High Hurdles Collection Two (39 page)

The next afternoon after church, Lindy gave them a short course in business management while they packaged the remaining note cards and boxed them for shipping. Both girls groaned when they heard the words
checking account
.

“What's wrong with the way we do things now?” Amy asked.

“What do you do?”

“Split everything right down the middle.”

“Both expenses and reimbursements?”

“Right. If that's what you call the money.”

“So what happens if one product really takes off and sells lots more than any of the rest?”

“Uh …” DJ and Amy shrugged.

“If anything takes off and sells like crazy, it'll be way cool.” Amy taped the last packet of note cards closed. “I took two of the new photos down to the printer. Those cards will be ready next week.”

DJ glanced at her watch. Time was fleeing and she needed to be studying. Robert had said he'd help her review her algebra later. But this time with her mother was important, too; any idiot could tell that. Always so many decisions to make, and not easy ones, either.

“So I think you need tracking numbers on each packet, and you need to make up a catalog to show to new markets.”

“John's a computer genius. He could do that for us.” DJ looked to Amy for confirmation.

“Yeah, and I'll probably have to do his chores for life to pay him back.”

The discussion continued until Amy had to go home—with nothing decided and lots more for DJ to think about.

And there were midterms this week.

Chapter • 13

“You can always show both Major and Herndon,” Jackie said over the phone Monday evening.

“Right now I can't keep up with one. This is midterms week, and I'm trying to get ready for the show next weekend.”

“What do you have to get ready?”

“Bridget is drilling me on the flat and over the fences.” DJ twisted the phone cord around her finger. “We're repainting tack boxes at the barn, so our stalls will look really good. One of the mothers even sewed new canvas for the folding chairs.” She propped her feet up on her desk and leaned back in her chair. “Bridget designed a new sign, too.” Having a phone of her own did have some advantages. But at the same time, she thought with longing of her old room. Granted, it was smaller and she'd had to share a bathroom with the twins. But no matter, it was home and this was … She wondered sometimes if she wasn't living in nowhere land. She wasn't a guest here—although guests didn't have to clear the table and do dishes—but she wasn't home, either.

She felt more at home at Jackie and Brad's than she did here.

Queenie whined from the place she'd adopted beside DJ's desk.

“I better go and get back to studying. Oh—one other thing. Bridget thinks I should stick with Hunter classes at this show, so I guess I will. Thanks for the offer. I'll see you at the show on Saturday, right?”

“Right. Sorry we couldn't come last week.”

Me too
, DJ thought as she hung up the phone.
If I didn't win there, there's no chance I'm gonna win anything at a big show. They'll probably take one look at us and point down the road
.

Knowing this was the next step and having any confidence at all were two very different things.

A knock at the door brought Queenie's ears up and DJ's feet to the floor. “You ready for a math review?” Robert asked.

“Sure.” She dug her algebra book out of the stack. “Come on in.” When he stuck his head in the door, she asked, “Here or down there?”

“The fireplace is going, Mom's popping corn, and the boys are about to hit the sack.”

“Down there, then.”

“I think she's your dog.” Robert nodded to the shadow glued to DJ's knee.

“I know. Funniest thing. I haven't done anything to make her think that.”

“She adopted you right from the moment she saw you. But according to the lady at the Humane Society, the family had only one child, the boy with allergies.”

“Funny, huh?” They descended the stairs, three abreast.

“Furniture's supposed to come tomorrow.” He nodded to the empty living room. “I'll be glad when the house is all put together. Maybe pretty soon we can get started on the barn. Have you been thinking about stabling Major here and riding over to the Academy?”

“Not really. Is that what you want me to do?”

“It's up to you.”

Robert had used that phrase with her more than once. More decisions to make. They spent about an hour reviewing algebra, and at the end of it, Robert smiled, shaking his head.

“I am amazed. DJ, I think you've got it. What has made the difference?”

DJ wrinkled her forehead so she could think better. She squinted her eyes and rolled her lips together. “I … I'm not sure. Maybe it all came together. You guys all convinced me I could do it, and I got the nerve to ask my teacher to explain things again and really listened. No more zoning out.” She paused. “I've really been praying, and I know others have, too. And,” she paused, deepening her voice for effect, “I got a B on my last quiz.”

“Good for you.” He patted her on the knee. “What tests are tomorrow?”

“Besides algebra? PE, but that's just on basketball skills. No sweat.”

“You two want hot-fudge sundaes?” Lindy broke into their discussion.

“Sure.” DJ slapped the book closed.

“So how'd you do?” Amy asked when they met back at their lockers the next morning.

