High Hurdles

by Lauraine Snelling

  When she and Amy’s older brother, John, trotted up the street to one of the monstrous new houses at the top of hill on the west side of Reliez Valley Road, they were nearly late. The subdivision was so new, all the trees in the yards still looked like sticks. But the sodded lawns were green and kids played in the street. Some of them even ran after the pony until DJ told them to stop.

  Balloons bobbed above the mailbox at the birthday house.

  “Oh, I was beginning to worry you weren’t coming,” the young mother said when she answered the door. “Do you think you could bring the pony into the backyard? We have more room there.”

  “Sure. You have a side gate?” An image of Bandit traipsing through the garage or the house flitted through DJ’s mind.

  “Oh, of course, I’m sorry.”

  DJ could tell the woman was flustered. If she was high-strung, what would the kids be like?

  Like crazy is what they were. When one little boy bit him, John glared at DJ.

  “Just help him down,” DJ muttered under her breath. A little girl tugged at DJ’s shirt.

  “I wanna ride the pony.” The whine would have cut logs.

  “You’ll get a turn in a minute.”

  “I wanna ride now !” The whine turned to a shriek.

  The hostess came running over. “Is she hurt? What’s the matter, dearest?”

  “She’s not taking turns too well.” DJ kept the smile on her face in spite of her clenched teeth. If she had her way, the brat would never ride Bandit.

  “Did you get that last picture?”

  John glared at her. “Of course.” He had red Kool-Aid stains on the front of his white T-shirt, thanks to a little boy who had refused to give up his drink. How come the mothers seemed to ignore the entertainment, sitting under a tree and visiting as if their kids belonged to someone else?

  “Are all the parties like this?” John muttered through clenched teeth.

  DJ shook her head, fighting to keep a smile on her face.

  “Ow-w-ie! He bit me!” The ear-shattering scream from the vicinity of her left knee made DJ’s heart jump. She looked down. A tow-headed boy was running in place and screaming in megadecibels that increased in direct proportion to the speed of his feet. DJ wished she could clap her hands over her ears, but she had to see what was wrong.

  Bandit pulled back on the reins, a clump of grass dangling from the side of his mouth. His eyes rolled white, and his ears smashed flat against his head.

  DJ didn’t know which to work with—the boy or the pony.

  “He bit me!” The kid clutched one hand with the other.

  The hostess ran out of the house. Another woman came to help her. Both pestered the howling boy with a thousand questions, all the while glaring at DJ, John, and poor Bandit.

  DJ couldn’t see any blood. Since the others were there to care for the child, she opted to attend to Bandit. John lifted the current rider down from the saddle and set her on the ground. Her face screwed up, ready to wail, in sympathy for the screamer.

  It took all of DJ’s will to keep calm. “He gave Bandit some grass and his finger got in the way.” Her tone sang comfort to the horse while her words filled John in on what had happened.

  “You shouldn’t bring a horse that bites to a children’s party.” One of the women now held the sniffling child on her hip.

  “I told them not to feed the pony.” Again DJ kept her voice calm. Inside, she wanted to scream. It’s not Bandit’s fault. It’s your fault! Keep a watch on your bratty kid. This was the boy who had dumped his drink on John’s shirt. A real charmer if ever there was one. At that moment, DJ was glad she’d never had younger brothers and sisters—what if they’d turned out like these kids?

  She rubbed Bandit’s ears and waited for things to calm down.

  “Bad pony.” The boy scrubbed his cheeks with grubby hands and kicked his mother to let him down.

  DJ caught a look from John that made her bite her lip.

  “Who’s next for a pony ride?” She pointed to a little girl in jeans and a sideways Giants baseball cap. “You haven’t ridden yet. How about if we swap our Western hat for yours while you ride?”

  “No.” The little girl clutched her hat.

  John started to say something, but instead just lifted the child into the saddle. “You won’t have a Western picture like everyone else,” he warned her.

  “I don’t care. Giddy-up.” She slapped her legs against the saddle.

