High Hurdles (4 page)

“I know.” DJ attacked her stall with a vengeance.

At the water hose an hour later, DJ ran some over her neck and up her arms.

“Okay, what’s your idea?” Amy grabbed the hose and mimicked her friend’s actions.

“First, look at me.” Amy did. “Do I look green-eyed to you?”

“Silly, you always look green-eyed. You
have
green eyes.”

“No, I mean the green-eyed monster—you know—jealousy.”

“Who would you be jealous of?”

“James.”

“James? Why?”

“His horse. What I wouldn’t do for a registered Arab like Gray Bar, and he doesn’t even take good care of her.”

Amy turned off the faucet. “No, you aren’t bitten by the monster. But you’re going to be murdered by another one—namely me—if you don’t tell me what your idea is.”

“Pony rides at birthday parties!”

“What in the world are you talking about? We don’t even have a pony.”

“You want to hear more or not?”

Chapter
•
4

“Dumb question. What are you dreaming up now?”

“You know I need money to buy a horse. You also know we need to exercise Bandit. Right?”

“Yeah, his family almost never comes.” Amy turned the hose back on for a drink.

“And you like to take pictures.”

“I don’t just take pictures. I’m a photographer.” The glint in her eye warned DJ to tread lightly. “Or will be someday.”

“Your family just got a new Polaroid camera, right?” Teasing Amy like this was a privilege given only to best friends.

Amy flicked the hose, sending drops of water at DJ. “If you don’t get to the point, you’ll get soaked.”

“Do I have to draw you a map?” DJ ducked, but her T-shirt darkened with wet blotches anyway.

“All right, come on.” DJ sank down on a concrete block against the barn wall and patted the block beside her. “Sit.”

Once they were both leaning elbows on knees, she turned so she could watch Amy’s face. “The way I see it, we both want and need money this summer—me for a horse, and you for film, so . . .” She paused for dramatic effect. “So we ask the McDougalls if we can use Bandit to entertain kids at birthday parties. The kids get to ride a pony we lead, have their pictures taken in a Western hat on the pony, and the adult in charge pays us. See, with the Polaroid they can take their pictures home with them.” By the end of her speech, DJ bounced up from her block and began pacing in front of Amy, arms waving for emphasis.

She stopped. Planted her hands on her hips. Waited. “Well?”

“I’m thinking.”

“I can tell.” DJ started to say something else but caught herself. Amy always needed thinking time.

“We don’t have a pony, a hat, customers, or a camera. We’ve never done anything like this. How do we let people know about it?” She closed her eyes as if to concentrate better. “And . . . how much would we charge?”

With the final question, DJ knew Amy planned to go along with the idea.

“Super, huh?”

“Yeah, if we can work it all out. I’ll ask my dad about using the camera. Maybe he’ll have some suggestions for us.”

“And I’ll ask Bridget for the McDougalls’ phone number and call them. My mom knows a lot about selling stuff, so I’ll—” she stopped her pacing to point at Amy—“
we’ll
talk to her together. That way she won’t think this is another of my ‘harebrained schemes’—her words.”

“You gotta admit you’ve come up with some wild ones.”

“It wasn’t my fault the Great Dane got away. How was I to know he didn’t understand leash laws?”

“What about breeding hamsters?”

“So they chewed a hole in their box. That guy with the snake was glad to take the ones that didn’t get away.”

“Snails?”

“They said the restaurants would pay thirty-five cents each. Anyway, the book said to feed them cornmeal; I thought they’d like it.”

“Yeah, well, they liked your grandmother’s garden better.”

“That was still a good idea. If we ever do it again, I figured out how to make a box even a snail couldn’t escape.”

“And what about selling greeting cards?”

DJ sank down on the block. “So we’ve tried different stuff. We
did
make some money selling fruit and vegetables door to door.”

“Sure, after your grandma grounded us for a week for picking her strawberries without asking.”

“I thought she was done making jam.”

“Well, one thing we’ve learned—or at least
I’ve
learned—you’ve got to think things through. Ask lots of questions. This time we don’t just jump in and . . .”

“I could draw a real neat cartoon for some fliers. We could use it on invitations and . . .”

Amy shook both her head and her friend.

But DJ was off and running. Like a filly with the bit in her teeth, she took off toward the office. “I’ll talk to Bridget right now,” she called back from halfway across the parking lot. “We’ll have a zinger of a time.”

“Hey, Cat Eyes, the bogeyman chasing you?”

