High Hurdles (11 page)

The end of the day brought both relief and dread. She’d made it to the end of another show she couldn’t compete in—and now she had to go home. She dragged out putting things away as long as she could. All the horses were fed, watered, and hayed.
Cut it out, DJ, you’re stalling
. Her frustration goading her, she hopped on her bike and headed for home.

“Well, I hope you’re happy.” Her mother met her at the door.

“Now what did I do?”

“Because of your infantile actions yesterday, Joe and Gran have called off the wedding.”

“But . . .”

“Darla Jean Randall, I am so ashamed of you.”

“My name is DJ.”
And you can’t be any more ashamed of me than I am.

Chapter
•
14

If I ran away, where would I go?

The buzzing of the alarm jolted her wide awake.

The thought hadn’t been a dream actually; it felt more like a prodding. Must be pretty serious when even her subconscious thought about it. Maybe that was the easiest solution. They’d all be better off without her to worry about. Gran could get married so she and Joe would be happy. Mom wouldn’t have to worry about finding a place to live big enough for the two of them. At least she’d be out of their hair. And there was no horse for her to worry about leaving.

DJ buried her face in her pillow. Where would she go? How much money did she have?

She threw back the covers and crossed the room to her desk. Pulling her money box out of the center drawer, she set it on the desk and lifted the lid. Her bankbook read $345.88. She counted the bills and change. Another $36 and some change. A total of $382 and—she scrambled for the exact count—seventy-seven cents. How long could she possibly live on that?

I can get a job. I look older than I am
. She peered at the face in the mirror.
I could pass for sixteen, maybe even seventeen
. But right now she needed to head for the Academy. At least there she had plenty to do and people to talk to. She stuck her bankbook in her jeans back pocket.

But when she pedaled past Amy’s house, it felt as if a giant fist smacked her in the gut. Riding up the first hill took more breath than the fist had left her. She downshifted. What about the pony parties? Could Amy handle them by herself? One of her brothers would surely help her.

Catching her breath on the downhill, she pumped like crazy up the next rise. Pump and coast. That seemed to be the story of her life. All ups and downs with few flat stretches.
God, what am I gonna do?
She coasted off the paved road and into the Academy parking lot. After work she would take all her money out of the bank. Tonight was as good a time as any to leave.

“DJ, you have a minute?” Bridget leaned on the fence observing as DJ finished her beginning riders’ class.

“Sure.” DJ turned back to her students. “Okay, time to walk your horses to cool them out, then head for the area behind the barn. Another class needs the arena.” She swung the gate open and smiled up at her girls.

“When are we going up in Briones again?” Krissie stopped halfway through the gate.

“Ah-h-h, soon. I’ll let you know next lesson.” DJ forced her mouth into a smile. She wouldn’t be here to take them up in the park again. Once she closed the gate, she joined Bridget at the rail.

“You really are good with them. One of the mothers told me her daughter keeps her room clean now just because you told her neatness is a key to performing well.” Bridget turned so she was leaning against the aluminum rail.

“Thanks. I like teaching.” DJ copied Bridget’s pose.

“You want to tell me what has been bothering you?”

DJ blinked. She thought she’d been keeping her thoughts to herself, not skywriting them for all to see. “Ah—just home stuff. It’ll all work out.” She could feel the heat flaming up her neck. One thing Gran had drummed in her head—never lie or cheat.

“Remember, I am here for you when you need me.” Bridget hooked a heel over the bottom rail. And waited.

DJ fought the tide of tears that threatened to swamp her. She swallowed, then swallowed again, her hands clenched by her side.
How can I just disappear when she counts on me? How can I stay? This is a mess
! The thoughts burst over each other in a confusing rush.
I can’t stay—I messed up Gran’s life. I’m so selfish
. She blinked herself back to the arena. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“I asked if you checked out the new gelding I put in Diablo’s stall? I have assigned him to you for exercise. His name is Dandy Son, but he answers to Patches. His family only plans on being out here on the weekends. He needs training so their ten-year-old can ride him. Think you can take care of that?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I have every confidence in you, DJ.” Bridget started to walk away. “Let me know when you are ready to bring him out. We will see what he knows and set up a program for him.” She nodded at a call for the telephone. “I will be right there. Oh, and, DJ, he is trained for Western riding.”

