Hot Potato (Shelby and Blue) - Alyssa Brugman [8]
'Why?' asked Erin. 'You can call her what you like, but I'm going to call her Cecilia Songbird. Maybe I will call her CC for short?'
Shelby tilted her head to the side. 'Wouldn't that be CS?'
'Bess,' said Lindsey.
'CC!' Erin retorted.
'Bess!'
'CC!'
'What's wrong with Hotty?' whined Shelby. Hotty was a good name. It had a meaning – it was a joke between the girls that no one else would know. Why couldn't the other girls see that?
'What's wrong with Cecilia Songbird?' argued Erin.
'Nothing,' said Shelby. 'It'll be good for when we show her, but we need something to call her at home.'
'Show her? You said we were going to sell her!' Lindsey rocked her head from side to side, mimicking Shelby. '"Get your money out, Lindsey, we can get a thousand dollars for her tomorrow." Remember?'
'We need to find out what she can do first. She might be worth even more than that,' Shelby began. 'She could be . . .'
Just then the pony trotted across the paddock in front of them. Her hooves flicked out, hanging in the air for a second before they hit the ground. Her neck arched over, and her hindquarters were tucked underneath her, propelling her forward. She looked as though she was floating.
'Oh my Lord!' gasped Erin.
'Wow!' said Lindsey, shading her eyes with her hands.
'. . . Something really special,' Shelby finished.
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'So?' inquired Shelby's father when his daughter walked out the back door. He was crouched down, weeding the vegetable garden. Shelby noticed he was wearing the gardening apron that he'd bought for her to give to him last Christmas.
'It was good fun,' she said. 'Nice apron. Someone really good-looking must have given that to you.'
'Someone really good-looking bought it,' he retorted. He frowned at her for a moment longer. 'Your mother and I were sure we were going to have to console you tonight. We thought you'd see all these sad, old, broken ponies off to the knackers, and you'd be beside yourself – crying and throwing yourself around. We even bought you blackberry pie for dessert to distract you.' He thrust his trowel into the dirt and brushed his hands together.
'Mmm, pie,' Shelby grinned.
At dinner Shelby really wanted to talk about the chestnut pony. It was the most exciting thing that had happened for ages and she was bursting to tell, but every time she opened her mouth she remembered that it was a secret.
She also wanted to complain about how dumb Erin and Lindsey had been about the name, but she couldn't think how to bring it up without revealing the truth.
Her family wouldn't be listening anyway. For years now she'd been prattling away about ponies at the dinner table, and none of them knew one end from the other.
'Lindsey bought a horse today and we were trying to decide what to name it. Erin wanted to call it Arabetha Songflower or something, and Lindsey wants to call it Bess. How dumb is that? I said they should call it Hotty. They said I pick dumb names, but I've never had a horse that wasn't already named, so how would they know?'
'What sort of horse?' asked her little brother, Blake. He had skewered a rissole and was waving it casually on the end of his fork. Connor, Shelby's other brother, concentrated on stabbing his vegetables.
'A chestnut one,' she answered. 'Four white socks.'
'How many hands is it?' Blake asked.
'Could be twelve-something.' She shrugged. 'Small, anyway.'
Blake nodded and then tore a chunk from his rissole with his teeth.
Connor frowned. 'I thought four socks was bad because white hooves are softer than black ones, and so they get lame easier.'
'Sometimes,' Shelby replied. 'It doesn't really matter on the surfaces we take them over. It's pretty sandy in the Gully.'
Shelby's father spooned some extra carrots onto his plate. 'What about Blossom? If it was a gelding I would suggest Hamish. Hamish is a fine name. But if I had