Free Homestretch by Paul Volponi

breathing fire, and said, “They take my license for making one mistake. Now I got to beg every year to ride—to be somebody again. And they let
you
ride, bug.
You?
”
    â€œBut
I
didn’t do anything wrong,” I said, and it waslike a thousand-pound weight was suddenly lifted off my shoulders.
    â€œForget what I teach you ‘bout riding. You want to be jockey? No make the mistake I make. ‘Cause then you be crushed anyway,” he said. “Lesson over.”
    As he left, El Diablo kicked the beer can lying on the ground. And with a stinging welt rising up on my left arm, I went over to where that can had landed and kicked it even harder.
    After they got up and dusted themselves off, I walked back to the dorms with Nacho, Rafael, and Anibal.
    They were mad as hornets, cursing at El Diablo in Spanish.
    â€œ
Ve?
See this?” Rafael asked me, annoyed, pointing to the bloody scrape on his chin. “This for helping you.”
    â€œNext time, Gas, fight devil you-self,” said Anibal. “So we no get fired.”
    Nacho was walking with his head down and hadn’t said a word to me.
    Part of me couldn’t stand what those beaners had done. Like I needed
them
for protection. But there they were, the only ones by my side.
    So I wasn’t sure how to act or what to say. And I didn’tknow if I could trust any kind of good feelings I had for what they’d done.
    â€œGracias,”
I told them before I pushed it all out of my mind.

Chapter Nine
    I WAS RESTLESS IN bed that whole night, stressing over El Diablo and riding in my first real race. I was sweating under the covers and slipped out of my sleep at least a dozen times, halfway between dreaming and being awake. I couldn’t remember a single one of those dreams, only the sound of the things hammering at me.
    An alarm from the hall went off at four forty-five, and the rain was beating down on Pennington Racetrack in buckets.
    â€œYou be water bug today,
gringo
,” sneered Paolo at the barn.
    The track had turned into a muddy sea of slop, and Dag sent just a couple of horses out to train on it. That meant the rest of the horses got walked inside the barn to stretch their legs. And they were probably happy to get at least that much exercise.
    It doesn’t matter that Thoroughbreds are born to run, most of them spend nearly twenty-three hours a day cramped up in their stalls, aching for a chance to get turned loose.
    That’s why I knew Mom would have felt sorry for every horse stabled at Pennington.
    Bad Boy Rising had been his usual nasty self, charging his stall door and kicking at the walls most of the morning.
    I saw El Diablo leaving Dag’s office, and for a second my heart stood still. But I planted both feet beneath me, and I wouldn’t sidestep him.
    El Diablo stopped in his tracks, looking almost embarrassed over what had happened. Then he took a long breath and focused his eyes just below mine.
    That was exactly how Dad looked after the first time he’d smacked me and had a chance to sober up.
    El Diablo’s lips pushed together, and I thought maybe he was about to apologize. Then, suddenly, I saw the anger building in his face as his dark cheeks stiffened.
    Only, I couldn’t figure out if he was mad at himself or me.
    â€œBug, no kill yourself or anybody else out there,” he said before he turned around and headed out of the barn.
    â€œI won’t,” I said.
    By the time those words had left my mouth, El Diablowas out the door, walking through the pouring rain to his car.
    Underneath my shirt, on my left arm, I could feel the purple bruise from him, which was nearly as big as my tattoo.
    Then I heard his engine start up, and El Diablo pulled away.
    The rain never let up that morning. So no one walked their horses in the courtyard, and that meant no Tammie.
    At around eleven o’clock, with most of the horses put away, Dag called me into his office.
    â€œThose