DJ’s fingernails screamed to be chewed. She tucked them under her thighs for safekeeping.
“Oh, He cares all right. What lessons do you suppose He is trying to teach you?”
DJ wrinkled her nose. “Can I think about that? I gotta get Patches on the hot walker.”
“Sure ’nough.” He removed the keys from the ignition. “I’ll groom Major for you. Ranger can wait his turn.” Ranger was the Quarter Horse gelding Joe had bought with the dream of someday entering cutting competitions.
“Thanks.” DJ bailed from the sport utility vehicle as if bloodhounds were after her. That man could drive her nuts with his questions. Did he always have to be right?
She stopped in the office long enough to check the duty board, even though she knew exactly what she had to do. Sure enough, Amy was cleaning stalls on the south aisle of the low red barn. They hadn’t ridden home from school together since Amy had been to the orthodontist to get her braces tightened. But DJ knew if she stopped to talk with Amy now, she wouldn’t get to see Major until all her work was done.
She opted for Major. As soon as he heard her voice, he nickered. When she didn’t answer, he whinnied.
“What a welcome!” DJ plugged her ears as she jogged toward him. Another horse whinnied, then others. Whinnying was as catching as a yawn.
“You big goof, what’s with you?” She hid both hands behind her back. When he nudged an arm, she palmed the carrot for him. “Had to work for it, didn’tcha?” He nosed her other arm and got half a horse cookie.
DJ wrapped both arms around his neck and squeezed, earning slobber in her ear for the effort.
“You are the very, very, very best horse any girl could ever own.”
He flicked his ears back and forth and whiskered her cheek, bathing her in carrot- and molasses-laden horse breath.
She scratched the spot between his ears that he especially liked, then gave him a pat on the nose and stepped away. “Back in a while. Got to get to work.”
He nickered as she left, making her want to stay with him even more.
If only she could ride him. Would her mother never let her off restrictions? And all because of two lousy Cs on her report card, one a C minus in algebra.
While Patches, the young gelding she trained for Mrs. Johnson, kept the hot walker squealing in protest at his fits and starts, DJ gathered his tack and took it back to his stall. She tossed out some newly dirtied shavings and dug a hoof-pick out of the grooming bucket. Patches nickered when she came for him, tossing his head and striking out with one front hoof.
“Oh great. Who poured extra energy in your feed?”
He nickered again and nuzzled her pockets when she got close enough. She pushed his nose away and unhooked the lead shank from the hot walker. Snapping her own lead in place, she led him back to the barn.
“Knock it off,” she ordered when he bumped her with his shoulder the second time. She jerked on his lead shank and planted her feet. “Now, listen here, pea brain, you are not going to act up today. You are going to behave yourself, you hear?”
Patches wore his “who me?” look. He shook his head, then all over, his mane flying as if a wind had blown through. He snorted again, rubbed his forehead on her shoulder, and blew.
“Are you finished?” She had a hard time keeping from laughing. “You are such a ham.”
She kept up a running commentary while she groomed him and picked his hooves. He didn’t even puff up his belly when she cinched the saddle. “Uh-oh, don’t tell me you gave up on being a brat.”
Patches behaved for the entire lesson.
“You know, if you acted like this for your owner, she wouldn’t be walking around with a broken arm.”
“And she would be riding instead of you.” Bridget Sommersby, owner of Briones Riding Academy and DJ’s coach and friend, leaned on the aluminum fence that wrapped around the covered arena.
DJ rode over to the rail. “He looks good, doesn’t he?”
“He does, thanks to you. But I do agree with what you have been telling me. He is too much horse for Mrs. Johnson. She needs an animal she can have fun riding, not have to watch every minute. Thank God she was not seriously injured the other day.”
“I hate to see him go.” DJ patted Patches’ neck. “Maybe if I’d—”
“Do not finish what you are thinking. You have done all you can with this guy.” Bridget stroked Patches’ nose. “Given six more months with you, he might settle down, but he might need a couple more years, too. In all honesty, we cannot take that chance.”
“Do you know of a good horse that might suit her?”
“No, but I am sure we will find one. Andrew does not need all this stress, either.” Andrew was Mrs. Johnson’s eight-year-old son, who was working hard to overcome his fear of horses. His mother’s accident had sent him into a panic.
Bridget looked up at DJ. “And you, ma petite, are not to blame yourself in any way for this not working out. You did your best, and your best was very good. Do you hear me?”
DJ bit her bottom lip and nodded. A compliment like that from Bridget was rare enough to make it shine like gold in the sun. And the order was unmistakable. She bit back the but and nodded again. “Thank you.”
“We will talk with her together.” Bridget started to turn away and looked over her shoulder. “How long until you are off restrictions?”
“I don’t know. Mom said until my grades come up, and I flunked the last algebra test.”
“That is not good.” Bridget stroked her forefinger along her jawbone. “And you are working with a tutor?”
DJ nodded. “My fa—” She stumbled over the word father. “Robert. But we just started.”
“You can accomplish this.” Bridget held up a hand. DJ knew it meant no excuses. Bridget didn’t tolerate excuses. “Anyone as stubborn as you can do anything she sets her mind to.”
