The Secret Recipe for Moving On Karen Bischer (read my book .txt) 📖

seriously. “Their waste is going to be bigger and smellier than most animals.”

“And that’s where they bring the horses before the race?” Luke says pointing to the stable-y looking area. “Where you can see them before you bet on them?”

Isaiah nods, his eyebrows raised as if he’s impressed. “How did you know?”

Luke shrugs. “I did some research.”

I try not to smile when I picture Luke sitting up all night looking up horse racing online. It’s kind of sweet that he’d read up on it.

We enter the main building and it’s bustling with people. There’s a soft hum of voices echoing off the high ceilings, which have banners hanging from the rafters. There are pictures of jockeys’ outfits stitched on them, with a name of a horse underneath it and a year. Isaiah points to the more famous horses and explains what they meant to the racing industry. On the side, there are ticket booths with the words “Betting/Claiming” on signs above them, and there are lines of people gathered at each one.

And right in front of us, up a walkway, and beyond an expanse of green benches and small fence is the racetrack itself. It’s bigger than any type of sporting venue I’ve ever seen. I mean, I guess it would have to be since the track is over a mile long. The rich red-brown dirt of the track encircles a park-like area, with trees and a pond and a scoreboard-looking thing in the middle.

Isaiah’s eyes are huge as he takes in the whole scene, and a smile is spreading on his face. “This place is more beautiful than I thought.”

This time when I feel the smile coming, I don’t even try to fight it.

CHAPTER 13

“Go! Go! Goooooooooo!”

This has become the word of the day. Also in our vocabulary: “Come on, [fill-in-the-blank horse name], come on!” As in, we all pick horses we want to win and bet against each other. Not with money, but with “Whoever wins this race gets off dish duty on Tuesday” or “The person whose horse comes in last has to say something nice to Jared this week.”

Of course, Isaiah has picked the winner for three straight races, so he’s not going to have dishpan hands nor have to man up and tell Jared his beret choice is awesome. Even though his knowledge is giving him a distinct advantage, he tries to explain odds to us, why certain jockeys are better than others, and breeding, but it’s kind of a lot to take in. Especially when horses with names like “Snack Attack” and “Barbie’s Dream Horse” are running. Like, how could I not pick one of them when they are so awesomely named?

But Isaiah is completely in his element, as my mom would say. It’s a total 180 from his in-school personality. He’s chatty and giggly and even talks smack to us before the races. Like, I never thought I’d see the day when Isaiah would point at us and be all, “You guys are so going down, it’s not even funny.” It’s delightful.

“This place is pretty happening,” Luke observes by the time the fourth race rolls around. And by “happening,” I think he means, “holy cow, there’s a lot to look at.” Like, there are actual families here today, moms and dads and grandparents with kids. Upon seeing the aged, I felt vindicated for my stupid comment to Mrs. Greenlow earlier.

There’s a picnic area that has a karaoke stage and clowns giving away balloons to kids. At one point, a clown starts waving us over, and Luke freezes in place and is like, “Guys, clowns scare the crap out of me. I can’t go over there.” And this leads to the awesome moment where the entire JAILE family admits to also being terrified of clowns (“That clown probably wants to kill us in our sleep” is how a saucer-eyed Isaiah puts it) and we all literally run in the other direction.

There’s also a DJ from one of the local radio stations handing out bumper stickers and T-shirts to passersby as songs blast from the booth. A.J., after rocking out on air guitar to “Bohemian Rhapsody” in front of the booth, was declared “pretty righteous” by the DJ, so now he’s walking around with a “Rock On with Classic Rock 102.7” bumper sticker stuck to his chest.

But then there are the die-hard gamblers. Like, you can spot them right away. They’re generally men, but there’s a few older ladies studying the forms, too. There are people in tracksuits and others in khakis and polo shirts, the stressed-out looks on their faces betraying their Preppy for the Poolside garb. Their intensity is at once amusing and frightening and somewhat sad.

It’s funny, but A.J. is probably the anti-die-hard-gambler, insisting on going to see the horses before the race, pantomiming the trumpeter’s song when the horses are called to post, and then jumping up and down when they sprint toward the finish line.

Everyone seems to be enjoying the day and I’d say it would have been completely perfect, except that Luke keeps getting texts every now and then that make him frown or shake his head, momentarily distracting him from the festivities.

“Everything okay?” A.J. finally asks before the fourth race, when Luke shoves his phone in his pocket and sighs.

“Yeah,” he says tightly. “Greta and I just can’t figure out what we’re doing tonight.”

Oh. For some reason I feel the need to divert my attention elsewhere.

“Okay,” Isaiah says, opening up the form, either oblivious to Luke’s angst or just trying to change the subject. “We’ve got eight horses in the fourth race.” The names of the horses running are:

PICKADILLY

THAT’S SOME ISH

WEATHER OR NOT

RED SHIRTED

CLARENCE LEMONS

MYT QUINN

BOSSMAN BRYAN

LORD BERGAMOT

“Oh my god!” I say, tapping Weather Or Not’s name. “I’m totally picking number three!”

“Why?” Isaiah asks, looking genuinely interested at my enthusiasm.

“Come on, that name is awesome, I just have to!”

“Well, his odds are seventy-five to one. And it’s Red Shirted’s race to lose. He’s the favorite.”

“I know,