Prize Problems Read Online Free

about how people expected artists to just perform without the necessary practice.
    â€œIt’s exactly the same thing,” Bean’s mom had declared, her arms wafting in earnest. “People who are not artistic have no concept of how we work, Bernard. It’s not something you can turn on like a tap. They don’t understand how an artist needs to be inspired.”
    â€œSo true, Ingrid,” Bean’s father had agreed, nodding furiously and braking hard at a set of traffic lights so that our seat belts cut us practically in two. “They expect a five-star performance with only a two-star practice.”
    â€œAnd then they’re disappointed!” Bean’s mom had concluded, her hand falling on to her lap.
    I had so felt for Bean if this was the sort of conversation she was subjected to all the time. No wonder she’d been looking forward to the riding vacation. As the traffic lights had turned green and Bernard angrily crunched the gears and accelerated, throwing us back into the seats, my thoughts had flown back to Drummer and our parting that morning. I’d sniffed a bit and welled up, blinking back the tears. I hated leaving Drummer behind and wished he could have been included in our adventure.
    â€œKaty will see to your every need,” I’d told him, stroking his thick, black mane.
    â€œDon’t miss your ride,” he’d replied, between mouthfuls of hay.
    â€œI wouldn’t go and leave you like this,” I’d gulped, “only I’ve always, always wanted to go on a riding vacation. It’s going to be an ambition fulfilled,” I’d added, dramatically.
    â€œYeah, well, you always wanted to be a horsey celebrity,” Drummer had reminded me, “and we all know how well that turned out!”
    Suddenly, leaving my pony behind had seemed a lot easier. “Don’t be too upset!” I’d remarked.
    â€œI’ll do my best. You’d better go while I can still hold it together,” Drum had returned his full attention to his feed bag. “Shut the door on your way out.”
    Mrs. Reeve beamed at us. Her mouth seemed to take up almost half of her face. “Charlotte and Pia. Of course—Charlotte is our competition winner, aren’t you? Clever girl! Well, we’ll make sure you have a wonderful time here at High Grove Farm. All my guests have a wonderful time!”
    Mr. and Mrs. Beanie each shook Mrs. Reeve’s hand and Mrs. Beanie asked whether they might be able to see where Charlotte and I would be sleeping.
    â€œOf course, follow me and bring your luggage. Two of the others are already here and they’re dying to meet you both,” gushed Mrs. Reeve, walking back into the old farmhouse and beckoning us to follow her.
    We went in through the kitchen. “This is where we all take our meals,” boomed Mrs. Reeve, waving toward a huge pine table with wooden benches either side, before we followed her up two sets of wide stairs to a huge room in the roof which housed six beds, three on either side of the room.
    â€œAnd there are two shower rooms, through there,” waved Mrs. Reeve, smiling at Bean and me, “and there—so no excuses about lines!” She nodded knowingly to Bean’s parents, assuming Bean and I couldn’t wait to give the soap a miss for five days—the nerve! There were two suitcases next to beds on opposite sides, already claimed, so we dumped our cases on two adjacent beds under the eaves nearest to the window and peered out. Below us we could see a farmyard with stable doors opening on to it and beyond, a schooling paddock. Open countryside surrounded us. It was gorgeous!
    â€œCan’t see any ponies,” muttered Bean, scanning the view.
    Bean’s parents declared themselves satisfied with the arrangements and we all trooped down the stairs. Mrs. Reeve puffed a bit and flicked back a braid.
    â€œYou girls run along to the stable yard and