DJ checked on her students and sent them all to dismount and groom their horses. None had worked up a sweat, thanks to the cool breeze.

She worked her way down the line of nodding horses until she came to Diablo’s old stall. These stalls were supposed to be James’ responsibility, but none had been forked out. And as usual, James was not in sight.

DJ shook her head. A dark brown horse, nearly black, but with a splotch of white between his eyes, came forward to sniff her hand. DJ rolled back the barred upper half of the stall door and took hold of his halter. “So, you’re Patches, are you?” The gelding snuffled up her shoulder to her hair. DJ stood quietly and let him explore her. “You are a beauty, you know that?” Her soft voice and soothing hands worked their magic, aided by the carrot she dug out of her pocket.

While he crunched, she slid back the lower door and entered the stall. He stood a bit over fifteen hands, with one white sock in front and another on the opposite back leg.

When she bent down to check his legs, he rumpled her hair. “You’re a bit of Arab, but what’s the rest? Morgan? Quarter Horse?” He pricked his ears and nudged her shoulder. “Yeah, I like you, too. Somebody bought themselves a fine animal, didn’t they?”
If only I could be here to train you
.

She felt that even more painfully after the riding session. Patches had a nice gait, easy to sit to, but with only two speeds—walk and run. He seemed willing, but he didn’t know much more than simple neck reining. He also tended to get hyper when she asked him to do something unfamiliar, such as backing up or going at a gentle lope.

After she put him away, she decided to write Bridget a letter and leave it in the office.

Amy worked on the other side of the barn, cleaning her stalls and grooming horses. But she never came out to watch the new mount or swap jokes the way she usually did.

When DJ dared to sneak looks at her used-to-be friend, she could tell Amy wasn’t any happier than she was. Guess she’d have to write a note to Amy, too.

By the time DJ’d gotten her money out of the bank, it was late. She pedaled like crazy for home, not looking forward to explaining why she was late. The list of chores covered both sides of a sheet of paper.

Gran’s minivan was gone again.
Probably off seeing that stupid policeman
. DJ left her bike on the front sidewalk. She’d be gone before anyone could yell at her to put it away.

First she’d write the letters, then pack. She sat down at her desk. Should she write to Gran and Mom? She shook her head. They wouldn’t care anyway. Just Amy and Bridget. She wrote fast and stuffed the sheets in the envelopes. Gran could come home anytime.

DJ packed another pair of jeans, two T-shirts, and a pair of shorts in her backpack. By the time she’d added underwear, a sweatshirt and jacket, and her toothbrush and paste, she hardly had room for food. She rummaged in the cupboard downstairs. A box of food bars, a couple apples, matches. She’d camp up in Briones for a couple nights before heading . . . DJ didn’t know where. She clamped her hands on the counter. Would she ever see her family again?

She wandered into the family room and lifted the cloth on Gran’s latest painting. As Gran would say, it needed work. She let the cloth drop and went to sit in Gran’s chair, letting her gaze wander around the room, saying good-bye to everything. When she finally pushed herself to her feet, she might as well have been pushing up the world.

With her sleeping bag tied on the back of her bike, a canteen slung on her shoulder, and her pack on her back, she pedaled out the drive and around the corner. That way no one she knew would see her on the main street, the way they usually came.

Once at the Academy, she parked her bike behind the long barn and dropped her pack beside it. The sun had already set, and long shadows stretched across the dusty parking area. She could hear a class going on in the covered arena and another at the open arena set up for jumping. Most of the adults came in the evening after work. A horse whinnied in one of the outside stalls. Inside the barn, only an occasional snort or the rasp of hay being pulled from a rack broke the silence.

Horses came to the gates and nickered or wuffled when DJ made her way down the line. She knew them all, many of them for the four years she’d worked there. An ear scratch here, a chin rub there—Megs insisted on having her ears rubbed when DJ slipped inside her stall. DJ scratched, then wrapped her arms around the deep red neck, burying her face in the black mane.

You will not cry
. “You be a good girl now, you hear?” She tickled the mare’s whiskery upper lip. “Thanks for all the good jumps we made.” Megs nickered when DJ left the stall.

