Once at school, the morning’s drawing wouldn’t come together. The male model, dressed in jeans and a cotton shirt with rolled-back sleeves, sat with his head on his chest as if he were sleeping. But all DJ could see was the woman with her cats. She flipped her paper to the next sheet and started again.
“You are having a problem?” Ms. Gant stopped at DJ’s side.
“Umm.” DJ sighed. “All I keep seeing is this woman who sits by where I get on the bus. She has two cats and lives on the streets, I think.”
“So …” The teacher paused and traced a line with her finger. “What if you draw the woman, get her out of your head, and then draw our model?”
“Could I?” DJ flipped the page and grinned at her teacher. “You are the best.”
“Thank you.” Ms. Gant patted DJ’s shoulder as she went on to talk with Sean.
But the woman wouldn’t come right, either. DJ wished she could take her pad down to Montgomery and Market and sketch right there. After several attempts, though, she felt free of the idea and went back to working on the model. Horses were always easier than people.
The entire week went that way. DJ felt off kilter, as if she was either a step ahead or a step behind the others. She often had lunch with Sean and another girl, and they said much the same thing. Life with Isabella Gant was anything but boring.
DJ sketched Sean eating an apple. She added bits of color to a still life that was to be done in black-and-white, but that was after Ms. Gant had deemed the drawing finished. A weeping cherry tree appeared on her pad as if by magic.
She had no time to worry about the USET camp. Right now she lived in a world of pencils, paper, erasers, and line. Fat lines, skinny lines, wiggly lines—they grew and shifted and formed new life on her drawing pad.
The thrill was like the thrill she felt when jumping—only not nearly as intense. More like taking low fences in perfect form.
On Wednesday DJ brought more food and a blanket she’d stuffed in her backpack. She’d ignored Maria’s questioning looks but told Robert what she was doing on their way to the BART station.
“Darla Jean Randall, you are one amazing kid.” Robert leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “And happy fifteenth birthday, daughter.” He dug in his pocket and handed her a five-dollar bill. “Stick this in that sack you give her.”
“Thanks.” DJ scrambled from the pickup. “You’re the greatest.”
After giving over her stash to the woman, DJ asked, “What’s your name?”
“Emma.” The woman grinned up at DJ. “Round here they call me
Emma Two Cats.” Her chortle made a few heads turn. “You be one good person, dearie. Can’t never say thank you enough.”
The bus arrived with a whoosh of brakes.
“See ya.”
Later that morning, Ms. Gant stood in front of class and said to DJ, “I would like to see your new note cards. Would you bring them in?”
“I … I guess, if you want.”
“I want. And now Sean has something to say.” She beckoned Sean to come forward.
He smiled at DJ as he stood beside Ms. Gant. “Today is a special day for someone in this class. DJ Randall turns fifteen.”
DJ’s face flamed hotter than a second-degree sunburn when Ms. Gant began singing. At the end, she stuttered over the thank-you, but in spite of the heat, she knew her face would crack from her wide smile any minute.
Sean turned around and fished a wrapped package from under the desk. “Since DJ helped me with this, by both being the model and adjusting some lines, I probably shouldn’t give this as a birthday present, but I am anyway.” He walked over to DJ’s stool and handed her the flat box.
“Th-thank you.” DJ knew what it was. His drawing of her taking a header off Major. She unwrapped and opened the box with everyone watching her.
Sure enough. But with Sean’s finishing touches and in a beautiful frame, the picture had turned out better than DJ remembered. She shook her head. “Couldn’t you do one of me going over the jump with the horse?” She held it up so everyone could see. “Thanks, Sean.”
Sean smiled and returned to his stool. “How did you know it was my birthday?” DJ whispered.
“I asked your mother,” he whispered back. “And I also asked her if I could take you out to dinner after class.”
“You’re kidding.”
He shook his head. “Wait and see.”
