The Great Pony Hassle by Nancy Springer Page A

legs so she wouldn’t get chigger bites, and then sat down next to Paisley.
    The two girls sat in silence for a while. They weren’t much used to talking to each other. “Why aren’t you riding your pony?” Paisley finally asked.
    â€œI figured I’d wait until you got yours. Then we can both ride.”
    â€œHuh. Whatever.” Paisley turned suddenly, her brown eyes as bright and mischievous as a certain palomino pony’s. “This was my plan all along, you know. A pony apiece. You guys can all thank me.”
    â€œRight,” said Staci.
    â€œIt was!”
    â€œYou turkey! You lie.”
    â€œNuh-uh! I had it all scoped out.”
    â€œSure you did.”
    â€œDid too! Would you ever have had a pony if I hadn’t come along?”
    Staci bared her teeth, set them edge to edge, and said, “Thank you ever so much, O Great Parsley.”
    â€œYou’re welcome, Anastasia.”
    Paisley turned back to watching her sister ride. Staci opened the newspaper.
    â€œWhatcha reading?” Paisley asked after a while.
    â€œClassifieds. See if anybody has a used saddle for sale.”
    Paisley said, “Any ponies listed for sale?”
    â€œA few,” Staci admitted.
    Silence.
    Paisley said, “Well?”
    â€œWell, what?”
    â€œWell, read me what ponies are for sale!”
    â€œRead them yourself.” Staci handed the newspaper over, trying not to smile. She had already marked the ads Paisley was going to want to see.
    Paisley gave her a look, then started to read aloud. “For Sale, twelve-year-old large grade pony, rides English or Western, quiet, no vices. For Sale, Arabian, six years old, fourteen hands, gray, needs experienced rider—forget that one. For Sale, Welsh mare, shown 4-H, jumps, thirteen hands, ten years old, dark chestnut with flaxen mane and tail—ooh, that sounds pretty! For Sale, black pony with saddle and bridle, good child’s mount—hey, that sounds great!”
    â€œWhen you get your pony,” Staci said, “maybe we can ride out that dirt road where we found Noodles.”
    â€œSure,” said Paisley. “Sure thing.”
    Late that same summer all four girls went riding out the dirt road to the farm Noodles had come from, and beyond it, to a park by a river, where they rode their ponies into the water and let them drink and giggled when the ponies pawed at the water.
    Paisley rode a big shiny-black pony with a silver-spangled Western saddle and bridle. He was pretty enough to turn heads, and spirited, but not so spirited that she couldn’t handle him. He always responded to her voice and her hands on the reins. She loved him, and he was beginning to love her. He was a crackerjack pony, and Paisley had named him Crackerjack.
    Toni rode a pony who was dark brown all over, mane, tail, face, feet, not a black hair or a white speck on him anywhere. He plodded along quietly, swishing his brown tail, and hardly ever shied or balked. When she had first seen him, Toni had thought, What a plain-Jane pony. Then she had noticed how sweet and gentle his long face was, and how kind the expression of his eye. She had asked Dad McPherson to buy him, and she adored him, and she could ride him bareback all the time because he was so quiet. He was the color of pumpernickel bread, and his name was Pumpernickel.
    Stirling rode a white pony mare, an Arabian-Welsh cross pretty enough for a princess. The mare was small, but she seemed bigger than she was. She floated when she moved. She held her tail high and her head high, and there was black fire in her eyes. Her legs were charcoal gray below the knee, and her mane and tail shone silver. The soft skin around her nostrils and eyes was almost black. And there were tiny speckles of black on her high-arched neck, as if someone had sprinkled her with pepper. Because of that and the fire in her eyes, Stirling called her Pepper. Staci knew now that Stirling was not