DJ hugged those words to her heart as she put Patches away. Her new father had said the same thing.
But what if you can’t? a little voice inside her head sneered. You might never ride Major again. And then you might just as well forget about the Olympics.
Chapter • 2
“I’m afraid I have some bad news.” Robert Crowder looked around at his family gathered at the dinner table that evening.
“What is that, dear?” Lindy continued cutting up pork chops for the five-year-old twins, Bobby and Billy.
“It looks like moving day is delayed—again.”
The boys groaned, making a big deal out of it as usual.
In DJ’s opinion, they did nothing quietly, even sleep. She looked up at Robert. “What happened?”
“The inspector found some problems with the garage door. …”
“So? We don’t live in the garage.” The words popped out before she had time to think.
Bobby—or was it Billy?—giggled beside her. DJ groaned along with the two boys, one on either side of her. The only time she could tell Bobby and Billy apart was when one wore a bandage. She was tempted to apply one with super-bond, forever-permanent glue.
“I sure wish it were that simple. But there’s more.”
DJ studied his face across the table. Robert looked tired—not sleepy but worn out. Bags under his blue eyes were not the norm, nor was the gray color of his skin.
Lindy handed the boys their plates and turned to her husband. “You said there’s more.”
He nodded. “Ummm. Maria can’t come out yet. The doctor says she needs more rest before coming back to work.” Maria Ramos had cared for the twins as nanny since their mother died two years earlier. A bad case of pneumonia had struck while Lindy and Robert were on their honeymoon, and Maria still hadn’t fully recovered.
Now it was Lindy’s turn to groan. “And I have to leave for that conference in Chicago day after tomorrow. I can’t put that off. It wouldn’t be so bad, but Mother and Joe are going to Los Angeles the same day, so they can’t help out, either. What are we going to do?” She rubbed her forehead with
her fingertips. “I was counting on Maria’s coming back.”
Robert sighed. “I know. But we’ll figure out something.”
DJ concentrated on her food. Please don’t ask me to watch the boys after school. I have to work, too.
“Let’s discuss it later. DJ, how was school?”
She shrugged. She figured he meant algebra since he’d started coaching her a few days before. Might as well get the bad news over quick. “I flunked the test.”
“What is flunked?” the twin on her right asked.
“Is it bad?” asked the other.
She couldn’t bring herself to look Robert in the face. “Sorry.”
“That means we’ll just have to work harder.” He shook his head when she looked up at him. “No, don’t even think it. There is no way you are getting out of algebra, and you are not having trouble because you are stupid or dumb. I’ve been giving this some thought, and I believe your teacher just hasn’t explained things in a way you understand.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” DJ muttered under her breath.
“Darla Jean.” The warning came from her mother. Use of her full name meant DJ had better keep her mouth shut. If only she could shut off her mind as easily.
“Do you ask questions in class?” Robert wiped his mouth with his napkin.
DJ shook her head.
“Why not?”
It was DJ’s turn to sigh. “I don’t know. I guess by the time I’ve got a question other than ‘huh?’ figured out, he’s on to something else and I feel like an idiot for being so slow.”
“Okay.” Robert nodded and spoke at the same time. “How about if we have a parent/teacher/pupil conference? See if we can get some help.”
DJ felt like saying “Oh goody,” but this time she wisely kept her comment to herself. The little voice in her head reminded her, I thought you said you were going to whup algebra? You better show some enthusiasm here.
“Daddy, so when we gonna move?”
“We wants a pony.”
Saved by the twins. Sometimes they did come in handy.
The discussion switched to furniture being lost somewhere in Kansas; DJ wondered if the twister that took Dorothy to the Land of Oz had snatched their new furniture. She zoned out, and in her mind she took Major over the jumps, a perfect round with an audience applauding and cheering her on.
“DJ!” She came back to the present with a thump. The voice calling her name certainly wasn’t coming from a loudspeaker.
“Huh?”
“I asked you a question.” Her mother’s voice dripped icicles.
DJ looked up at her mother. “Sorry.” A glance at Robert’s face showed him studying her. One eyebrow raised when he caught her glancing at him.
“Mommy, I gotta go potty.” The twin on the right squirmed in his chair. The other followed suit.
“You boys can be excused. Remember to wash your hands before you come back to the table. We have devotions, so don’t waste time in the bathroom.” Robert turned from them to look at DJ again.
She now knew what a bug under a microscope felt like.
He tented his fingers and rested his chin on them. “DJ, where were you just now?”
“Right here.” But she knew what he meant. Where had she been in her head? She stammered when he continued his scrutiny. “I … I was thinking about jumping Major.”
Lindy huffed and rolled her eyes.
A familiar slow burn in her middle caught DJ’s attention. A fight was coming on—she could taste it.
“Do you do that often?” One finger tapped on his chin. “Come on, honesty here. We have no time for playing games.”
DJ tried to think. Often? What counts as often? “Sometimes.”
“During algebra?”