That evening after a bus ride to Columbus Street, Sean took DJ’s hand as they walked down the street. DJ bumped him with her shoulder. “What are ya doin’?”
Sean shrugged. “I don’t want anyone to get between us, okay?”
DJ shrugged. “Okay.” Besides, it felt kind of nice, better than keeping her hands in her pockets now that the cool fog had drifted back through the streets of the city.
“But I’m not dressed up for a restaurant like that,” DJ said when they stopped in front of the Stinking Rose.
“No matter. Other people aren’t dressed up, either. Come on, I have reservations.”
DJ followed him inside and past the line of patrons waiting for admittance. She’d never been out to dinner with a guy before. Did everyone in the line know it? The white-aproned waiter led them clear through the restaurant permeated by the smell of garlic. Dried garlic ropes garlanded the walls, along with pictures of garlic, garlic recipes, and huge jars filled with pickled garlic cloves. DJ was so busy looking around and still trying to keep up with Sean that she stopped short at a loud shout of “Surprise!”
There in front of DJ sat Lindy, Robert, and the boys, Gran and Joe, Brad and Jackie, and Amy. DJ was surprised, all right.
“What … who … ?” DJ couldn’t get the words out. She glanced at Sean, who just shrugged and grinned.
“Sit down, birthday girl,” Joe said. “Have some garlic bread.”
By the time they’d all eaten their fill of garlic chicken, garlic bread, and garlic mashed potatoes, DJ could only shake her head when Joe asked if she wanted garlic ice cream. When the birthday cake arrived, there were no candles, but the number 15 was written in bright icing.
DJ smiled her thanks to her mother and Gran, and after cutting the cake, gave the twins the first pieces. Surely there wouldn’t be garlic in the frosting?
“Open your presents,” Bobby or Billy—she wasn’t sure at the moment—commanded.
DJ eyed the stack the waiter had set up on another table. She shook her head and glanced around at her entire family. “You guys.”
“Hurry,” the other twin added.
“Okay, you bring them to me.”
Both boys bailed out of their seats and each grabbed at the same package from the bottom of the pile. Joe leaped to his feet in time to keep the whole thing from cascading to the floor.
“That’s from us.” The twins each claimed a knee of hers to lean against.
DJ studied the jumping-horse wrapping paper and the tape that nearly covered it. “You wrapped it, too, huh?”
“We did good, huh?”
“You sure did.”
“You want my jackknife?” Brad offered.
DJ grinned at him and ripped the paper off. Inside the box lay a Dr. Seuss book. “Hey, just what you wanted, right?”
The twins nodded. “Now you can read it to us.”
“Look under.” Billy lifted the book so DJ could see the T-shirt. Stormy and the butterfly graced the front.
“Oh, wow!” DJ held it up for everyone to see. Amy got the giggles, so DJ knew she must have helped the boys.
“You like it?”
“Put it on.”
DJ set the box on the table and pulled the T-shirt over her head.
“Pretty.” The boys spoke together as only they did so well.
DJ hugged each of them. “Thank you, guys. That’s the best present ever.”
“Daddy said you could sell them and get rich.”
“We’ll see.”
By the time the table was empty, DJ had two pairs of new boots—a pair
for riding and a pair for roughing it—a new wool blazer for dress-up, new breeches, various other articles of clothing, an entire box of colored drawing pencils, and a few new CDs. Herndon had a new traveling blanket with no holes, and Gran and Joe gave DJ an etched silver cross with matching pierced earrings and a Bible.
“That’s just in case you decide to pierce your ears one of these days,” Gran whispered in her ear when DJ hugged her. “And I thought this new, smaller Bible might be good for traveling.”
DJ had so many gifts that almost everyone had to carry something out to the car. Hugging them all good-bye, DJ felt sure she was the most blessed girl in the world.
“We’ll drop you off at the train station,” Joe told Sean as they loaded the car.
“Thank you, sir, but I can take the bus down there.” Sean looked from DJ to her grandfather.
