High Hurdles by Lauraine Snelling

to.” The words followed DJ out of the office. Why was she having trouble seeing the writing on the duty board? She dashed a hand across her eyes. Must be allergies. There’s too much dust around here.
    Gran’s minivan was gone when DJ rode her bike up to the house. She dug in her pocket for her key to let herself in the front door, leaving her bike leaning against the side of the house. Remember to put it away , she reminded herself. You don’t need to get yelled at again .
    She heard the phone ringing as she finished fiddling with the key in the lock. Why, oh why did she always have trouble with the key? On the fourth ring, she finally opened the door and dashed across the room. The message machine was already asking the caller to leave a message. DJ clicked it off with one hand and lifted the receiver with the other.
    “Hi, DJ speaking.” She listened for a moment. “No, I’m sorry, my mother isn’t here right now. Anyway, I don’t think she wants the house painted. Gran and I did it last summer.” She hung the phone up and read the message left for her.
    Gran would be back late; she’d gone into San Francisco on BART to meet Joe for dinner. BART was the rapid-transit train that linked Bay Area cities by rail.
    DJ crinkled up the paper and tossed it in the trash. Great! Now on top of everything else, she’d have to cook dinner—unless, of course, her mother wanted to eat out. She checked the calendar. No, Mom would be at class tonight. And most likely, she wouldn’t come home first.
    She could call Amy and invite herself over there for dinner. Mrs. Yamamoto always said to come anytime. One more didn’t make much difference, since there were already four kids. But if someone asked her about her summer . . . well, maybe it was better to stay home.
    DJ wandered into the family room. The house wore that empty, forgotten smell it had when both Mom and Gran were gone. DJ lifted the cloth draped over her grandmother’s latest painting. She hadn’t gotten very far today. DJ shook her head. Gran wasn’t thinking too well lately, and it showed.
    She ambled back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. There weren’t even any good leftovers. Usually when Gran was going to be gone, she made something that could be reheated in the oven or the microwave.
    The quiet settled on her shoulders like a heavy blanket. A sigh escaped. She took out a can of soda and, after shutting the door with her foot, filled a glass. The soda fizzed, one side running over, so she had to slurp it quickly. The clock clicked. She’d never noticed it before.
    She climbed the stairs to her room, one hand trailing on the banister. “This is a good time to work on my own art.” Her voice echoed in the stairwell.
    But even with charcoal in hand, her mind kept drifting back to the Academy. Why had she lost it like that with James? Some kind of Christian she was to want to beat up another human being! That is, if you could call James a human being.
    DJ rolled over on her back. “How come the harder I try, the worse I get?” She curled back on her side. “God, I really want to be good and gentle, like my Gran. I hate it when someone is mad at me. That jerky James! He makes me so mad. I’ll bet you’d get mad at him, too, if you were here.” She hugged her knees and waited. It was so quiet. Even the birds were taking a break.
    “I should have just walked away. Gran says to be extra nice to people who are mean to you. I really blew it this time. All I do anymore is blow it.” She reached for a tissue in the drawer in her nightstand. The box was empty. She wiped the drip from her eye on the edge of her seafoam green bedspread. If only Gran were here .

    “Darla Jean Randall!”
    DJ jerked awake. Night had fallen. Her mother was home. “What?” She pushed herself to her feet and scrubbed her eyes with her fists. She could hear her mother downstairs.
    “Your bike, that’s what! How many times have I told you to put it away?