I crouch to the ground, covering my eyes. How could he lose? I kept him calm all the way up until the race. He was happy, he was fed, he was raring to go.
“1:47,” I hear Gael saying.
Damn. He added four seconds onto his time. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes and pray that Mr. Goodwin doesn’t make Jack sell Star. Pray, pray, pray.
I feel gentle hands cupping my elbows and pulling me up from the ground. Jack lifts my chin and looks in my eyes. “How much do you weigh?”
My eyebrows pop up. “What? Wh—”
“Just tell me—what do you weigh?”
Why is he asking me this? I know exactly what I weigh (102 pounds), but I won’t let on that I care. “I dunno, a hundred pounds or so?”
“Do you have a jockey’s license?”
I shake my head.
“Get her an apprentice license,” Jack tells Gael. “Start the paperwork tonight.”
My mouth drops open.
“No—” Dad starts.
“I want to see what she’s got during a real race,” Jack interrupts.
“Son, Savannah has no experience—” Mr. Goodwin says.
“She’s better than most men,” Jack replies. “Do you think I’d allow Gael to put just any exercise boy on my horse? Clearly it’s been working out during practice, and that’s why Gael and Danny are gonna start training her for real tomorrow morning. I want her trained up and ready to go before Kentucky Downs, understand?”
Kentucky Downs is next week. Oh God.
“But she’s a girl,” Dad says.
“Girls have been jockeys before,” Jack says. “A woman won the Santa Anita Handicap two years ago. And Rosie Napravnik has over a hundred wins.”
My heart slams into my chest.
Dad shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous and I want more for her—”
“This would be more for her,” Jack says, standing up tall. “If she’s able to get her license and win a race, she’d get a percentage of the purse.”
I’ve never heard Jack speak so authoritatively. Mr. Goodwin rubs his chin, looking from his son to me.
“Are you just going to stand there?” Dad says to Mr. Goodwin.
“Star is my son’s investment and he’s in charge. I gave my opinion, but he makes the calls.”
“She’s my daughter,” Dad growls.
“She’s getting her license—” Jack says.
“Over my dead body—”
“Stop!” I yell, and the men turn to face me. Boys. They can’t even be bothered to ask what I want. “Dad, I’d love to get my license. Riding is what I want to do—”
Dad slaps a scowl on his face. “Savannah—”
“What’s wrong with getting a license? I could start training and see if I’m good enough. I want to see Star win.”
Gael nods. “I’ll do the paperwork today. Since she’s over sixteen years old and I’ll sponsor her, it won’t be a problem to get an apprentice license in a hurry. She can start training first thing in the morning.”
Dad says to Jack, “Savannah has no experience and you want her to race a priceless horse—”
“He isn’t priceless,” Jack says. He’s several inches taller than Dad, but my father is smart, quick, and strong, so he doesn’t even flinch at Jack’s display of Alpha maleness. “I paid a lot for him to be born and I want to see him win some races. I want Savannah trained as a jockey. Go big or go home.”
He nods at me, and I bounce on my toes. Racing horses is even better than being a full-time exercise rider. I could fly!
Not to mention I could make a percentage of the purse! I could help Dad pay off debt from Mom’s medical bills. I could help give my little sister a better life. I clasp my hands together, excited at the prospect of racing horses for a living. Why have I never thought about this before?
To get a full-blown jockey’s license, I think I’ll have to race in something like forty races as an apprentice under instruction of a trainer.
“I want you back in the barns right now,” Dad says to me in a low voice. “We’ll talk about this in private.”
I’ve never seen him so pissed. I turn right around and hightail it toward the barns.
“Savannah!” Jack calls out. “Tomorrow! Five a.m.”
Whether Dad likes it or not, I’ll be there.
Back in the barn, I pace back and forth across Star’s stall, waiting for Rory to get done hot-walking him.
Dad appears and leads me away from the horses before he rips into me.
“This is way too dangerous to even think about. Isn’t being an exercise rider enough for you?” Dad asks, grasping my shoulder.
A few weeks ago, yeah—it was enough. But I never imagined I’d stand by the racetrack and dig into a hot dog beside horse owners. I never imagined Jack would question why I’m not going to college. I never imagined a guy like him might try to kiss me.
“It seems like I should try,” I say. “You just said a few minutes ago that you want more for me. Well, this would be.”
Dad kisses the top of my head and embraces me tight. “Remember the Derby last year? Seven jockeys got thrown from their horses. Seven! Jockeys die every year. And Aaron Riddle was paralyzed not long ago. He’ll be on a respirator the rest of his life. Max Jackson fell off a horse and broke his collarbone, his legs, his arm, and had a brain bleed! Do you know what that would do to me if I saw you like that? I’ve already seen your mother die—” Dad chokes on his words.