DJ leaned against the wall. She’d say good-bye to Patches, then get out of there. After she left the letter on Bridget’s desk.

Even with her heart pounding in her ears, she detected an unfamiliar sound. She stopped in her tracks, the better to hear. Was there an animal trapped in a stall? A horse down? She made her way down the aisle, past Patches, and stopped again. Nothing. Concentrating, she tiptoed so as not to make a sound, checking each box stall, always moving like a ghost. She stopped and listened again. It was coming from across the aisle. She peered into Gray Bar’s stall. The Arabian filly studied her with large, calm eyes. But something light colored was huddled back in the corner.

DJ slid open the stall and slipped inside. With one hand on the filly’s halter, she drew closer to the far corner.

“So what are
you
staring at, cat?”

“James!” DJ nearly jumped in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Chapter
•
15

“Nothing. I can come visit my horse, can’t I?”

“Well, sure, but . . .”

“But nothing, just get out of here and leave me alone.” His voice broke on the last syllable.

DJ stroked the filly’s neck and smoothed her mane.
What was going on? James never spent time alone with his horse. He rode, practiced, did his chores, and left
. It had never occurred to her that he even liked the animal, in spite of what a beauty she was. The green-eyed monster of jealousy had attacked DJ more than once because of this superb horse.

“You did pretty good yesterday.”

“Yeah, right. Best I got was a red. My dad . . .” He waved her away with a clenched fist. “Go on, will ya?”

DJ kept her attention on the horse. She was sure she’d seen tears on James’ cheeks. She could hear them in his voice. She knew how rotten she felt when someone came upon her when she was crying. Crying should be a private affair. But she couldn’t leave. James needed someone, that was for sure. And it looked to be her.

“But you placed in the trail-riding class, and the show before, Gray Bar wouldn’t even finish the course. All your practice and work with her showed. Your dad should be real proud of you.”

DJ thought she heard him mumble, “Too drunk to care,” but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t dare ask him to repeat himself. How could she get him to talk?

God, please help me help James
. She went on stroking the filly. “What about your mom? Isn’t she proud of you?”

“Why? She’s never home.”

“Sounds like my mom. She travels for her job and then goes to school nights for her master’s degree. She’s been in school ever since I can remember.”

“My mother says she hates coming home.”

DJ felt like James had socked her. “No, she doesn’t. She can’t. Not really.” She wished she could grab the words back and swallow them quick.

“You think I’m stupid or something? I understand English. Especially when she’s screaming at the top of her lungs.”

“In front of you?” DJ could hear her voice squeak.

“Nah, I listen from the top of the stairs. My dad was drunk again . . .”

Again
. This time DJ caught the words before they slipped out.

“And Mom said it was the last time. She was leaving, she’d see him in court.”

DJ sank down on the shavings beside him.
What do you say to something like this?
But she didn’t have to say anything. It was as though someone had pulled the plug; the words bubbled out nonstop.

“My dad threw his glass into the fireplace then—I heard it smash. He’d been drinking ever since he came home. I tried to get him to stop, but after he hit me, I stayed upstairs.” James clenched his hands over his knees. “It’s safer that way. If I hide, he sometimes forgets what he was yelling about—at least when he’s yelling at me. But Mom said she couldn’t take it anymore. I think he hit her once, but she lied and said she bumped into a door.”

When he fell silent, DJ cleared her throat. “So what are you going to do?”

“Me? They’re gonna send me back East to military school. Dad says I need some discipline to shape me up. Ha! He’s the one who needs discipline.” He turned to look at DJ. “Why does he do it—drink, I mean? He says he’s sorry, but then he just drinks again.”

“I don’t know.” A picture of Gran flitted through her mind. Even if Gran got married, she’d find time for her only granddaughter. Of course she would.

James sniffed again. “I don’t want to go to military school. I don’t want to leave Gray Bar. I like it here at the Academy.” His voice broke. The silence lengthened. “They’re going to get a divorce. They say it’ll be better for all of us that way.” He picked up a handful of shavings and let them tumble through his fingers.

DJ wanted to take him in her arms and hold him as Gran so often held her.

