Read Online Homestretch by Paul Volponi - Free Book Online

in real races,” said Tammie.
    â€œOh, yeah, that’s what he needs,” said Cap without a trace of a smile. “Some
trainer
doing him a favor.”
    To celebrate, Tammie took me to the cantina to play Ping-Pong.
    I was standing on the other side of the table from her, looking over the net. I wasn’t even sure if she liked me as a friend or maybe something more. But a feeling inside me didn’t think it was right that I’d told her grandpa about Mom when I hadn’t told Tammie yet.
    â€œI’m not at home anymore because my mom died in a car accident,” I said fast, like it might hurt less. “All because some illegal Mexican didn’t want to get deported.”
    Then I looked at the beaners everywhere inside that cantina, and I cut the air hard with the paddle in my hand.
    â€œThat must be really tough on you, Gas,” she said soft, following where my eyes had just been.
    I tap-danced around a few of her questions about Dad before we began to play.
    After the first game Tammie picked the ball up off the floor and said, “My parents got divorced when I was six. They don’t even talk to each other now. It’s sad because it’s like they’re dead to each other.”

Chapter Eight
    I WAS WALKING ROSE of Sharon in the courtyard beneath the branches of that big shade tree the next morning when Nacho and Anibal came running over.
    â€œHere. See,” Nacho said, pushing a long sheet of paper at me. “
Mañana
. You ride Bad Boy. Tomorrow, race number three.”
    It was the entries for the next day’s races, and there was my name listed as the jockey for Bad Boy Rising, with three asterisks next to it.
    3RD RACE
    PURSE : $2,400
    6 FURLONGS , ( CLAIMING $2,000 )
    FOR 3-YEAR-OLDS & UP

    I felt six feet tall as I finished walking the last of those laps with Rose of Sharon.
    â€œYou should be down-on-your-knees grateful. This is a helluva opportunity,” Dag told me later at the barn. “The winner gets sixty percent of the purse money, and the jockey ten percent of that. You could make a hundred and a half for about a minute and fourteen seconds’ worth of work. And that’s the cheapest purse money we run for around here. Now see yourself riding all nine races, every day. Start to add up that scratch.”
    â€œI appreciate it. I’ll do the best I can,” I said, with Cap’s warning about Dag creeping into my brain.
    â€œI know you will, Gas,” said Dag, taking the toothpick out of his mouth and stabbing at the air between us.
    â€œWhat are these three asterisks next to my name for?” I asked.
    â€œWell, one asterisk would mean you’re a bug boy. Three says you’re a triple bug boy—the lowest of the low in a jockey’s career. You got no real experience, and to even make it a race, the other jocks have to spot you ten pounds of weight. But if either you or the horse you’re riding has got any talent, it can be a big advantage.”
    That’s when El Diablo came over and stood at my shoulder.
    â€œSatan himself is gonna give you some pointers on how to ride for me,” said Dag.
    â€œFour o’clock, I meet you right here, bug,” said El Diablo in a disgusted voice, like Dag had forced him into it.
    I walked away still feeling great, except for the parts about me being tutored by El Diablo, and being called a
bug
. And somewhere in my mind I had a vision of myself squished under the sole of somebody’s shoe.
    â€œOh, and Gas,” Dag called after me. “No matter what you might hear about me from certain people at this racetrack, don’t forget, I’m the only one who’s taking care of you.”
    That afternoon I went over to the racetrack. I watched thejockeys parade their horses before every race, dressed in the different colored silks of each horse’s owner.
    People in the grandstand would yell all kinds of things to them:
    â€œGo get ‘em,