You’re being left behind over the jumps.”

Issie wanted to explain that she wasn’t being left behind. Floyd was rushing his jumps and she had no choice but to hold him back. But she didn’t get an opportunity to explain to Tara, or even the chance to try the cavaletti again.

“Twenty minutes is up. Can you all change horses, please?” Avery called out to the riders.

And suddenly it was like a frantic game of musical chairs. Only instead of chairs, everyone was trying to get themselves up on to the horse they wanted, before the music stopped! The girls were all in huddles, trying to negotiate their swaps so that they would end up with their preferred horse.

But where was Dee Dee? Issie wanted desperately to swap Floyd for Victory. Typical, Issie thought. I’ve spent all this time avoiding her and now that I actually want to find her…

By the time she spotted Dee Dee way over on the other side of the arena, Issie was too late. Dee Dee had already dismounted and was swapping the brown gelding for Morgan’s dapple-grey. Before Issie could do anything about it, Morgan had mounted Victory and was finding a space in the arena to begin working in her second horse.

“Is there a problem, Isadora?” Issie turned to see Tara Kelly eyeing her up suspiciously.

“I was going to swap with Dee Dee,” said Issie feebly. “But she’s already swapped with Morgan.”

“Trade horses with Stella then,” Tara instructed briskly. “You can try Woody.”

Stella didn’t want to swap either. “The Woodsman here is a dream horse to ride,” she enthused. “Honestly, I’d keep riding him all day if I could. He’s such a honeybunch, aren’t you, Woody?”

When Issie got on Woody, however, she didn’t think he was sweet at all. The little dun was just like Issie’s last horse, Fortune, used to be. The piebald plodder had been part pony and part slug when Issie first got him and Woody seemed to be cut from the same cloth. Issie tried to be subtle with her aids, but in the end it took a big kick in the ribs before Issie could even get Woody to trot. His canter was even worse and when she rode him at the cavaletti, Woody was so slow he didn’t so much jump as slither over them.

The twenty-minute trial seemed to Issie as if it lasted forever. She had to work really hard to make Woody perform and at times she felt like she was flapping about and getting nowhere. And whenever Issie messed up, Tara always happened to be looking her way. At one point Tara caught her putting in a particularly abysmal performance over the cavaletti and Issie could have sworn she saw the instructor shaking her head in disbelief!

By the time Avery called out to the riders to swap again, Issie’s legs had turned to jelly from trying to make Woody move forward. This was the third swap and her last chance to try out Victory. She could see Morgan not far away, and trotted straight up to her the moment that Avery made the announcement.

Morgan didn’t look thrilled to have Woody as her third horse, but she made the swap. Issie was up on Victory’s back before Morgan could change her mind.

“Wait!” It wasn’t Morgan stopping her. It was Tara Kelly.

“I watched you on Woody just now,” Tara said. “Was there a problem?”

“He’s too slow,” Issie mumbled.

Tara nodded. “I see. And the problem with Floyd was?”

Issie felt embarrassed. “Well, he was too fast.”

“Who are you?” Tara said wryly. “Goldilocks or something? The first one’s too fast, the second one’s too slow. Well, let’s hope the third one is just right!”

“I didn’t mean it like that…” Issie protested. But Tara wasn’t listening.

“A horse is a horse, Isadora. You should be able to ride anything I put you on. Any of these horses here today should be good enough for you. If a horse is too fast, it’s up to you to use your seat to slow down. If the horse is too slow then you push on with your legs and get it moving.”

Tara lowered her voice as she spoke, so that only Issie could hear her. “You have a good instinct, an eye for horses. Victory is the best horse here. You and I both know that. I can spend some time with you over the next twenty minutes and help you to work him in, but it’s up to you to really focus your energy. When I watch you right now, I’m seeing what I call a fifty per cent effort. I think you’re holding back. I expect my riders to give one hundred and ten per cent! Do you understand me?”

“I think so,” mumbled Issie.

“Do you understand me?” Tara snapped.

“Yes, Tara!” Issie said.

“Good.” Tara seemed satisfied. “Come on. This is your chance to show me that you deserve this horse—so let’s go!”

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