“No clue. At least I understood the questions. I ran out of time.” DJ leaned her head against the cold locker door. “Makes me feel so stupid.”

“DJ!”

“Well, I gave it my best shot.” She tipped her head to the side and shrugged. “Now I just have to finish my term paper by Friday and throw up every time I think of the show on Saturday. You ready for lunch?”

She had no test in art but needed to finish the project she was working on, another still life, this one of an old boot lying on its side, an empty gold leaf picture frame, and a lone pink tulip in a bud vase. Her training from Isabella Gant in San Francisco regarding negative space made the still life come together. She chose to do the entire picture in black pencil, then tinted the tulip a soft pink and touched a few places on the frame with gold metallic.

“That's an interesting rendering.” Mrs. Adams stood right behind DJ, looking over her shoulder. “What if you deepened the shading on the top of that boot? Might give it more definition. Don't be afraid of contrasts.” She nodded again when DJ looked up at her. “I like it.”

DJ turned back to her picture. She liked it, too. “You want to see my latest foal picture?”

“Sure enough.”

This time Stormy stood with her front feet far apart, sniffing a dandelion.

“Oh, DJ, what a charmer.” She picked up the drawing pad and held it so the light was better. “Are you going to put this in your card line?”

“Um-hmm.” DJ narrowed her eyes at her still life and added darker lines on the boot top, erasing other places to lighten them. That
was
better. What her teacher had said sank in. “Card line?”

“Why, yes, I see you coming up with an entire line of foal pictures. Cards, prints, T-shirts. You wait and see.”

“You're putting me on, right?”

“No.” Mrs. Adams shook her head. “Not at all.”

Immediately a picture of Stormy looking up at a butterfly came to DJ's mind. Her fingers itched to get started.

Mrs. Adams set the pad down and studied the still life again. “Good.” She moved on to the next student.

Wish all my classes were like this one
. When the bell rang, DJ slung her pack over her shoulder and followed the others out the door. What would it be like to go to art school like Mrs. Adams had suggested once? Would it be possible to do that and prepare for the Olympics at the same time? Ms. Gant had even mentioned once a high school in San Francisco for kids who wanted to spend their time with art.

DJ brought her attention back to Acalanese High School. Here she'd started and here she'd finish. No way could she take the time to commute to San Francisco. Next fall she'd be in a pottery class. Now, that would be something different.

By Friday night she felt wrung out from lack of sleep as she finished her term paper and the last book report, plus all the other studying. Thinking about the morning only made her feel like hiding under the covers and not coming out.

“DJ, are you feeling all right?” her mother asked.

“Ask me on Sunday.” DJ rubbed her forehead. “Do you mind if I just eat a sandwich and go to bed?”

“We're having lasagna.”

“I don't think I could even eat it.” Getting Major ready for transporting and then showing in the morning had taken the last bit of energy she had. She should have been helping decorate the stalls and setting up at the show. But her tests had come first. Joe had helped Bunny and Bridget. “Can you save me some?”

“Sure enough. Peanut butter and jam all right?”

“And a piece of cheese.” DJ slumped on the stool.

“You sick, DJ?” The boys looked up at her, eyes serious for a change.

She shook her head. “Just beat.”

Queenie yipped at the back door, and one boy ran to let her in. She made a beeline for DJ and put her two front paws up on DJ's leg.

“Down, girl.” Queenie dropped to all fours, her head cocked and a doggy grin showing her pink tongue.

DJ ruffled her ears and got a nose lick for her trouble.

The boys giggled and DJ couldn't help but smile. The boys knelt on either side of the dog and laid their heads on her back. Queenie gave each of them a lightning lick and wriggled all over.

“She sure has made herself at home here.” DJ picked up the cheese from the plate her mother set in front of her.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Milk. I need all the energy I can get.” DJ stared at her food. “I think my eyes are crossing.”

Bobby—DJ could tell because he had a scrape on his chin—peered up at her. “No, your eyes are straight.”

“That's a figure of speech to say she's tired.” Lindy gave each boy a baby carrot and put a couple on DJ's plate.

DJ picked up her plate and glass. “Thanks, Mom. You have no idea how much I appreciate this. See you tomorrow evening.”

The boys and Queenie followed her upstairs, as if making sure she could get there. Billy even folded back her bedspread and blanket.

“Night, DJ. Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite.”

The two looked at each other and giggled. “Bed bugs, eeuwie!”

“I won't.” She ushered them out of the room and closed her door. She drained the milk, taking bites of her sandwich while she undressed. She'd finished the cheese on the way up the stairs.

She didn't even remember pulling up the blankets.