  DJ led her off around the yard. This kid was a corker. But from the look on her face, she loved to ride. She leaned forward and stroked Bandit’s neck, not bothering to hang on to the saddle horn like the others. “Good pony. What’s his name?”

  “Bandit.”

  “Nice Bandit. I’m gonna have a pony someday.”

  DJ nodded. “I hope you do.” Now this was a neat kid. Not a brat—she just knew what she wanted. DJ gave her an extra turn around the yard.

  “Okay, that’s all for today.” DJ checked to make sure all the children had had their turns.

  John opened the back of the camera and handed the pictures to the hostess. She gave him an envelope and a frosty “thank you.”

  DJ made sure they had all their gear and led Bandit toward the gate. Once out on the street, John checked the envelope.

  “Just wanted to make sure she paid us. What a pain!”

  “That has to be the worst party we’ve had, worse even than the one where the kids tracked horse manure onto the woman’s brand-new white carpet. That’s why we bring the pooper scooper now.” Just then Bandit lifted his tail and plopped some green offerings onto the asphalt.

  John glared at DJ. She held the reins while he untied the metal scooper and did his chore, dumping the manure under a bush when they came to one. “Just don’t ask me to help with these parties again—ever.” His words matched the narrow line of his mouth clenched over clamped teeth.

  “They could at least have offered us something to drink.”

  By the time DJ and John told Amy all about the pony party, she lay on the floor kicking her heels and hooting.

  “John, it’s never been that bad. You guys are making this up, right?”

  John glared at her and nudged her with his toe.

  “Hee-hee, I love it.” Amy sat upright and clasped her arms around her bent knees. “Bandit bit him.” This time her giggles infected DJ much like a germ, and when she described the bratty boy dumping his drink down John’s shirt, she, too, collapsed against the back of the sofa.

  “Th-thanks for he-helping.” She glanced at the scowl on John’s face and grabbed her middle. This was the kind of laughter that couldn’t be stopped. Every time she and Amy looked at each other or John, they laughed till they hiccuped. “I’m going to wet my pants if we don’t q-q-quit.”

  John fought to keep the frown on his face. He gave it his best effort. But the grin broke through. It started with a snort. Then a hoot. He leaped to his feet. “You two can waste your time carrying on like this, but I have better things to do.”

  “B-b-better th-things to . . .” The two were off again. DJ made a fast charge down the hall. It’s hard to run with your legs crossed.

  When she came out of the bathroom, Mrs. Yamamoto had brought homemade lemonade and cookies into the family room. “Here, you giggling gerties, you need something to cool you off. John, I hear you really earned your money today.” Her smile set DJ and Amy off again. John took his glass and a handful of cookies and left the room.

  “You two better never ask me to help again,” he called back. “You’re totally nuts to do those parties.” He stomped up the stairs to his room.

  “You two.” Mrs. Yamamoto shook her head when she left the room.

  DJ could hear the younger kids playing outside on the swing set. She looked at her watch. She should get home. She wasn’t supposed to be here anyway—but she just had to tell Amy about the party.

  “See ya tomorrow.” She headed for the door. “You remember we’re taking my beginn
ing class up to Briones on Friday?”

  “Yep. Mom said I could go.” Amy followed DJ all the way to the sidewalk. “When do you get off restriction?”

  “Just in time for school. Big deal, huh?” DJ swung her leg over her bike. “I never thought being grounded could be so bad.” She shook her head. “Sure wish you could come home with me. I hate it there all by myself.”

  Another message on the machine didn’t do anything to improve the evening. Her mother couldn’t make it again.

  DJ tried to shrug it off. Who cared anyway? She didn’t.

  But if she didn’t care, why didn’t drawing a new horse sketch make her feel better? One fingernail started to bleed, she’d chewed it down so far. Good thing she didn’t say the word she thought. That kind of language wasn’t allowed in their house. Even an empty one.

  CHAPTER • 4

  I wonder what my father was like? DJ lay on her bed, one leg crossed over her raised knee. She swung the upper foot in time with the rhythm of her snapping gum. Snapping gum was another one of those habits that made her mother see red. There were sure a lot of things that set Mom off, especially lately.