DJ could feel the heat creeping up from her neck to her face. She nodded. Oh, if only she could chew her fingernails. But ever since she’d started applying her I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me
verse, she’d learned to sit on her fingers to keep from chewing. Her nails looked good now, except of course when she snagged one at the barn. But sometimes she needed to chew her nails. Like right now.
“I can see the wheels turning in your head. Care to share what’s happening?”
The bug under the microscope squirmed in her seat. She let out a sigh so heavy her chair squeaked in protest. “I was thinking how bad I need to chew on a fingernail.”
Robert burst out laughing.
DJ stared at him. This was no laughing matter. She checked. Did he hurt her feelings? Nope. But when you think of it …
She tried to keep the grin from tickling her cheeks, but when he continued to laugh, she joined in. Lindy looked from one to the other, shaking her head all the while.
“You two are certifiably nuts.” But she smiled as she said it.
When the boys came back in the room, they looked at the three at the table and shrugged in unison, a trick they had with everything, and climbed up on their chairs.
“Devotions …”
“Daddy.” One began the sentence, the other finished it.
The verse Robert read fit right in. “ ‘The joy of the Lord is my strength.’ ” When he asked, “Can you have joy when you are sad?” the boys shook their heads.
“Trick question, right?”
Robert winked at her. “Right, DJ. Joy has nothing to do with how happy or sad you are. Joy is a gift from God, not a feeling like the others.” He looked at the twins. “Who brings us joy?”
They spoke at the same time. “Jesus.”
Like them, DJ had long ago figured out that seventy-five percent of the questions asked by pastors and Sunday school teachers could be answered by the word Jesus. A song from her younger days trickled into her mind. “I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart. …” The tune wouldn’t go away as she tried to listen to what Robert had to say.
“Good answer, guys.” Lindy smiled at them both.
A bit later when they bowed their heads in prayer, DJ squeezed the hands on either side of her. She did have joy in her heart, and right now she wanted to share it with her family.
But trying to keep the joy intact while she struggled with an algebra problem wasn’t easy. Her algebra book in tow, DJ and Robert returned to the dining room table after it was cleared. It wasn’t long before DJ began shaking her head.
“I don’t get it.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“DJ, your face is like an open book with big print, not hard to read at all. But keep in mind, I can also see when you check out. And I have a feeling that is part of your problem.”
“I didn’t realize I did that.” She closed her math book and put her papers back in her notebook.
“Well, understanding or being aware of something is the first step to change. I’ll be praying that you can keep your mind on what the teacher is saying and on the work itself.” He looked deep into her eyes. “I believe you can do algebra, Darla Jean Randall. I believe that with the grace of God, you can do anything you set out to do.”
She swallowed at the sound of his voice and the caring she read on his face.
“I won’t let you down.” The whispered promise came unbidden.
“You won’t let yourself down then, either. Algebra is no different from learning to jump, once you make the commitment.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t think I’d go that far.” But she knew what he meant.
He laid a hand on her arm. “Now, what don’t you understand about this lesson tonight?”
DJ thought a minute. “I don’t know, I think I got it.” She repeated back to him the material they’d covered.
“Good for you.” The smile he gave her was almost as good as a compliment from Bridget.
The next day in class, she caught her mind wandering off when Mr. Henderson was talking. She jerked it back and focused on the front of the room. She watched carefully as he did one of the equations on the board.<
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“Now, are there any questions?” He turned and faced the class again.
DJ raised her hand. “Could you go over that one more time, please?”
“Sure will.” As he did, DJ realized it sorta made sense.
“You got it now?” The teacher looked right at her and waited.
She could feel her heart hammer as some of the other kids turned to look at her, too. She wrinkled her forehead, struggling to get it right.
Mr. Henderson nodded. “Let me go over it again.” He turned back to the board and redid the equation, saying much the same thing again but slowly and clearly.
DJ muttered to herself along with him. So if 2x plus 3y equals 60, and 2xplus 5 equals 35, then x equals 15 and y equals 10.
She nearly jumped out of her seat to run around the room, shouting for joy. It made sense! She got it for a change.
When she walked up to her locker after class, Amy turned to look at her. “You look jazzed. What’s up?”
“Mr. Henderson and algebra. I think I got it!”
“A miracle has happened!”
Several students turned their way at Amy’s shout but DJ didn’t care. She felt like shouting, too. She did just that when Joe picked them up after school.
“Wait till I tell Robert.” She dropped her backpack on the floor and turned to Joe. “I even asked Mr. Henderson to go over it one more time. And he did!” She shook her head and flopped against the back of the seat. “I’m hungry.”
“I think this deserves a hot-fudge sundae. What do you think, Amy?”
“Yes!”
“What’s Gran going to say?” DJ asked as she, Joe, and Amy climbed back in the truck after their stop. She licked the last smidgen of fudge off her lips. “About your diet, I mean.”
“Plenty. But it’ll be worth every word. And when I tell her why we celebrated, she’ll ask why we didn’t take her along.”
Back at the barns, chores went quickly, but leaving Major again without riding him made DJ hurt inside. He nickered after her, tossing his head as if pleading for a workout.
“What’s up?” Joe asked when she climbed into the truck.
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