High Hurdles Collection Two (16 page)

“I … I didn't get another book report done, and I missed two papers. I thought I'd caught up after being sick, but I missed out on something.”

“Sounds like more than ‘something' to me. I can't believe you are being so irresponsible.” Lindy raked a hand through her hair, the obedient strands falling back to where they belonged. “Didn't you check with your teacher after you were sick?”

Of course I did. What do you think I am—stupid?
DJ clamped her lower lip between her teeth.

“All your grades count toward college now. You know that. And besides, this is about the worst report card you've ever brought home.” She glared at the card again. “C minus in algebra. Not even a straight C.”

DJ was careful not to mention she had been just three points above a D. “I
hate
algebra. Why do I have to take it, anyway? It's stupid, just like me!”

“Darla Jean.” The words were a warning, the tone even more so.

“I can't help it! I'm doing my best!”

Are you?
DJ wanted to put a cork in the mouth of her little voice. Or give it a boot wherever its behind was.
Why is everyone on my case all the time?
She wanted to grab the report card from her mother and run it through the garbage disposal—or bury it in the roses, but it probably wouldn't even make good fertilizer.

“If I thought you were doing your ‘best,' I'd be glad for a card like this, but I know you have more potential than Cs.”

Potential, smotential
. “Well, maybe you're wrong!” DJ grabbed her backpack and headed for the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

“To do my algebra. I have a test tomorrow.”
And the way it looks now, I might be taking algebra tests for the rest of my life. Besides, I don't understand what that... that teacher has been saying at all. He might as well be talking Swahili
. Only the fear of being grounded kept DJ from telling her mother what she thought of the whole thing. Did kids run away from home for reasons like this?

You could run away to Brad's. He's asked you, said you would always have a place to stay there
. DJ paused in the midst of turning the handle on her bedroom door. Right now anywhere sounded better than here. She could hear the boys wrestling with their father in the family room. Their voices grated on her nerves like a dripping faucet. The house was never quiet anymore, at least not when she had time to be in it.

She shut her bedroom door with a minislam. The urge to kick it brought her foot back into kicking position, but she dropped her backpack on the chair instead. The sound of it bumping on the chair and then from chair to floor helped. Now they were going to tell her to come for dinner.
“Be polite while we eat. Take part in family devotions. Be nice to your brothers. Clear the table. Get your homework done. How come you still smell like horse?”

“DJ, dinner's ready.” Robert's voice floated up from the bottom of the stairs.

DJ glared down at her jeans. Sure enough, a smear from holding Major's foot to pick it decorated one thigh, and splashes of mud from walking the horses out to the hot walker dotted her legs. Not to mention the horse hair on her sweat shirt, including slobber, a gift from Omega. She sniffed her hands. Definitely horsey.

“I'm coming.”

As soon as she slid into her chair, she saw her mother sniff, then stare at her. “Hi, guys,” DJ said with a smile to each side. Billy now had a halfinch, very pink scar on his forehead. “Hey, Billy, how's school going?”

“Darla Jean—”

“Shall we say grace?” Robert interrupted her. They all joined hands. “Billy, your turn.”

“Thank you for this food. Amen.”

“That was sure quick,” Robert said. He reached for the serving spoon. “Just pass your plates and I'll dish up the chicken and rice. It's too hot to pass.”

DJ did as told, teasing first one boy and then the other in the process. When they both got the giggles, she half raised her eyelashes to check out her mother's face. Uh-oh, trouble for sure.

As DJ cleared the table, her mother said in a private-type voice, “I would suggest you don't come to the table like that ever again.”

“Sorry, but there wasn't any time to clean up. Y—we spent my time talking about …” She'd wanted to say, “You were too busy yelling at me about my grades,” but she didn't. She didn't dare look at Robert. She felt like a creep. A dirty creep at that.

“We want DJ to read us a story tonight,” Billy announced.

“Sorry, I can't. Too much to do.”

“How come you never have time to play with us anymore?” Bobby asked.

“DJ has homework. You will, too, when you get bigger.”

“Yucky!” Dual voices.

The phone rang.

“I'll get it.” DJ leaped for the receiver, glad for an excuse to get away from the discussion in the other room. “Hi, Brad. No, sorry, I haven't asked yet. I'll call you back in a minute.”

DJ hung up and rolled her eyes. What timing!

“Mom …” She cleared her throat and said it louder. The others had settled together on the sofa.

Lindy looked up from the book in her lap. “Yes?”

“Ah, Brad is wondering if I can come up there for the weekend.”

Lindy looked at her daughter. “How much homework do you have?”

DJ shrugged. “About the same as usual.”

“Can you get it all done tonight?” Robert had an arm around each of the boys.

DJ thought a moment. “All but the book report.”

Lindy shook her head. “I think you better stay home.”

“But why?”
Why did I have to be so stupid about not changing clothes for dinner? That's what's bugging her
.

“Honey, why not let her go? Brad deserves a chance to see her, you know.”

DJ sent him a thank-you glance.

Lindy sighed. “All right.”

“Thanks, Mom, Robert.”
Way to go
. DJ headed for the phone.
Should I ask about the horse show now? Brad needs to know
. She stopped and turned around. “One other thing.”

“And so the big red dog—” Lindy looked up again.