“No, I think not.”
“You might as well give up. He won’t change his mind.” DJ stuffed her drawing kit in the car. “Thanks for the party at school and helping with this.” She waved her arms at the whole group. “Sure fooled me.”
He leaned closer. “One of these days we’ll go out all by ourselves, okay?”
DJ nodded but gulped inside. Out? As in a date? Fat chance my mother will allow that! “See ya.”
The next morning in the art room, Ms. Gant nodded and even smiled as she studied DJ’s display of cards. She pointed a paint-stained fingertip at Stormy and the butterfly. “Cute. I have a niece who loves horses. How much for this one?”
“Y-you can have it.”
“No, I will pay like any customer. You are an artist, and an artist is worthy of her hire.”
DJ gulped. “Dollar.”
“Good.” Isabella dug in her pocket for a dollar bill and laid it on the table. “Thank you. Now we will talk about your career.”
DJ felt her stomach drop down to her ankles. “I … I …” She took in a deep breath. “I plan to ride in the Olympics one day.”
“I know that. You have been very clear on your preference for riding. But a talent like this should not be neglected, or it will wither away. That is a choice you must make.”
But I’m only fifteen. DJ straightened her spine. “Why can’t I do both?”
“Ah, then you agree that your art is important?” Ms. Gant leaned her back against the high drawing table and tilted her head to stare at DJ over her half glasses.
“I guess. I used to think that I just drew horses well, but now …” DJ studied the drawing in her hand, then looked her teacher in the eye. “Now you’ve made me see that it is more than that, and I don’t want to let it go, either.”
“I hear a but in your voice.”
How can she know me so well? “It’s a matter of time. When school starts again, there will be no time for extra art classes. My mother insists that I prepare for college, and those requirements don’t leave a lot of time for art classes.”
“Would you consider art school?”
“I would, but I’m not sure she will.”
“Ah.” Ms. Gant nodded. “Let me think on this.”
Chapter • 7
By Friday afternoon, DJ felt wrung out and dishrag-ish, but she had promised to help Brad and Jackie at an Arabian show that weekend. Jackie was waiting for her when DJ arrived at the Pleasant Hill BART station.
“So how was the rest of art school?” Jackie asked after the hellos.
“Not enough words to describe it.” DJ shook her head. “I learned so much my fingers keep drawing after I fall asleep. Ms. Gant wants me to go to art school, and she even suggested the high school in San Francisco for kids who want to be artists in some way or another. She said that way I would get to try more mediums.”
“And you said …” Jackie checked both ways before pulling out onto Treat Boulevard.
“She knows I cannot, and will not, give up my riding.”
“So?”
“So I won’t even think about that high school. And I’d have to talk Mom into thinking art school instead of a regular college.”
“Well, the good thing there is that you have three years of high school to make that decision.” They stopped for a red light.
“Not if I want to take more art classes in high school or some over at DVC like I did this summer.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Well, if I take the college prep courses, there is very little room for more than one art class a semester. Too many requirements. Like a foreign language and more math and science classes.”
“And your Saturdays are taken up with shows and your afternoons at the Academy.”
“Yep.”
“You are one busy girl. When do you have time to hang out, kick back?”
“Not too often.”
“Well, I can’t tell you how much your agreeing to do this show with us means. Both you and Amy. I feel sort of like I have the daughter I’ve always wanted, and maybe part of another.”
“Thanks.” DJ grinned at her. “I’ll tell Amy she’s a part of a daughter.”
“No, you won’t, you nutsy kid.” Jackie grinned and shook her head. “Good thing we don’t have far to go for this show. Davis is only about an hour away. Your things about ready?”
“Won’t take long.”
“Okay, I’ll drop you off and go get Amy first.”
They talked about the upcoming show until they pulled into DJ’s circular drive. “I’ll hurry,” DJ said, leaping from the Land Rover and heading into the house.
