Pony Passion Read Free Page B

said to the others? Especially after the barny we’d had about me preferring ponies to my friends!
    It was hard to concentrate, but I needed to – jumping on is really tricky. You see, there are some races where, to be quick enough to stand a chance of winning, you have to get off your pony and get back on again while it’s still moving. I’m OK at the flying dismounts (sounds like a circus trick, huh?). It’s the vaulting – that is, the getting back on again – that I have problems with, big time.
    “Now try to relax, Lyndsey,” said Mrs McAllister. “And remember: watch Bramble’s stride. You should jump when the front foot that’s nearest to you hits the ground.”
    I nodded. I knew this. It was just easier said than done. And I had quite a few bruises from when I’d messed it up last time.
    Trying not to be nervous, I urged Bramble into a canter. I ran alongside, gripping her saddle in one hand and the reins in the other, and watching her feet. I was going to have to jump, swinging my legs out over her back end to land in the saddle.
    “Come on Bramble,” I whispered breathlessly. “We can do this!”
    And then I jumped.
    “That was a beauty!” I heard Mrs McAllister call.
    I was in the saddle – no bruises. I’d done it!
    “Way to go, girl!” I laughed, patting Bramble’s neck.
    Well, that put me on such a high I thought I’d show off and go straight into a flying dismount. I swung my body forward and my legs back. But one of my feet got caught in its stirrup. My other leg was already swinging over, and I could feel my weight dragging me out of the saddle. The foot that was stuck was twisting now at a really awkward angle, so I couldn’t get it out.
    It must’ve all happened in a nanosecond, but to me it felt like some horrid slow-motion dream. Panicking that my foot wasn’t going to come free, I let go of the reins and was immediately flung out sideways. The ground swung up towards me with a sickening lurch, and then: thwack. Everything stopped dead.

It took me a moment or two to work out what had happened. I just lay there like a sack of potatoes, with my face in the muddy grass.
    “Lyndsey! Lyndsey! Are you all right?” I heard Mrs McAllister’s voice right in my ear. She was out of breath; she must’ve shot across the field like an Olympic sprinter.
    I groaned and tried to sit up. But when I pushed on my left hand the most horrible pain shot up my arm. “Owww!” I yelped.
    “Don’t move yet,” said Mrs McAllister. “Where does it hurt?”
    “My arm,” I gasped. “Left… arm.”
    Straight away Mrs McAllister sprang into super-efficient emergency gear. First she checked me all over to make sure my arm was the only bit that hurt. Then, ever so gently, she helped me sit up. I was crying by this time, blubbing worse than my little brother Ben (who is the biggest cry-baby in the world, in case you didn’t know). I never knew part of me could hurt that much. I swear, if your arm felt like mine did right then, you’d have been bawling too!
    “All right, Lyndsey. We’re going to get you to the hospital,” said Mrs McAllister.
    “Where’s Bramble?” I said, turning my head. My eyes were so full of tears, everything was a splodgy blur.
    “She’s fine,” said Mrs McAllister. “She’s away by the fence, nosing about in the grass. Think you can stand?”
    I nodded, sniffing loudly. I hoped I hadn’tyanked on the reins in my panic and hurt Bramble’s mouth. But I couldn’t worry about Bramble for long. Getting to Mrs McAllister’s Land Rover took all my concentration. My right hand was holding my left arm close to my body to stop it moving, but somehow it still felt as if every step I took gave it a hideous jolt.
    Call me crazy, but in the hospital all I could think was: Kenny should be here! Kenny, as you probably know, is dead set on being a doctor when she grows up, like her dad. She just loves all that gruesome medical stuff. If she’d been sitting next to me while I