Chapter 3

      Issie had never really thought of Tara Kelly as a real person. In her mind Tara was like a superhero, impossibly fearless, dressed in her pale blue jersey and helmet, riding that cross-country course on her enormous grey horse as if her life depended on it—which it probably did, considering the size of the jumps at Lexington. Even though Avery had told the Chevalier Point riders that Tara would be instructing at Havenfields, to actually be standing here face to face with her in real life came as a shock.

      “Is there something wrong?” Tara asked. This time when she spoke, Issie noticed that her cool voice had the burr of a soft American accent. She couldn’t believe it. She was really standing here, right next to Tara Kelly!

      “I used to watch you riding on TV when I was little,” Issie told her.

      “Well, that makes me feel positively ancient!” Tara said. Her face remained stiff and unsmiling. Issie couldn’t tell if she was joking or if she was really offended. Suddenly she felt all flustered, standing there saying the wrong thing to one of her idols.

      “No! I mean you don’t look really old…” Issie groaned. Every time she opened her mouth it got worse.

      Tara Kelly arched an eyebrow. “Thanks—you don’t look that old either. You must have been pretty young when you watched me on TV—I haven’t ridden competitively in a long time.”

      “I was eight, I guess,” Issie said. “I’m fourteen now. I’ll be fifteen in a month or so.”

      “And are all the riders in the New Zealand squad the same age as you?” Tara asked.

      “My friends Kate and Stella are fourteen like me—Morgan is too, I think. Well, maybe she’s already fifteen. I don’t know about the others—they’re not from my pony club. But you have to be under seventeen, don’t you?”

      Tara nodded and looked down the row of loose boxes, noting that the top doors of the stalls had been swung wide open.

      “You’ve seen all the horses then?” she said to Issie. “Have you decided which one you’d like to ride?”

      “Ummm…” Issie felt like she’d been put on the spot. “I think they’re all amazing.”

      “But,” Tara said, looking at her intently, “you must have a favourite.”

      “I guess so, well, kind of,” said Issie. “It’s hard though, before I see how they move and feel what it’s like to ride them.”

      “If you had to choose one right now,” Tara Kelly persisted, “just by looking, which one would it be?”

      Issie hesitated. “I like the cremello. He has strong hindquarters and muscle in all the right places. He looks like he’d be a good jumper…”

      “You’re right.” Tara seemed impressed by this assessment. “The cremello’s name is Floyd, and yes, he’s a brilliant jumper. He’s already been intensively schooled by Andrew Hoy, the Australian rider who won a gold medal for eventing at the Olympics.”

      Issie continued. “I like Floyd, but I like this brown horse too. He has a completely different body, much leaner and built for speed, which would make him good for cross-country. Plus, he’s got a really honest face and I like his eyes. I think you can tell a lot about a horse from his eyes.”

      “His name is Victory,” Tara said. “Victory was schooled by Andrew as well, but as you say, he’s a completely different type to the cremello.”

      “He’s a Thoroughbred?” Issie asked.

      Tara nodded. “He raced on the track, but never won any decent prize money. When he was four and clearly wasn’t going to make them a fortune, his trainers decided to try him as a steeplechaser instead. They raced him over hurdles for two seasons without much success, before selling him on to the Hoy stables when he was five. He’s eight years old now. He’s been schooled to medium dressage and been over three-star cross-country courses. He’s what you’d call a ‘schoolmaster’—and a very good one too.”

      Tara Kelly looked at Issie. “Two good horses. So, if it was up to you, which one would you choose?”

      Until now Issie had been looking at all the horses in the stable with a clinical and rational eye. But at that moment, when Tara asked her to choose, she went purely on gut instinct.

      “Victory,” she said softly. “I’d choose Victory.”

      “Really?” Tara said. Issie felt like she had just sat a test—but she had no idea whether she had passed or failed.

      “Well,” Tara continued briskly, “we’ll come back to the stables after breakfast with the others for a try-out. We’ll see if you still feel the same way once you’ve ridden him.”

      “We’re trying out the horses this morning?” Issie couldn’t believe it.

      “What did you think you’d be doing?” Tara Kelly shot back. “This isn’t a holiday camp, you know.” She still wasn’t smiling and Issie was beginning to think that the students at the Blainford All-Stars Academy were right. Tara Kelly, aka She Who Must Not Be Named, was going to be a tough taskmaster.

      After her early-morning interrogation, all Issie wanted to do was go back to her room and hide under her duvet. She never got the chance, however, because when she opened the bedroom door, there was already a girl in her bed. Or at least on her bed, sitting there nonchalantly ferreting her way through the contents of Issie’s duffel bag.

      “Oh, hi!” The girl dropped the bag like a hot potato and gave Issie a smile. “You must be Isadora. It’s so great to meet you! I’m Dee Dee. I’m going to be your roomie!”

      “Er, Dee Dee? What are you doing?” Issie asked. “Were you looking through my bag?”

      “Oh!” Dee Dee was taken aback. “Oh—no!” She shook her head vigorously. “I wasn’t looking. I was just packing it for you.” She smiled sweetly at Issie. “You see, I like to sleep next to an open window, but when I got here, I noticed that you’d taken the bed right next to the window and the other bed is all the way over by the wall, and so I thought to myself, Dee Dee, I’m sure your roomie won’t mind if you swap beds with her. And so then, since you weren’t here, I decided to move your stuff over for you, so that you’d be all settled into your new bed by the time you came back.”

      Issie screwed up her face. “But, Dee Dee, I don’t want to swap beds. I like being by the window too.”

      Dee Dee didn’t seem to know what to do with this new information. She had large, owlish features with cropped, curly black hair, enormous dark brown eyes and a beakish mouth. When she realised that Issie was going to be stubborn about swapping beds, the beakish mouth pushed out into a sulky pout.

      “How about if we move both the beds?” Dee Dee suggested, refusing to give up. “We can shove them sideways and arrange them so that we both have our heads near the window…”

      “Dee Dee, I don’t think we’re supposed to be moving the furniture around,” Issie countered. She sighed with resignation. “Listen, if it really matters to you that much, you can take the window bed. It’s no big deal.”

      “Really?” Dee Dee squeaked. “Oh, you’re the best roomie! This is going to be so neato, sharing a room for two whole weeks!”

      Elated, Dee Dee went back to her task, gleefully throwing Issie’s clothes into her duffel bag.

      “It’s OK, Dee Dee,” said Issie, moving forward hastily. “That’s my stuff. I’ll do it…” But it was too late.

      “Oops!” Dee Dee squeaked. “I think I just put your nail polish in there without a lid on!”