Stables S.O.S. by Janet Rising

the school as though we were going to the field, then doubled back and hid behind the jump store. Since it was old and rickety, and the walls had gaping holes between the planks, it was really easy to spy on Bambi. Emily was lifted bodily onto her broad back, and Aunt Pam adjusted her daughter’s stirrups.
    â€œEmily’s too tiny to ride Bambi,” hissed Bean. “Bambi’s way too wide for her. She’s practically doing the splits.”
    The child clutched the reins nervously, holding them too short and too tightly. Bambi, unused to such treatment, put her head down and stretched her neck to get comfortable again, pulling the reins out of Emily’s hands.
    Emily screamed.
    Screaming is never a good thing to do around ponies—as you know.
    â€œIf she was on Tiffany,” Bean gasped, “she’d be in the next county by now.”
    Luckily, Bambi was no Tiffany. She just lifted her head warily, her ears back.
    Aunt Pam fussed at Emily, adjusted her daughter’s hands, and started leading her around the school while Emily sat as stiff as a board, waggling the reins.
    â€œEmily doesn’t look like she’s ready for a pony of her own,” I whispered.
    â€œMmmm,” agreed Bean. “She’d probably be better off going for lessons at a riding school for a while, to give her some confidence.”
    â€œI suppose her mom can teach her,” I said.
    Emily’s mom, it seemed, wasn’t up for teaching. Whenever I’d seen Cat with Emily, she had shown her young cousin what to do, and Emily had been a lot happier. Her mom, however, didn’t look as though she could be bothered to help—she seemed to think Emily ought to know instinctively what to do in the saddle.
    â€œDon’t lean forward, Em,” she grumbled. “Don’t hold the reins so tightly. Don’t dig your heels in like that.”
    Emily didn’t take much notice. If anything, she held the reins tighter and dug her heels in to Bambi’s sides even more.
    â€œWouldn’t it be better if Aunt P told Emily what to do, instead of what not to?” I said. “She’s not telling Emily what she should be doing, just what she shouldn’t.”
    Bean nodded miserably.
    â€œCan you stop pulling on the reins, please?” I heard Bambi say. “And if you could get your heels out of my sides, I’d be grateful.”
    â€œBambi’s not impressed,” I told Bean.
    The trio continued around the school—and no one looked especially happy. Then Aunt P decided it was time to go for a trot.
    â€œHold the saddle with one hand, Em, until you get going,” she instructed as Bambi launched herself into her bouncy pace. Emily rattled around in the saddle, totally missing her bounce and getting only one rise to the trot in every six strides. It must have been very uncomfortable for her. She’d been OK with Cat helping her. I’d seen her trotting along, laughing with glee with Cat.
    I had never appreciated before how patient Cat had been with her younger cousin, but now I could see that with Cat, Emily was far more confident and enjoyed riding Bambi. Now, that confidence had vanished. Aunt Pam seemed annoyed that her daughter didn’t ride as well as she wanted her to. For everyone, including Bambi, it was a frustrating experience.
    As Bambi was asked to walk again, Aunt Pam pushed Emily off Bambi’s brown and white neck and back into the saddle.
    â€œPhew,” whispered Bean, “if Bambi was anything like Tiffany, Emily wouldn’t even want to ride her, let alone have her at home with her. She’d be all over the place.”
    â€œI don’t think I can watch anymore,” I said, and we both went back to the yard where James was in conversation with Sophie and Dee-Dee.
    â€œHey, you two,” James called, beckoning us over, “Sophie has some news.”
    â€œA man from National Heritage is coming over tomorrow to