The voice stopped DJ in her tracks.
James.
Where had he come from? She turned and looked toward the sound. Sure enough, there he stood in the barn door. The little creep. Life around the Academy was so much sweeter when he didn’t show up, even though they had to do all his work.

She turned back toward the office. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go away. She heard a snicker from behind the line of cars. Sure enough, James must have brought a friend along. He always played best to an audience.

“As if anyone would really be his friend.” Her mutter carried her into the dark of the building. She blinked in the dimness, but it didn’t slow her pace. If only Bridget had a minute right now!

But the office was empty. DJ checked the board. No classes scheduled. Where was Bridget? Should she flip through the file and find the McDougalls’ number herself? She gnawed the end of her already chewed-to-the-quick thumbnail.

“Fiddle. Double fiddle.” She swung around and charged out the door, nearly colliding with Bridget as she walked in. “Bridget, I got an idea.”

“Thank the Lord for small favors.” The woman’s grin made sure there was no sting in her words. “Just leave me standing vertical, I listen better in an upright position.”

“Sorry. Amy and I are gonna give pony rides at birthday parties so we can earn extra money, so can you give me the McDougalls’ phone number so I can call them to see if they’ll loan me Bandit?” DJ ran out of air.

“Glad you have to breathe occasionally.” Bridget crossed the room to her desk.

“We’ll take pictures of the kids on the pony with the Polaroid camera . . .”

“Hold it.” Bridget pointed at the chair beside the desk. “Let me think a minute.”

DJ perched on the edge of the chair. She hastily stuck her hands between her knees so she wouldn’t chew her nails. Bridget did not like to see her students chewing their fingernails. She said it didn’t look professional.

“I will give you their number on one condition. You give me a signed paper saying your mom approves and accepts responsibility.”

DJ could feel her excitement drain out the toes of her boots. “But . . .”

“No
buts
. You are a hard worker and a responsible girl, but you do go off half-cocked sometimes with new ideas. Since Bandit is stabled here, I have to make sure my clients are cared for properly.”

“We wouldn’t hurt Bandit.” The thought that Bridget could think she wouldn’t take good care of a horse made DJ’s heart pound.

“DJ, I know that. But you cannot control everything around you. Learning to look at all sides of something and making good plans is part of growing up and becoming an adult. I know how bad you want a horse, so I will help you all I can—but I need to cover myself, too. Bring me the signed paper, then you can call them. I will put in a good word for you if they ask.”

DJ nodded. “Okay. Thank you.” She got to her feet. The ideas that had been swirling and jumping in her brain now lined up with some sense to them. She had to get her mother’s permission. Not Gran’s, her mother’s. It seemed impossible.

Chapter
•
5

“Mom’s home. Can you come over?” DJ spoke softly into the phone so no one would hear her.

“I’ll ask.” DJ heard the phone clunk on the counter and noises in the background. With four kids in the family, there was always noise at the Yamamotos’. “Yes, I can. You want me to bring the stuff?”

The two of them had spent the afternoon making lists and writing plans so they could present their ideas in a businesslike way. Both Lindy and Mr. Yamamoto would appreciate that.

“Have you talked with your mom and dad yet?” DJ twirled the cord around her finger.

“No, we said to wait.”

“I know, but . . .” Leave it to Amy. She always did exactly as they agreed. DJ had told Gran all about the idea as soon as she got home. Gran said she’d hold judgment until after the conference. But DJ could tell by the twinkle in her grandmother’s eye that she approved. As usual, Gran said, “I’ll pray we’ll be doing what is in God’s will for us.”

DJ wished she’d have thought of that without the reminder.

“Mom.” DJ knocked on her mother’s bedroom door. “Can Amy and I talk with you?”

“Sure.” Lindy came to the door, pushing her glasses up on her head. “Up here or down in the family room?”

“Well, I’d kinda like Gran in on it, too.”

“Okay, give me a sec to save what’s on the computer. Fix us some iced tea, all right?”

DJ and Amy pounded down the carpeted stairs. Within minutes they had four tall glasses of raspberry iced tea on a tray. “Grab some cookies.” DJ pointed at the sunflower cookie jar. “Gran baked today.”

With the treats served, DJ didn’t know what to do with her hands. Other than eat and drink.

“So?” Lindy tucked her legs up under her.

DJ started to chew her fingernail but stopped herself. Her mother looked like someone right off a magazine page, and here DJ was still in her shorts. At least she didn’t have jeans on. Her mother didn’t think horse scent made a good perfume.

