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run where I can trip in gopher holes, so I don’t think I’ll go out for cross-country.

September 19
    This morning Mom said, “ Please , Leigh, wear a different shirt today.”
    â€œWhy?” I asked. “What’s wrong with this one?” I don’t like Mom telling me what to do. I’m not a little kid anymore. My pants proved that.
    â€œNo real reason,” she said. “Just a change of scene.”
    Since she wasn’t giving me a direct order, I decided to go along with her. Besides, I don’t want to wear out my shirt. It is valuable because it stands for my not being a wimp.
    When Barry and I met Kevin, he demanded, “Where’s my shirt?”
    â€œIn my closet,” I told him. Out of habit, we began to run, not really chasing, just running. Barry was able to keep up, which was good. Ihadn’t liked leaving Barry behind while I defended my honor.
    At school, kids began to tease me: “Hey, look! Leigh has a clean shirt.” This didn’t bother me. I know my shirt is always clean.
    When I was about to enter my math room, the redheaded girl came down the breezeway. “Hi, Joseph,” she said. “What happened to your coat of many colors?”
    Geneva hadn’t forgotten my name. She was referring to the Bible story about Joseph and his coat of many colors I learned about in Sunday school when we lived in Bakersfield.
    â€œMy shirt needs a rest,” I told her and ducked into my classroom because I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t learn much math because I thought about the girl instead of algebra equations. Her hair isn’t really red, and calling her carrot-top would be inaccurate. I tried to think of the right word. Rust? Orange? Chestnut? Copper? None seemed right.
    After class Mr. Gray, who seems to have years of chalk dust ground into him, stopped me and said, “Leigh, you’d better stop day-dreaming and pay attention in class.” He was right. Mom said if my grades dropped, the TV set would have to go.

September 21
    Lots of Many things have happened lately. (I guess you can call that a topic sentence. My English teacher is enthusiastic about topic sentences.) The most important thing event happened last night, which was Mom’s night off. We were watching the Olympics on TV when the phone rang. I answered because I was closest. To my surprise, Dad was on the line. For a second I thought about how I used to long for Dad to call, and now I was thinking about how great athletes from all over the world looked marching into the stadium. “Oh, hi, Dad,” I said. “Where are you?”
    â€œIn Cholame.” He sounded worried. “Is your mother there?”
    Mom took the telephone. “Hi, Bill,” she said. “This is a surprise.”
    While she listened, I wondered why Dad was worrying in Cholame, which is just a wide place in the road in a dusty valley between Highways 101 and 5.
    Finally Mom said, “I’m sorry, Bill. Really sorry.”
    I ran my hand over Strider’s rough hair and wondered what she was sorry about. She soon told me. The transmission of Dad’s tractor had broken down. He was waiting for a tow truck to tow him into Paso Robles, where he will have to wait for a new transmission to be sent up from L.A. First he had to wait for another tractor to haul his load of tomatoes to the soup plant. Even though tomatoes are grown for a long shelf life, they rot fast in the sun.
    â€œA transmission means big bucks,” I told Mom. “And if those tomatoes don’t reach the loading dock on schedule, Dad is in money trouble.”
    â€œDon’t I know it?” said Mom. “And the tractor isn’t even paid for. Your father took out a six-year loan to buy it, and if he gets more than two months behind in payments, the bank will take it.” She sounded so sad and so discouraged I didn’t know what to say, so I slid down on the floor and