He sniffed and rubbed the back of his hand across his nose.

DJ watched him from the corner of her eye. What could she say? What could she do? No wonder he’d been such a mean kid all summer.

“I’ll take care of your horse for you. When you come home next summer, she’ll be better trained than ever.”

“Dad says he’s gonna sell her.”

“Oh no!” DJ looked up at the filly, who’d lowered her head to sniff and wuffle in James’ hair. “She’s so beautiful. You’ll never find one like her again.”

“I know. But . . .” He slammed his fist into the shavings. Gray Bar threw her head up and backed away. “I hate him! I could kill my dad. And Mom’s no help. All she can think about is never coming home again. I hate her, too.”

DJ felt her breath leave. It left her hollow, as if she might cave in. “James, you don’t mean that . . . about killing, I mean.”

“No. But I hate him, I really do.”

She could hear the tears running into his words. And she didn’t even have a tissue.
I thought I hated Joe, but I don’t. Nothing like James and his dad. God, please, I want to go home. I’m sorry I’ve been so hard to live with.
She crossed her arms on her knees and rested her forehead on them.

The filly made manure in the corner, filling the air with the pungent aroma. Then she came back to nuzzle James.

With one hand James reached up to rub her nose. She dropped her head lower, resting her cheek against James’ shoulder.

“She can tell you’re sad. Horses know more about us than we give them credit for.”

“I know. And I haven’t taken good care of her. That’s why Dad says he’s selling her. He says I don’t care. That I never care about anything.”

“Little does he know.” Right now DJ felt like going over to their fancy house and telling that mean old drunk off.

“Thanks, DJ.” James turned so he could look right at her. “I’m sorry I called you names. And about that saddle and bridle. . . . I . . . I hid it.” He swallowed the words.

“You did what?” DJ jerked upright.

“I hid them. Everyone likes you, and you’re so good with the other kids and the horses. I just wanted you to get in trouble for once. Like me.”

“James Edward Corrigan, that was a double dumb thing to do! Why’d you . . .”

“I said I was sorry. I’ll put ’em back tomorrow and tell Bridget what I did.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

“You gonna tell my dad?”

“No way. There is some stuff I’d like to tell him, though. And none of it’s very nice.” Now she was the one tossing handfuls of shavings.

“How are you going to get home?” DJ leaned back against the wall.

“Call George. He’s the gardener, driver—whatever we need. I thought about sleeping here tonight.” He rubbed the filly’s forehead. “Would you share your stall with me, girl?” She nibbled at his hair and blew gently in his face.

“She’d probably step on you.”

“No, she wouldn’t. Sure wish I’d worked her harder. My dad’s right, you know. I
am
lazy. I’d rather play games on my computer than most anything. But I do like riding—and showing.” He pushed himself to his feet and, grabbing a handful of mane, swung up on the filly. “If they don’t sell her, would you show her this fall? I know you want a horse of your own, but Gray Bar here loves to jump. She’s good. Bridget says she has plenty of ability.”

DJ knew her mouth made an O. She could feel her chin smack on her chest. She closed it and shook her head. “James, I . . .”

“Just say yes.” James scooted back and leaned forward to rest his chin on the filly’s withers. “You could go far with her.”

“If you have to sell, I wish I could buy her.” She thought about the money in her pocket. It wouldn’t even be a down payment on a registered Arabian like this one.

“You can use her. That way it won’t cost you anything.”

“Thanks. You all right now?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just cool.”

“Guess I better get home. I’m not supposed to be out past dark.”

“Me neither.” James slid to the ground. “I’ll see you tomorrow. They can’t ship me off that fast.” He gave the filly another pat and pushed back the lower door. “Uh, you won’t tell the other kids about this, will you?”

DJ shook her head. “Nope. You sure you’re okay?”

“Hey, I’ll live. Military school can’t be all bad.”

“I’ll write to you, tell you about Gray Bar.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” DJ ducked back around the barn and hefted her backpack. She couldn’t get her arms in the straps fast enough. Maybe she’d get home before they even realized she was gone.

She climbed onto her bike, hitting the pedals so hard, gravel spurted out from under her rear tire. Would she ever be able to say
sorry
enough?