“I get what you’re saying. I really do. And I’d hate to hurt you. This sport has never been safe or easy. But when you already have nothing, shouldn’t you take a risk to try to find something better?”
“But people get hurt—”
“Those jockeys weren’t riding a Goodwin horse,” I say, working to keep my voice steady. Cedar Hill Farms isn’t located in Tennessee just because. The Franklin area is full of limestone, and it runs into the water supply, and it gives the horses stronger bones. That’s why the best horses in the world live in Tennessee and Kentucky.
I go on, “You know Mr. Goodwin would never put an injured horse on the track. That reduces my risk right there. And I’d never get on an injured horse. That’s why so many jockeys get hurt—they ride a horse that shouldn’t be on the track in the first place. You know that, Dad.”
He throws his head back, thinking. He knows I have a point. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happens to you.”
I can tell he’s thinking of how we lost my mother. But we have to keep moving. I mumble, “This could be good for us. For our future.”
His eyes meet mine and he goes very still. “Before we agree to your being trained, I’m gonna talk to Mr. Goodwin about insurance options.”
I hug him as hard as I can.
“And we’re stopping at Arby’s on the way home,” he adds.
“Ugh, you know I hate Arby’s.”
Rory appears with Star and asks, “Did somebody say Arby’s?”
I spend the next hour helping to bathe and brush the horses before we set out for home. My whole goddamned life has changed in a day. And I kind of like the high.
The Dance, Truth or Dare, and Beef Jerky
It’s Saturday evening and I could be out at a perverted taco restaurant, but I’m hiding behind Shelby’s birthday tent. Just call me Super Loser.
When I got home from Keeneland earlier today, a large white tent was set up in the clearing between the racetrack and the manor house. Decorators and servers were busy arranging dishes and flowers and lights.
One section of the tent is decked out like a nightclub, complete with a large neon sign that blinks SHELBY over and over like the window of a liquor store. The tablecloths are black and blue. Middle schoolers are dancing and sliding across the dance floor in their socked feet. A DJ is teaching them to dance.
I salivate when I see the chocolate fountain.
The other half of the tent—the side for adults—is elegant, with silk gold tablecloths, succulent flower arrangements, and a champagne fountain.
Good God, how many food fountains do these people have? Is there a ranch dressing fountain? Where’s the Diet Coke fountain?
If I went to college, would I be the kind of person who gets an invite to a Goodwin party?
Jack is standing on the adult side of the tent, holding a cocktail glass filled with amber-colored liquor. His blond hair is slicked back with gel and it’s like he was born to wear that tux. He’s talking to an older man, giving him his full attention. I’ve seen him in the newspaper. I think it’s the Tennessee governor.
When Jack finishes speaking with the governor, he looks across the tent. I follow his line of sight to Abby Winchester, who’s sitting at a table and staring at Jack. Obviously.
He sets the cocktail glass on a server’s tray, rubs his palms together, and heads for Abby. The Fairest of the Fair.
The band begins playing a slow song. Jack leads her out onto the dance floor and pulls her up against his chest. They move fluidly, and unlike me, she clearly knows how to do fancy dances like the waltz. He laughs at whatever she’s saying, probably making her feel like she’s the only girl at the party. Like how I feel when I’m around him.
My heart pounds so hard it hurts. He said nothing was going on with Abby, but he’s dancing so close to her they could share skin. Is a business deal worth that much to him?
I trudge back to the Hillcrest common room and sit down at the computer we all share. I start messaging with Vanessa Green, chatting about Keeneland today, telling her how I’m getting an apprentice jockey’s license.
At the same time, I scroll through my Facebook wall. Looks like a few juniors I met this week are going to the Back to School dance tonight in the gym.
Savannah Barrow: are you going to this dance?
Vanessa Green: NOOOO. seniors don’t go to the back to school dance. we only go to homecoming, winter wonderland, and prom. homecoming is in October. it’s a big deal. Guys ask girls in fancy ways—like last year this super hot senior asked kelsey by hiring an airplane to fly a banner over the school that said, Kelsey, will you go to Homecoming with me?
Savannah Barrow: did she say yes?
Vanessa Green: obvs. who wouldn’t?
Savannah Barrow: I wish I could go to the Back to School dance.
Vanessa Green: LOL. No you don’t.
Savannah Barrow: But I do. Come with me!
Vanessa Green: NO. Are you crazy?
Savannah Barrow: I can get Rory to come…
Vanessa Green: ……………I’m in.
Even though Rory’s working on a new screenplay, it only takes me about five seconds to convince him to come with us. Two weeks ago, I never could’ve imagined I’d hang out with a girl like Vanessa Green. I never even considered a girl like her might like my friend.
My life is changing so fast, I wouldn’t be surprised to wake up tomorrow to find the sun rising in the west.
“I’m too old for this shit,” Colton says, as we all take off our boots and shoes. It’s against the rules to wear them on the gym floor.
