The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle. Shelley Peterson

that Hilary had drawn out. The horse show was just over a week away, on Sunday, four days after school let out, and Dancer was right on track. Abby shivered with anticipation and nerves every time she thought of the Invitational.

      Hilary was lending Abby her riding clothes for the show. It was a nice surprise that they fit. Her simple, elegant black riding jacket was perfect. Her tight-fitting, stretchy, beige breeches were just right. Her tall, slim, black boots only needed an extra pair of socks and some insoles to fit properly. The white blouse, the rat-catcher tie and stock pin, the black gloves, everything looked wonderful. With pleasure, Abby pictured the dashing figure she’d cut.

      She and Sam were seeing as much of each other as they could. On top of school and work, rehearsals were taking a lot of his time. Because of his tall, slim stature, Sam was playing the part of Sly Fox, who encourages Pinocchio to be truant. Abby enjoyed Sam’s company tremendously. Imagining his delicious chocolatey eyes and slow smile had Abby slouching in her chair with a silly grin on her face.

      “Perhaps we could get a sense of how we’re doing on our essays. This person here looks like she’s finished.” Miss Iman stopped at Abby’s chair and put a hand on her shoulder.

      Abby froze.

      “Stand up and read your work. You look very pleased with yourself. We’re all anxious to hear it.”

      Just like grade seven, Abby thought. Her face was growing crimson. She stood up with her head bowed, hoping to hide the blush with her hair. To make things worse, she was a head taller than the teacher. She felt like an oversized goof.

      “Actually,” Abby croaked, “I was thinking about what to write. I was reaching into my heart and digging into my personal reasons. You said to let it flow, but I was completely stopped up.”

      Miss Iman was dumbfounded. The small, surprised chuckles from Abby’s classmates became noisy laughter. It was Miss Iman’s turn to blush.

      “Read your essay,” she commanded. Gone was any sign of perkiness.

      Abby felt badly. “No, really,” she said, looking down into the angry teacher’s face. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything to do with the play and I don’t know what to write. But I’ll try again.” She sat down, dreading the punishment that surely was to follow.

      Concentrating hard, and not looking up for fear of enraging the teacher further, Abby wrote two rough copies before finalizing her essay on a clean sheet. She proofread it once again, satisfied that it wouldn’t embarrass her if Miss Iman made her read it aloud. In fact, thought Abby, it was pretty darned good.

      Nothing happened until the end of the class. Just before the bell, Miss Iman asked Abby to come to her desk before she left. Several people in the class snickered knowingly. Others gave her sympathetic smiles.

      Abby gathered her books and made her way up the aisle. She stopped at Miss Iman’s desk. “I’m very sorry, Miss Iman. I didn’t mean to be rude. It just came out that way. Here’s my work.” Abby placed the paper on the desk.

      Miss Iman read the essay as the other kids streamed out the door. Abby tried not to notice their giggles and funny looks as each one passed by to drop their essays on the teacher’s desk.

      “Well written, Abby,” said Miss Iman. “Very good. And very imaginative, too, creating a ghost for the theatre. It almost seems like you believe you saw him, which is very good writing, allowing us to suspend our disbelief. I steal that term, of course, from the theatre.”

      Abby waited. “What’s my punishment?” she finally blurted.

      “Punishment? Why, there’s no punishment. You did your work, and did it well. You were just a little slow starting.”

      Abby smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Miss Iman. Thank you very much.”

      As she walked to her history class, Abby reflected on the whole incident. It turned out to be not at all like grade seven. For one thing, back in those days she would’ve been sent to the principal’s office, then banished home with detentions, suspensions, the whole shebang.

      Secondly, her opinion of Miss Iman had changed. Yes, she had her idiosyncrasies. Yes, she tried too hard. But all in all, she was a really nice woman who wanted to be a good teacher.

      Thirdly, Abby hadn’t realized how sorry she was about not being in Pinocchio.

      “Oh well,” she muttered aloud. “It was my choice.”

      “What was your choice?” asked a very familiar voice behind her.

      “Mrs. Featherstone! What are you doing here?”

      Joy walked along with Abby. “I just delivered one hundred posters for Pinocchio. Your drama club promised to plaster the area. Each member is taking five. I wonder if they could handle more?”

      “Probably. I could bring more posters to school tomorrow if you’d like.”

      “Thanks. Maybe I will. Advertising is key.”

      “Absolutely,” agreed Abby. “If you don’t know about it, you’re not going to buy tickets.”

      “So true,” nodded Joy. Suddenly, she stopped walking. “Abby, you may be the answer to my problem. Can I ask a large favour?”

      “Shoot,” said Abby. “Your wish is my command.”

      “Just now, at the office, I heard that Margaret Small has come down with some sort of bug.”

      “Miss Small, the principal’s assistant?”

      “Yes. She’s the actress playing Pinocchio’s good fairy. We’ll have costumes for the first time tonight, which makes it an extremely important rehearsal, but I called her at home and told her to stay in bed and drink lots of clear fluids. I’d love you to fill in until she feels better. For the other actors. Can you do it, Abby?”

      Abby’s eyes widened. “Are you a mind reader?”

      “Why?”

      “Remember you asked me ‘What was your choice’?”

      “Because you’d just said, ‘It was my choice.’ You were talking to yourself.”

      “Exactly. I was thinking how much I wanted to be in Pinocchio, and it was my choice not to be. Because I didn’t pursue it after I missed the audition.”

      “Now, Abby, Miss Small will be coming back to do the show. I’m asking if you’ll stand in for her for the first dress rehearsal tonight. We have two more weeks before opening night, by which time she’ll be back. I hope I haven’t raised your expectations.” Joy looked concerned.

      “Perfect!” exclaimed Abby. “I’m sure I’d die of stage fright if there was an audience. This way, I’ll be involved and live to tell the tale.”

      Joy laughed happily. “Then it’s a win-win situation. I’ll leave the script on the kitchen table. The rehearsal is called for seven o’clock. Will you have time to ride Dancer and eat dinner before then? It’ll be a late night.”

      Abby worked it out. “I’ll pack some dinner. Then I can go straight to Wick Farm from Hogscroft. I’ll have plenty of time.” They were at the history classroom door.

      “Thanks, Abby!” called Joy as she waved goodbye. “See you at seven! Ride carefully. I don’t want to have to find a stand-in for my stand-in!”

      Abby smiled and returned the wave. She wanted to be just like Mrs. Featherstone when she got old.

      After school, Cody followed Abby’s bike to Hogscroft. As usual, padding along the path in the woods beside the road, he listened intently for human noises coming from the Bad Man’s den. Just to be sure, he detoured up through the woods and stared at the place where the Bad Man lived. He could see no activity. He could smell