“So how was your last day?” Lindy strolled in from the deck when Queenie barked a welcome to DJ.
“Great. Awesome.” DJ set her portfolio case and backpack on the stairs. She drew out an envelope from the front pocket of her backpack. “Here’s a letter for you from Ms. Gant. I have to rush. Jackie’ll be back with Amy any minute.” She gathered her things again and charged up the stairs. It would have been so easy to open the envelope and read the letter, but she’d kept herself from it. Her mother had pretty strong views on privacy.
Good thing she’d packed most of her things the night before. She stuffed underwear and a nightshirt in her duffel bag, then rolled another pair of shorts and a T-shirt and put them in. Her show clothes hung in their garment bag. At the last minute she remembered her swimsuit and then added her hair and face things last. She glanced around the room one final time to see if she needed anything else.
“Oops, a card packet.” She’d promised to check with the gift shop at the horse farm hosting the show to see if they’d like to add the card line to their inventory. After all, she was drawing pictures of Arab foals. She glanced at the card on top and made a face. It was cute, but she knew how to make it even better now. Maybe she should … DJ shook her head and added the packet, brochure, and order forms to the front pocket of her duffel.
Ready.
Back down the stairs she charged, loaded like a pack animal. “Mom?”
“In here.”
“Where are the boys?” Leaving her things by the door, DJ strolled into the living room.
“Maria took them and the neighbor boys to the movie. I was just enjoying the quiet.” Lindy held up the letter. “Do you know what’s in this?”
DJ shook her head. “Nope, she just handed it to me as I was leaving.”
“Ms. Gant says she believes you should go to the arts high school in San Francisco starting this year in preparation for art school rather than college. Did you suggest that to her?”
“No, why would I? In fact, I told her no when she mentioned it to me. No way can I commute in there and still get in enough time in the ring.” DJ slumped on the rolled arm of the sofa. “Why, what all does she say?”
Lindy looked back to the sheet of paper in her hand. “She says she believes you have been given a very great talent and that it is important for you to continue to develop this talent now and not wait until you are older. She says she would be grateful if we were to let her work with you.”
“She’d be grateful?” DJ could
feel her eyes grow round. She slid down on the end cushion of the sofa. “Mother, what does she mean?”
“I think she wants to be your mentor. Great artists used to do this. Maybe they still do.” Lindy folded the paper back along the two lines and tucked it back in the envelope. “So how badly do you want to be an artist? I guess that is something you need to think about.”
“I want to jump in the Olympics.”
“Darla Jean Randall, I understand that, but unless you do something with your life to earn a living, you won’t get to play with horses.”
“I could make a living as an artist?”
“I don’t know. This comes as a surprise to me, too.” Lindy tapped the edge of the envelope on her knee. “Guess we have to do some real thinking and praying about this.”
“You aren’t thinking I should go to San Francisco to school, are you?” DJ shook her head as she spoke.
“I don’t know what to think. Like I said, we will do some heavy-duty thinking and praying before making any decisions.”
The doorbell rang, and DJ leaped to her feet. “I gotta go.” She gave her mother a hug. “See you Sunday night.”
While DJ caught Amy up on what was happening, the thought kept running through the back of DJ’s mind that her mother had said there would be no decision until they prayed about it. Like heavy-duty praying. Wait till Gran heard about this. She would go through the roof.
“Stormy is waiting for you,” Jackie said. “I think she’s grown another inch or two since you saw her. You two are up in one of the first classes in the morning.”
DJ shivered just a bit. “I’ve never shown a baby before.”
“You’ve shown halter, though, right?”
“Oh yes, but just big horses. Is it any different?”
“Nope, same stuff. We’ll go over this when we get there and get settled. I’ll be showing in the same class as you. We think Stormy is the stronger entrant of the two, but a first and second wouldn’t be bad. And it all depends on the judge’s preferences.”
High Hurdles Collection Two Page 45