Free High Hurdles Collection Two by Lauraine Snelling

up, DJ, we’re about ready to sit down,” her mother called from the dining room. “No, you boys sit here. DJ will be back in a minute.”
    DJ groaned her way up the stairs. She wanted dinner about as much as she wanted breakfast right now. She switched into a pair of sweats, stuffed her feet into her fuzzy slippers, and stopped off at the bathroom to wash her hands.
    During grace, she nearly dropped her chin in her plate. Chewing the sourdough French bread took all the energy she owned.
    â€œMay I please be excused?” she said, her plate only half empty. The conversation had been going on around her, but for the life of her, she had no idea what had been said.
    â€œNot yet. As I said, we will be having family devotions every night after dinner.” Robert smiled across the table at her.
    â€œOh.” Anything more took too much effort. DJ stayed in her chair. They pushed their plates back, and Robert picked up his Bible.
    DJ propped her chin on her hand and blinked a couple of times. Her eyelids wore fifty-pound weights.
    â€œTonight we will read from …”
    DJ heard no more.
    â€œDarla Jean, are you all right?” Lindy shook her daughter’s shoulder.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œYou fell asleep at the table.” She felt DJ’s forehead. “You’re not warm.”
    â€œMom, Robert, I’m sorry. I can’t remember when I’ve been this tired.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t have gone to the Academy. I knew it!” Lindy tipped up her daughter’s chin. “Look at those eyes.”
    â€œGood night, DJ,” Robert said. “Come on, fellas. We’ll read a story, then you get a bath.”
    â€œIs DJ sick again?” one of them asked.
    â€œIf she isn’t careful, she will be.”
    â€œSorry,” DJ muttered again, pushing back her chair. The stairs seemed fourteen stories tall. She never remembered hitting the bed.

    In spite of a fuzzy head in the morning and the boys’ constant questions, she remembered to take the drawing of Storm Clouds in to her art teacher.
    â€œDJ, this is wonderful! You caught the imp in the foal, yet the tranquillity of the setting. Catching a feeling like this is difficult. You can be certain I am going to send this in to the competition.”
    One of the other students looked over the teacher’s shoulder. “All right, that’s excellent.” Since seniors rarely said anything to freshmen, DJ blinked at him.
    Any words that would have made some kind of sense fled. “Uh … uh …” Kevin O’Conner, one of the nicest guys in this school, and that’s all you can say? Come on, you can do better . She swallowed and forced a “thanks” past a desert-dry throat. If her throat was as hot as her neck, she might break into flames any second.
    â€œI’ll make a copy and give this back to you. They said not to send the originals.”
    DJ stared at the cuticle of her right thumb. As soon as she heard Kevin move off, she dared to look up again. “Okay.”
    Mrs. Adams gave her a look that showed she understood. The flames heated up.
    DJ fled to her stool and got out her still life. Still life—that’s me all right. Can’t even be polite without swallowing my tongue . After calling herself a couple more names, she took in a deep breath and let the air relax her shoulders. Tight as she was, she couldn’t draw a curved line, let alone a straight one.
    But the magic of pastels in her hands took her mind away from the boy wearing a red sweater sitting three rows behind her and over one stool. Soon she was lost in the drawing, in the coloring and the shading.
    â€œYou need to put your things away now,” Mrs. Adams said.
    The announcement caught DJ totally unaware. She blinked as if waking from a nap and closed her drawing pad. The handle on that pitcher still isn’t quite right , she thought as she left the room.

    This was one of the few