“He wants to know if I can attend a horse show with them in a couple of weeks. I'd have to miss school on Thursday and Friday.”

Lindy shook her head. “Not with the grades you just brought home.”

“But, Mom, it isn't like I flunked or anything.”

“You heard me. The grades go up, and you might be able to do something like that. Right now, no.”

“But that's not fair. I try. I do my homework and all the other stuff you tell me to do. I want to go with them.” DJ totally ignored the voice inside that warned her to cool it or she wouldn't get to go for the weekend, either. “You're not being fair.”

“Darla Jean Randall, you brought this on yourself. You know how I feel about good grades and working up to your potential.”

“I would be if I didn't have to take algebra. I hate that stupid class.”

“There will be all kinds of things you have to do in life, whether you want to or not. Besides, what about the other C?”

“That wasn't my fault. I thought I had all the homework caught up. The point is, you just never want me to do extra horse things. I could learn a lot at the show, but you don't care.”

“Darla Jean,” Robert warned, “that's enough. I won't have you talking to your mother that way.”

DJ sent Robert a look that so plainly said “stay out of this” that even she took a step backward.

The boys started to whimper.

“Oh, for …” DJ glared at them. Both boys broke into tears.

“Darla Jean, now look what you've done.” Lindy put her arms around the weeping twins. “There, now, it's okay.”

“Sure, it's okay. They're not the ones who get yelled at all the time.”

“Enough!” Robert's order cut through the angry air.

DJ started to say something else, but after one look at Robert's face, she decided not to. She spun around and headed for the stairs.

“You will not leave this room until you apologize to your mother, and to Bobby and Billy, too. You will not be going to Brad's this weekend.”

DJ shook her head. “I …” Tears clogged her throat and burned behind her eyes.

“We're waiting.”

“I'm sorry, all right?” Once again, DJ felt that thick glass drop between her and the four across the room. Their side was warm. Hers more like January in Siberia. She could see Robert's mouth moving, but the roaring in her ears garbled his words.

“No, it's not all right!” Lindy looked to be fighting tears, too.

“It's all I can do.” DJ pounded up the stairs and into her room. She closed the door and leaned against it, fighting the tears that now clogged her entire head. What an idiot she was. If only she'd kept her mouth shut.
They hate me, I know it. This just isn't fair. No matter what I do, it isn't enough. Other parents are glad when their kids pass. My mother wants all As
. She threw herself down on the bed, pounding her fists into the spread.

“Darla Jean, you have a phone call.” Icicles clinked on her mother's words outside the door.

DJ sniffed and, snagging a tissue, blew her nose. Sure, now she had to tell Brad she not only couldn't come to visit, she couldn't go to the show. If her mother had her way, she'd lock her daughter in her room to never do anything but school and homework.

Back down the stairs to an empty room. She walked the plank to the kitchen phone.

“Hello?”

“DJ, you didn't call me back.”

“I know.” She sniffed and blew her nose again.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Right. Let's try that again. I'm not deaf, you know.”

“I can't come tomorrow and I can't go to the show.”

“You and your mom got in a fight?”

“Yes.”

“Over coming up here?” His voice now wore an edge.

“Not really but …”

“But …”

“She, or rather Robert, said I could come up there, but then when I asked about the show, she said no.” The words raced out.

“Help me here, Deej, I'm trying to understand.”

“Just because I got two Cs on my report card, she climbed all over me.”

“Ahh.” The silence pinched.

“It's not my fault.”

“Wait a minute. You say your grades are not your fault?” Now he sounded almost like Lindy.

“That's not what I meant. I …”

She could hear Brad sigh.

“Sorry about this, DJ, but you better get your grades up. I know Jackie will be really disappointed, too. Guess we better talk about responsibility one of these days. I'll call you later in the week.” Even his voice sounded like it came from the other side of that thick glass.

She could hear Robert and her mother laughing with the boys in their room.

The cold wall followed her into her bedroom.

While she did her chores at the Academy, most of the weekend was spent with her nose in her textbooks. She didn't even talk with Amy on the phone.

Monday afternoon when she walked into the art room, the teacher called her over to the desk. “DJ, you won! You were chosen to be one of the ten students for that weekend in San Francisco.” Mrs. Adams bubbled in her excitement. “I knew you could do it.”

DJ stopped in front of the teacher's desk. “You're kidding, right?”

“No. I mean it.” Mrs. Adams handed DJ the letter. “Isn't it wonderful?”

DJ read the first paragraph. It did say her name all right. She glanced up at the teacher. “This is for real.” Her body felt ten times lighter. She had won! Her drawing of Stormy had won. Wait till she told Gran.

“I told you so.” The bell rang.

DJ read on. “April eleventh!” She looked up and bit her lip. “I can't go on April eleventh. I have a jumping clinic that day.”

“Surely this is more important than a jumping clinic. Why, DJ, there were hundreds of entries, and your drawing was chosen as one of only ten.”

“Sorry, I can't go.” DJ handed the paper back. “I'm really sorry.”

Mrs. Adams stared at her, her mouth slightly open. “But …” DJ walked down the aisle to her seat. She set her backpack on the floor and herself on the stool. Keeping her eyes on the desk, she set out her drawing things and concentrated on the still life on a stand in the front of the room. Her stomach felt like it might leap out her throat. She'd told Mrs. Adams no, but what would her mother have to say about this?