  DJ started listing them. Her bike left out—anything left out. She could hear her mother’s demand. “A place for everything, and everything in its place.” She hated that line. On with her list: horse-scented clothes, whether on her daughter or left in the hamper; loud music; mouthing off; any clothes DJ liked; two-fingered whistles in the house . . . DJ sighed. Face it. Nearly everything she did set her mother off now that Gran wasn’t around.

  But that was enough thinking about her mother. So, what about my father? What do I really know about my dad? She wrinkled her forehead, trying to remember anything her mother or Gran had said about him. One thing they’d both said was that she got her love of horses from him. And she must look like him because she sure didn’t look like any of her mother’s relatives. There had to be some reason no one talked about him. Was he in jail for murder or something? Her mother must have really liked him at one time. After all, babies didn’t just come out of the sky.

  Her mind followed this new thought. What would it feel like to really be in love with someone? Some girls at school thought they were in love, and they talked about guys all the time. DJ’s leg bounced more quickly. In love—fiddle! She’d never even kissed a boy, not really. You couldn’t count Raymond’s peck on her cheek. But if she’d wanted to, he probably would have—kissed her on the mouth that is.

  But you had to feel something pretty special to let someone slobber all over you like actors did in the movies. DJ cracked her gum. “I’d rather have horse slobber any day.”

  Someday there would be someone special in her life. Gran said God had one person in mind for her; she’d been praying for him since DJ was a little girl. And if love was like the glow surrounding Gran and Joe, it couldn’t be too bad. Kind of fantastic actually. DJ turned over and wrapped her arms around her pillow. Not having Gran around was a bummer.

  Not having anyone around was worse than a bummer. Only four more days till she was off restrictions. She was counting the minutes. DJ made sure everything was put away, the laundry done, and the family room picked up—not that it needed much—before she went to bed. She wasn’t taking any chances on getting her grounding extended.

  Her mother knocked on the door and said good-night when she came home. It made DJ miss Gran even more.

  Friday morning, DJ packed her lunch for the picnic, putting a sandwich in a sturdy plastic container just as she’d told the girls to do. She stood at the open fridge door; they were out of fruit. No chips, either. She should have ridden her bike to the store last night. At least there were cookies. She dug a carrot out of the drawer and peeled it. Some lunch. Maybe Amy would grab an apple or something for her.

  “Thanks, bud,” she yelled over her shoulder when Amy returned from getting a nectarine for DJ.

  “You’re welcome. Are all three going today?”

  “Yep. Unless Mrs. Lincoln had her baby during the night.”

  The early morning felt crisp, and a breeze blew that made DJ glad she’d put a sweatshirt over her T-shirt. She could see trails of clouds peeping over the hills to the west. When San Francisco Bay was foggy, mornings here by Briones were cool. And wonderful. She sniffed the air, breathing deep in spite of the hill they were pedaling up.

  At the Academy she and Amy rushed through their chores. Amy picked up some of DJ’s stalls so she’d have time to train Patches. Once in the ring, the gelding jigged sideways, tossing his head and generally being a number one pain.

  “You sure are a stubborn one.” DJ leaned forward and patted his neck. “Keep testing me every day, hoping I’ll get soft?” Patches flicked his ears back and forth, taking in all the sights and sounds. With a sigh, he settled into an even jog, following her reining instructions without a hitch.

  Half an hour later, he stopped immediately when DJ barely tightened the reins. “Well, I’ll be.” She shook her head. “If you behaved like this every day, I’d say you were ready for your owners. You could enter a Walk/Jog class and come out with a blue.” The thought burst like Fourth-of-July sparklers. No, it was too late. The Labor Day show was next week, and she hadn’t cleared it with the owners. But Patches sure would look good out there. And they’d find out how he did under pressure.

  “You’re one smart fella.” She dismounted and led him out the gate. “Thanks, Ames,” she said when they entered the barn. Patches’ stall was cleaned and new shavings spread. “When are you going to have time to work with Josh?”

