Pony Passion (2 page)

“But Mrs, hic—”

“Now.” There was no arguing with that tone of voice. It made my hiccups disappear in an instant. I got up and shuffled to the front of the class.

Well, that was the cause of the whole disaster. If I’d been sitting in my usual place I wouldn’t have done it. Rosie would have grabbed my arm in the nick of time, or Kenny would’ve tackled me from behind.

At first everything was OK. Mrs Weaver explained about our projects and I just sat there with a cricked neck, staring up her nose.

“Our projects are going to be about Victorian life,” she said, “and the library has an exhibition on at the moment about Leicestershire in Victorian times. We’ll go and have a look at it tomorrow – if you can all behave yourselves.” When she said this she peered down at me.
“I want you to get into groups, and each take a different topic for your project. There are six topics, so you may as well stay in the same groups you were in for science yesterday.”

This was way cool. Yesterday the five of us Sleepover Clubbers had been in a group by ourselves, which doesn’t always happen. I turned round and grinned at the others. Frankie gave me a big thumbs-up and Kenny winked.

Mrs Weaver grabbed her marker pen and wrote the six topics on the board. Then she stuck pictures cut from newspapers and magazines next to each one. Next to ‘Houses and Homes’ there was a grand old house with big windows. Next to ‘Sports and Pastimes’ there was a footballer, with an old-fashioned haircut and funny big shorts. ‘Costume’ had a lady in a long dress beside it, probably from one of those Sunday night dramas on the telly, and ‘Animals’ had a really cute-looking dog. Next to ‘Schools’ there was a man with enormous whiskers holding a book. He looked twice as grumpy as
Mrs Weaver on a bad day – scary!

But ‘Transport’ was what really caught my attention, because next to that there was a beautiful chestnut pony, with a white stripe down its nose. And, in case you didn’t know already, I am just crazy about ponies!

“I really want you to use your imagination with these projects,” said Mrs Weaver, turning back to us. “As well as doing written work, you could paint a picture, or make a model or a collage. At the end of term each group will give a presentation to the rest of the class. So, right from the beginning, I want you to be thinking up ways to communicate the things you find out.

“But first we have to allocate the topics. Who’s going to do…”

She turned round to look at the board. My bum was on the edge of my seat. There’s always such a massive scramble when things get shared out, and I’m wicked at shooting my hand up faster than anyone else. I was ready.

Mrs Weaver pointed to the pony. “…Transport?”

“Yes!” I shouted, my hand blasting into the air like a space rocket.

There was a short silence. I could hear the M&Ms sniggering softly and I looked round.

I’d been the fastest to put my hand up, all right. Because I’d been the only one. What’s more, Fliss was looking at me like I’d just pulled the head off her Barbie, and Kenny was flapping her hands and shaking her head.

“Excellent,” said Mrs Weaver, writing my name down. “Lyndsey’s group can do Transport. Now, Sports and Pastimes? Ryan, you were first…”

By now Kenny had flung her hands up in the air and was bashing her head on her desk in despair. Even Rosie was looking at me like I’d made a horrid smell.

Marooned at my front row desk, I felt like the biggest durr-brain on the planet. I knew exactly what I’d done.

“Why, Lyndz? Why??”

“Did your brain turn to gloop?”

The bell had gone and we’d all piled out into the playground for break. It had stopped raining, but there were big puddles everywhere. I felt like a puddle myself. The others were giving me a seriously hard time.

“I messed up,” I admitted. “I’m sorry, OK?”

“I wanted to do Costume!” Fliss whispered accusingly. Her eyes were all watery, like she was about to cry.

“You only went and chose THE most boring topic on the list!” wailed Frankie. “What were you thinking of?”

“I – I don’t know,” I stuttered. “It was that picture, I guess…”

Kenny slapped her forehead. “I might have known it! A picture of a horse and Lyndz loses all control. Not to mention all her brain-power!”

“We could’ve done loads on horses in Animals,” Rosie pointed out.

Kenny groaned, clutching her stomach like
she had tummy-ache. “And we could’ve done stupid horse-racing in Sports…”

Usually with the Sleepover Club, things blow over really quickly. If one of us is feeling a bit cross about something, the others tease them out of it. But not this time. This time it really felt like four against one.

“We know you’re horse-mad, Lyndz,” said Frankie. “But this is ridiculous.”

“And you’ve been spending so much time down at those smelly stables recently,” sniffed Fliss, wrinkling her nose. “You never do anything we want to do.”

“That’s not true!” I said. “I never miss our sleepovers!”

“No, but what about that Saturday when my mum took us to the shopping centre?” said Fliss.

It was true. I had missed that.

“And you never came to see Shrek with us!” said Frankie.

“That was years ago!”

“What about when I wanted to build that treehouse?” said Kenny.

“But I would’ve been no use at that,” I said.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s the principle,” said Fliss haughtily. For a moment she sounded just like her mum. “The Sleepover Club should be the most important thing.”

“It is!” I protested.

