Homestretch by Paul Volponi

“She’s cooked!”
    But at the head of the homestretch Gillette shook the reins at Rose of Sharon, who spurted clear. Then I saw Cap’s filly, flying up fast on the outside.
    â€œThere’s an eighth of a mile to go, and here comes My Heavenly Sign, a fresh challenger for Rose of Sharon, who’s had to run hard the whole way. Now it’s My Heavenly Sign right at the throatlatch of Rose of Sharon,” called the announcer.
    Tammie was jumping up and down, screaming, “Come on, baby! Come on!”
    I would have bet my life that Cap’s filly was going to run right on by, and probably everybody else in that grandstand would have too. Except maybe for Dag.
    â€œSeventy yards to go, and the resilient Rose of Sharon’s got another gear,” said the announcer. “She pulls away from My Heavenly Sign. They come under the wire, and it’s going to be Rose of Sharon, who would NOT BE DENIED!”
    â€œYou can’t train a horse to do
that
!” shouted Tammie as she stormed past Dag.
    Then Paolo went over to Nacho, slipping an arm around his shoulder.
    â€œLa chica es bonita, pero muy loca en la cabeza,”
Paolo said, twirling a finger at his right temple.

Chapter Seven
    EARLY THE NEXT MORNING Dag was standing out in front of his barn screaming for Nacho.
    â€œToday, kid! Let’s go! Where’s Bad Boy Rising?” boomed Dag, beside a pair of horses ready to head down to the racetrack.
    El Diablo was perched on one of them, smirking.
    â€œAhora, estúpido!”
Paolo barked toward the barn.
    That’s when Nacho brought out Bad Boy Rising, without a saddle or an exercise rider.
    â€œWhat the hell? Where’s that new rider I hired? I’ll fire his worthless ass,” Dag hissed.
    â€œDon’t know,” said Paolo. “Saw him in the cantina last night with a bottle of tequila and
una blanca fea
.”
    â€œWe’ll have to work out Bad Boy with the next set of horses,” Dag said, shaking his head.
    â€œNot me,” warned El Diablo. “I don’t get on wack jobs. He’s got no talent and too many screws loose.”
    I knew this was my chance to jump over all those beaners at the barn, and impress Tammie, too. I was scared to death of Bad Boy Rising, but I couldn’t let it slip by.
    â€œI’ll ride,” I said, pulling up every ounce of courage I had.
    Paolo burst out laughing over that, but El Diablo grilled the shit out of me with a stare, like I’d just shown him up.
    Dag hesitated for a few seconds before he said, “Ya know what? You got two minutes to get a saddle, a protective vest, and a helmet from the equipment room. Then if you can get on that beast, you can ride him.”
    After I got ready, Nacho gave me a leg up onto Bad Boy’s back.
    â€œVaya con Dios,”
he whispered.
    I knew that meant “Go with God” from the times I’d heard Mom singing an old song with those same words:
    Vaya con Dios
, my darling,
Vaya con Dios
, my love.
    I probably only got Bad Boy Rising to the racetrack because that’s where he wanted to go anyway.
    Then I guided him through the open gap in the rail, which was lined by an ambulance on each side—one with a trailer attached to the back for the horses, and a human one for jockeys.
    â€œThe three of you, jog your horses over to the half-mile pole, and then let ’em break running to the wire together,” Dag called out to us.
    Just then Tammie came galloping past, her ponytail flying in the breeze and the whip sticking out of the back pocket of her blue jeans.
    As I caught her eye, Tammie smiled and smooched to her horse, “Mcch, mcch.”
    â€œThink you can be a rider ‘cause you short and skinny?” cracked El Diablo on our way over to that pole. “Takes more than that,
pequeño
. Lot more.”
    My heart was already beating a mile a minute by the time I turned Bad Boy Rising loose. He started sprinting