  “This afternoon after the ride. If he doesn’t know the routine by now, he never will.” Amy leaned on her shovel handle. She started to scratch a spot on her face and instead used the tail of her T-shirt to wipe the sweat away.

  “You look lots better.”

  “Better’n what? At least it only looks like a bad case of the zits now. Sure makes me feel sorry for anyone who has bad skin. I never appreciated mine before.” She dabbed her forehead again.

  DJ finished putting her gear away and trotted Patches out to the hot walker. She unsnapped Megs and brought her back into the barn.

  Two of her students giggled their way to the barn, saddles over their arms. Their mothers brought up the rear with saddlebags and helmets.

  “We’ll be back about two, right?” Sam asked.

  “Angie and Sam need to wash their horses. We did mine last night.” Krissie hung her saddle over the door. “And I soaped this thing till my arm almost fell off.”

  DJ tapped her on top of the head. “Good for you. That arm looks pretty well attached to me.”

  Krissie giggled. “You know what I mean.”

  Angie and her mother arrived next. Mrs. Lincoln handed DJ the beesting kit. “I’d rather this was in your saddlebag than hers. You be careful now, dear.” She gave her daughter a hug.

  Angie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Mom. See you about five?”

  DJ smiled and turned to her crew as soon as the last of the mothers walked away. “Okay, kids, let’s hit the arena. Last class before the big show, so let’s do it right.”

  “And only three more classes before school. Yuk.” Sam shook her head and made a face. “I hate school, just hate it!”

  “I’d rather ride every day like DJ.”

  “You think I don’t go to school?” DJ tugged on Angie’s ponytail. “Dream on. Come on, strap on your helmets. You’re sure poking along today.” She went from horse to horse, checking to make sure each saddle was positioned over the withers and the girths smooth.

  “We know how to saddle up by now.” Sam stood back so DJ could check.

  “I know you do, but double-checking is my job. You wouldn’t want your horse to get a saddle sore, would you?”

  “No.” Sam stroked her horse’s nose.

  DJ picked up a front foot. “You didn’t pick this enough. See the manure caked here by the frog?”

  Sam nodded. “It was too dark in there to see good.” DJ turned and g
ave her young pupil the look. She’d copied it from Bridget, who was a master at it.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” Sam tied her horse and dug a pick out of her bucket. “You’d think . . .” She looked up at DJ and swallowed whatever else she’d been going to say. Her lower lip stuck out until she bit down on it. She checked each hoof before dumping the pick back into the bucket and leading her horse out to the arena.

  “Ya did good.” DJ walked beside her. She knew what was going through Sam’s head. One time Bridget had caught her trying to rush. She’d never dared to do it again.

  By the time the class was finished, the sun had baked any coolness out of the air. The girls got drinks at the fountain beside the barn, slung their saddlebags up behind their Western saddles, and tied them down with latigos.

  DJ let them through the gate that led to the trails, Amy going first. Megs, saddled English for DJ, seemed glad to have a rider. She pricked her ears and picked up her feet to catch up. “Easy, girl. They won’t get away from us.”

  Rising in her stirrups, DJ stretched her legs and hugged her shoulders up to her ears. If—she quickly corrected herself—when she had a horse of her own, she’d ride up here every week. Maybe when Joe got his cutting horse, they could ride together. Would Major like trail-riding?

  Once inside the park, the shade up the trail felt like a cool blanket. DJ looked up to see a squirrel jump from one tree branch across the trail to another tree. He scolded them as though they’d invaded his kingdom.

  “There’s another squirrel.” Angie, who rode in front of DJ, pointed to a particularly fat squirrel, the sunlight through the branches glinting off his red fur. He dropped bits from the pinecone he rotated in his paws, stuffing its nuts into already fat cheeks.

  DJ and Angie let the others get ahead so they could keep watching the squirrel’s antics. He dropped the core of the cone and, flicking his tail, ran back up the branch and around the tree trunk.