Fliss shrugged huffily. “Anyone would think you prefer those ponies to your friends!”

“Well, if you’re all going to be so completely mean, then maybe I do!” I shouted, and stomped off across the playground. I could feel my cheeks burning beetroot red, and my eyes were all prickly, like I was about to cry.

What made it a million times worse was that I stomped straight past the M&Ms, who were doing some silly clapping game. They stopped in mid-clap and stood whispering together with horrible smug smiles on their faces.

So I stalked off round the corner where the big school bins are kept. It was pongy there, but at least I was out of sight. I was so cross I pulled three of the gruesomest faces I could think of, which usually makes me feel better.

Not this time. I couldn’t get over how unfair it was. Just this morning we’d been talking about undying friendship and making those bracelets. And now my four best mates in the world had turned on me. All because of some stupid project. Suddenly I was struck by the most terrible thought:

Was this the end of the Sleepover Club?

The next lesson was maths, and it was the longest lesson of my entire life.

Does that ever happen to you too? Does time seem to whizz by when you’re having a laugh and really drag when you’re miserable? To me, two weeks of holiday can go five billion times quicker than two weeks of school. What a bummer.

Well, this maths lesson was exactly like that. I thought the clock had broken, its hands were moving so slowly.

I was back at my old desk, next to Rosie and slap bang in front of Frankie and Kenny. Of course I was ignoring them. But ignoring people is such hard work! You have to concentrate on them all the time, to make sure you don’t do something normal by mistake, like look at them or ask to borrow a pen.

Mrs Weaver had written up a load of sums on the board. We were supposed to be working quietly on our own, but I could hear rustling and whispering around me, so I knew the rest of the Sleepover Club were doing something. Saying mean things about me probably, I thought.

But then Rosie slipped a folded piece of paper on to my desk. I opened it, and this is what I saw:

I was so relieved, it felt like the sun had just come out inside my head. “Oh, guys!” I said, turning round to them with the biggest grin on my face. “I’m sorry too!”

We tried to have a group hug, but it was tricky because Fliss was sitting on the other side of the aisle. And then Mrs Weaver spotted us – “I said no conferring, you girls!” – so we had to turn back to our desks. But I mouthed, “See you at lunch!” and the others all nodded.

It was the best making-up ever. We had a proper hug as soon as the bell went, and then I did high fives with everyone.

“It’s a nightmare falling out,” said Kenny. “Let’s not do it again, all right?”

I nodded, grinning and feeling teary at the same time. “New club resolution.”

“Seconded!” said Rosie.

“Thirded!” yelled Frankie.

“You can’t say thirded,” said Fliss. “But I know what you mean.”

While we were waiting in the lunch queue the M&Ms swanned past with their trays already full. They’re such greedy guts, they always push to the front.

“Untwisted your knickers yet?” asked the Goblin (that’s our name for Emily Berryman) in her weird gruff voice.

“What a shame you’ve got the worst project,” smarmed Emma Hughes. “But then, your presentation’s bound to be pathetic, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Actually, Transport is the coolest subject,” said Kenny, “and anyone with even half a brain can see that.”

“That’s not what you were saying to Lyndsey at break,” said the Goblin.

“You sneaky little eavesdropper!” gasped Fliss. “You’ve no right listening in to private conversations!”

The Goblin snorted. “Well, what’s the point
when they’re as boring as yours?”

And before any of us could reply they sailed off with their noses in the air, like the silly stuck-up idiots that they are.

“Grrr! What would I give to squash those two toad-faces into a big pile of mushy peas!” growled Kenny.

“We’ve got to make sure our project is a squillion times better than theirs,” said Frankie. “At least!”

“We will,” said Rosie firmly, linking arms with me.

Sitting at a different table from the M&Ms, we soon forgot all about them. Kenny kept making farty noises with the ketchup bottle, which made everyone fall about, and Frankie did her impression of Mrs Weaver in a bad mood, which is freakily good. I’d cheered up loads, but there was just one more thing I wanted to say.

“Transport is definitely the coolest subject, of course,” I began sheepishly, not meaning it at all, “but, guys – you’re right that I’ve missed
some Sleepover Club things because of the stables. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Frankie, waggling a chip in the lake of ketchup she’d made on her plate. “We all do other things, like Fliss goes to ballet and Kenny goes to those tedious footie matches. Oof!” Kenny’d grabbed her lunch tray and pretended to boff Frankie over the head with it.

“And anyway,” Fliss said, prodding at her salad with her fork, “we don’t think all those things we said about the stables, honest.”

“Only some of them,” said Kenny, with a wicked grin. “The minute you start stinking of horse poo, Collins, I’m outta here!”

You’re going to think I’m mad, considering what had happened that day, but when I got home from school all I wanted to do was go to the stables. In three weeks’ time there was going to be a gymkhana there – a riding
competition with lots of different races and games that you can enter with your pony. I’d played a few gymkhana games before, but I’d never entered a proper competition, so I wanted to do my best.