She and Amy swapped looks. Amy’s clearly said, “Get going.”

“Mom, we have an idea . . . a business idea, and . . .” Once she got started, the words rushed like a creek after a winter rain. When she forgot something, Amy filled in. They spread their papers out on the floor and explained each detail.

When her mother joined the girls on the floor and started asking questions, DJ began to hope.

“How about if I buy the Western hat and give you a loan for the printing costs?” Lindy marked some numbers on one of the sheets of paper. Her glasses had migrated back down on her nose.

DJ knew they were home free. Now to get permission to use Bandit.

“What do your parents say, Amy?” Lindy turned to the girl beside her.

“We haven’t asked them yet.”

“We thought we’d start here,” DJ chimed in.

Lindy tapped her chin with the end of a pen. “This can’t be run like your other ‘businesses.’ ” The look in her eye said she remembered the hamsters and their progeny. She never had cared for “creepy crawly things,” as she referred to them. Along with a few other words and in a more than slightly raised tone of voice.

“We’re older now . . .”

“And more responsible.” The two girls ran their sentences together. That happened a lot with them.

“I would like to help design the fliers.” Gran slid from her chair to join the others on the floor. “And I have a friend who would give you a good price on the printing.”

“Now for the important question. Do you know any parents who have kids with summer birthdays?”

“You do.” Amy stuck her tongue in her cheek.

DJ gave her one of
those
looks.

“Surely there will be some at church. I’ll check.” Gran wrote herself a note.

“But the parties have to be within walking distance. We don’t have a trailer or anything.” Amy leaned her elbows on her crossed legs. “I guess the next thing is for me—for us—to ask my mom and dad. We need to write up a paper . . .”

“An agreement,” Lindy put in.

“We’ll all sign it and turn it in to Bridget,” DJ finished.

“This is gonna take forever.” She lay back on the carpet. “Besides all this, we still have no idea how much to charge.” She flopped her hands over her head so the backs slapped the floor.

“You showed me a partial cost sheet,” Lindy said while searching through the scattered papers. “Here. It’ll be about . . .” She neatly penciled numbers beside the items they’d have to purchase. “Now, add them up and divide by—how many parties do you think you can do this summer? One a week, two?”

The girls looked at each other and shrugged. “Many as we can get, I guess.”

“No, let’s say twelve to start with. See, divide your total by twelve.” She handed the sheet back to the girls. “Okay, now that gives you the cost of the party. Whatever you set above that is your profit.”

By the time they’d finished, they had an agreement, a budget, a simple business plan, and aching heads.

By the next evening they had the Yamamotos’ permission and a phone number for the McDougalls. An answering machine picked up the call.

“Fiddle!” DJ let the phone clatter into the cradle. Amy, upstairs on the extension, sighed as she came down the stairs. Clattering wasn’t her style.

“So what did they say?” Gran asked from her chair. She pushed her glasses back up on her nose.

“Answering machine.” The two girls sank to the floor at Gran’s knees.

“Have you prayed about this venture of yours?”

Both nodded their heads.

“Good. Then if it’s supposed to happen . . .”

“The doors will open.” Again the two spoke in unison. They couldn’t count high enough to number the times they’d heard those words.

Gran grinned and laid a hand on each head. “You’ve listened well.”

“The phone!” Amy and DJ leaped to their feet and charged for the kitchen. When an unfamiliar voice asked to speak with DJ, her heart started beating triple-time.

“Speaking.”

“Hi, you called me? I know you, don’t I, from the Academy?”

DJ mumbled a response. Amy glared at her. DJ took a deep breath and started again. “Yes, my friend Amy Yamamoto and I take care of Bandit. And that’s what we’d like to talk to you about. You see, we would like to earn some money this summer . . .” As she went on to explain their idea, Amy ran back upstairs to listen on the extension.

“What does Bridget think of this?” Mr. McDougall asked.

“She said she’d call and talk with you if you’d like.”

“She thinks it’s a good idea,” Amy added.

“Let me talk this over with my wife—it’s really her pony. We’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

Amy charged back down the stairs. The two of them fished cans of soda from the refrigerator and plunked down by the phone.

“You think they’ll say yes?” Amy sipped from her can.

“I hope.” DJ checked the clock again. Five minutes! It seemed more like fifteen.

“Your dad sure was nice about us using the camera.”

“I know.”

The phone rang. The girls looked at each other. It rang again.

“Here goes everything.” DJ picked up the receiver.