The Prettiest Pony

The couch in Castle's office beckoned. He'd tried to sleep in his bed in the loft, but everything screamed Kate. He'd thought about bringing his totem Linus back and taking down the collection of romantically gathered shells he'd hung on the wall in the lion's stead. But what would she say if she came home? No, that was when she came home. She'd said she loved him, that she just needed time and that she hoped that when she was done that he'd take her back. He still couldn't understand why she'd left. He didn't know what he'd done wrong and she wouldn't tell him. She wouldn't tell him anything. She'd just left. Every time he closed his eyes in their bed he could see her, smell her, but when he reached for her there was nothing but icy sheet. The couch was easier. She'd never been with him there. It was harder on his back, but easier on his soul. His body was desperate for respite and sleep took him quickly.

Ricky Rodgers climbed up to stand on a log in the gate of the corral surrounding the ponies. They were beautiful, and they welcomed the carrots and apples he begged from the school kitchen as much as any treat from his rich classmates. One of them would be his, at least while at school. He could visit it and ride it and love it - if he won. The contest would start tomorrow at sunrise. He pulled his hand back in pain. A sliver of the rough wood had penetrated his finger. He could go see the nurse, but if anyone saw him, he'd be called a wimp. He decided he could get it out himself. All he needed was the tweezers from his Crime Busters kit.

As Ricky walked back to his room, his finger throbbing, he distracted himself with daydreams of a win. Ricky had the same chance as all the other kids no matter how rich they were, maybe more. He was good at things like this, solving puzzles, finding the story. He pulled the advance first clue out of his pocket. Each one was supposed to lead to another. If he could figure it out now, he'd spend the night watching and be the first one to get the next clue in the morning. "Where shadows meet the ancient seat."

"The ancient seat," he repeated to himself. Almost the whole campus was ancient, attended by generations, the latest members of which wouldn't let him forget it. "What is really old? Rocks, trees." He knew the place! It was near the lake. The bigger boys liked to take girls from Belden Prep there after dances. Ricky stayed away then, but the rest of the time, he liked the big rock. He'd climb on top of it with his notebook and write. Early in the morning he'd bring a flashlight because the shadows from two old trees met over it, blocking what little light was in the sky. Tomorrow Ricky would be in those shadows waiting for his chance.

Ricky shivered. It had been a cold night and his jacket hadn't blocked all the morning chill. He didn't care. He had been first. With stiff fingers he unrolled the scroll with the next clue. "Wisdom of the ages on the biggest of all stages."

Stage was a word Ricky heard a lot, almost every time his mother opened her mouth - when he actually got to see her. One phrase echoed in his mind. "All the World's a Stage." From the reverent way his mother quoted it, it had to be Shakespeare. Mother quoted Shakespeare's words the way the chaplain read the words of the Bible. Where would he find all the world? He knew that too. It was another of his favorite places to write, the World History section in the library. The only time other students came there was when they had a paper to research, and even then, they left as soon as possible. Ricky ran to the stone fortress that held the school's impressive collection of books.

Windburned and gasping for air, Ricky extended a hand to the teacher that held the little rolls of paper with the next clue. "You're first, Mister Rodgers, Mr. Ryan told him."

Too breathless to answer, Ricky just nodded and took his prize. "Place where you can find a deal on weapons greater than the sharpest steel."

Ricky's brow wrinkled in confusion. Weapons were forbidden on campus. The zero tolerance policy meant that any student possessing one would be expelled. He pictured the weapons bravely wielded in his beloved comic books. There were knives and - swords. What was greater than a sword? He knew. It was the mantra of every writer, even one who just had notebooks secretly filled with his imaginings. "The pen is mightier than the sword." Fancy fountain pens were on sale at the school book store. Ricky couldn't afford one, even on sale, but he had gazed at them longingly for the last week. The exhaustion vanished from his stiff legs as he once again began to run.

Mr. Patterson was just unlocking the store for the day when Ricky arrived. "It's a pen!" Ricky panted. "The pen is mightier than the sword."

Patterson nodded approvingly. "Yes it is, Mr. Rodgers, as is the mind that learns to use it."

He handed Ricky the final clue. "Though rough with splinters, I can swing, and keep the prize from taking wing." Ricky didn't have to think much about it. He still had the red mark on his finger from where he'd pulled out the splinter yesterday. It was the gate of the corral."

Miss Katherine Houghton, the creative writing teacher, greeted him. Tall with breasts pushing hard against her top, wavy brown hair, and hazel eyes that flashed intoxicating green, she stood holding out a golden ring bearing a prancing pony. "I had a feeling it would be you. I hoped it would. You have a great mind for mysteries. You can claim your prize at the ceremonies this afternoon." Trying his best to keep his eyes on her face, Ricky mumbled a thank you and retreated, the ring grasped tightly in his hand.

Ricky squirmed as the ceremonies honoring alumni who wrote the large enough checks to cause their names to be affixed to plaques and their offspring guaranteed admission, stretched on and on. He would have been sleepy if he hadn't been so excited to prove to the boys who tortured him that writer Ricky Rodgers could kick their arrogant butts. Finally Miss Houghton led out his pony. She called Ricky to her and held out her hand. Ricky slipped the ring on it and she kissed his cheek and handed him the reins. A flood of boys poured out of the audience, pushing themselves between Ricky and Miss Houghton and surrounding his pony. "It's my pony, you can't pet it," he protested, even as they crowded in in on him, cutting off his air.

Alexis' voice came from years and miles away. "Dad! Dad!"

Castle opened his eyes to plan his next move to win back his wife.