Horse Fever Read Free

Carole picked up
Horseman’s
Weekly
again. She started to skim the ad columns for the warmblood’s ad.
    “Hi, Carole!” called a voice. This time it was Lisa, stopping by to get Prancer’s tack. Hastily Carole closed the newspaper as Lisa stepped through the door.
    “Are you going to enter the contest?” Lisa inquired.
    “What contest?” said Carole, confused.
    “Oh, well, I see you’re reading
Horseman’s Weekly
. They’re sponsoring their annual writing contest. Here, let me see.”
    Carole handed the newspaper to Lisa, who thumbed the pages till she found the ad she was looking for. “See? “ ‘Annual short story contest … This year’s topic: Write a story or the first chapter of a novel about a horse and rider facing a turning point … word limit: fifteen hundred …’ Well, you can read it for yourself.”
    “Are you entering?” asked Carole. It sounded perfect for Lisa.
    “I don’t know. I’m so busy.… I can’t really think of anything to write about, either. But you should enter, Carole.”
    “You think so?”
    Lisa shrugged. “Why not? It won’t take that much work, and the prize is usually a new saddle.” She folded the newspaper in half and laid it on a trunk. “Ready?”
    “Ah … yeah,” said Carole, eyeing the paper.
    “Oh, I’m sorry. Is that yours? I thought it was the Pine Hollow copy.”
    “It is,” said Carole, embarrassed again. “It is. I was just … reading it.”
    D RESSAGE . S OME PEOPLE pronounced it dress
age
. Some people said
dress
age. Either way, the goal was the same: to get the horse and rider moving in harmony. The horse was supposed to be supple, balanced, and attentive to its rider’s commands. The rider was supposed to be tall in the saddle, quiet, focused. Then why, Lisa wondered, did it feel as if every time Prancer went up, she went down? Why did Prancer stiffen through the corners as if she might tip over? Why did Lisa’s outside leg feel weak and her inside leg feel numb? Why couldn’t they look like the horses and riders in the textbooks on dressage? Every time Lisa passed the mirrors on the long side of the indoor ring, she cringed. She sneaked a glance at the rest of the class to see how her peers were faring.
    Stevie and Carole didn’t seem to be doing much better. Belle was tossing her head—a sign of protest and impatience, not harmony. Starlight was prancing along. He looked as if he were overflowing with energy. Every so often he would shy at an imaginary ghost. Simon Atherton, on Barq, looked stiff and heavy-handed. The Arab was walking at a graveyard pace, leaning on the reins.Andrea Barry, riding her horse, Doc, had a pained, irritated expression on her face. After a moment Lisa guessed why: The girl’s boots looked brand new. They were probably a Christmas present she was breaking in—and if they were as tight as they looked, they were pinching her hard, making it impossible to use her legs properly. Finally Lisa focused on Veronica diAngelo. To Lisa’s annoyance, the snobbish girl looked relaxed and confident. Danny, Veronica’s top-dollar show horse, was walking happily along with a spring in his step. Veronica’s tanned face told the story: The diAngelos had taken one of their deluxe vacations, leaving stable hand Red O’Malley to exercise Danny. Whenever the diAngelos went away they paid extra to have the expensive horse exercised. Red was an excellent rider, so Veronica always came home to a well-schooled horse.
    “Not bad, Veronica,” called Max from the center of the ring. “You’ve got him walking nicely on the bit.”
    “He means, ‘Not bad,
Red
,’ ” grumbled Stevie as Belle caught up to Prancer.
    Lisa flashed a grin at her friend. At least with The Saddle Club, she thought, you always saw the lighter side of things.
    “All right, everyone pick up a trot—a sitting trot,” Max commanded.
    Lisa saw Stevie grimace. Rising or posting to the trotwas much easier. Sitting could be jarring and