Miranda Kenneally - Racing Savannah

“Sir?”

His head pops up and he smiles. “Yes, Savannah?”

“May I have a quick word?”

“Of course.” He folds the newspaper, places it next to his empty bowl, and looks up at me expectantly.

“I’m sorry Cindy wasn’t here to serve breakfast this morning. She’s normally not a flake—it’s just she wasn’t feeling well and I’m sure it won’t happen again. I know we haven’t made a good impression our first week here. I hope you won’t take it out of her paycheck since I worked—”

He waves a hand. “No big deal. I understand you’ve got a new little brother or sister on the way?”

“A sister, yes, sir.”

“How are you liking living here? Is your bedroom okay? Everyone treating you nice down in Hillcrest?”

The paint is peeling off my bedroom walls, but Dad said we can wait until we’ve been here awhile to fix that. “Everything’s great, sir. I mean, except for that Yvonne won’t let me wash my own clothes.”

“Join the club.” He smiles. “Anything else? You probably need to be getting on to school.”

I toe the fancy Persian rug with my pink Converse. “Sir, I was wondering. My dad and Cindy have a whole lot going on. Lots of bills and debts and stuff.”

“Yes,” Mr. Goodwin says slowly, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m wondering…since Cindy will need to take more time off for the baby, can you please keep my paychecks instead of docking it from hers? At least until the baby is born?”

“If that’s what you want. But I wish you’d save it for yourself instead.” Mr. Goodwin studies my face. “Let your father handle his debts.”

“I want to do this.” I won’t let my little sister grow up like I did.

“I’ll make it happen.” A sly grin forms on Mr. Goodwin’s face. “Tell me something, Savannah. Do you know what’s wrong with Tennessee Star?”

“I’ve got a possible idea, yes, sir.”

It surprises me when Mr. Goodwin doesn’t quiz me further. Instead, he winks. “Can’t wait to see if you’re right at the race this Saturday.”

The evil Coach Lynn is making us run laps around the track in gym class. It’s eighty gazillion degrees outside and my arms and legs feel like Silly Putty by lap three.

Vanessa Green slows way down so she can run beside me. “Wow, you’re in dead last,” she says. “I guess your horse-riding skills don’t translate to running.”

I swipe sweat from my upper lip. “Yeah, totally different muscle groups.”

“I hate gym,” Vanessa says, wiping sweat off her brow.

“Really? Isn’t your brother like the best athlete ever? Like Superman or something?” He’s in the NFL.

“Don’t let him hear you call him Superman. Ty’s head’s already big enough since he started dating Gabriella Marsden.”

“The supermodel?”

“Yeah, she has nothing interesting to talk about though. It’s like he went to a supermodel factory and said ‘I’ll take that one please. The one with the extra-long legs and the big boobs and the hair that falls past her butt.’”

We laugh together, and at that moment, Jack and Colton sprint by. Jack turns, bows, and says, “Ladies,” before streaking off again, his long hair flopping in the wind. He’s so hot, my breath catches in my throat and I cough.

“You think he’s cute?” Vanessa asks.

“Who doesn’t?”

She shrugs. “He’s hot, but he’s not my type. He’s too pretty.”

I laugh at the irony. The most beautiful girl at school doesn’t want the beautiful boy.

“Hey,” Vanessa starts. “Do you know if Rory Whitfield is dating anybody?”

“I don’t think he is.”

“Oh…I wondered if you and him…?”

“Naw. Why?”

“Just wondering…” She gazes across the track. Rory and Jack are now racing each other, trying to be King of Gym Class. “He’s cute.”

“But you’re like, you, and he’s Rory—he’s my friend, and you could date whoever you want and I don’t want him to get hurt and you’re super popular,” I say, flustered as hell.

“So?” she says.

“Would that supermodel be dating your brother if he weren’t an NFL quarterback?”

Her nose crinkles. “Who knows? Who am I to decide something like that? If you like somebody, you just like them, you know?”

“Do you really like Rory?” I ask.

“I’m not sure. I mean, I’ve known him forever, but it’s not like I’ve thought about getting to know him better and kissing him or whatever…until lately, I guess.”

“I’m sure he’s thought about it,” I say, and Vanessa flashes me an excited grin.

“Really? What’d he say?”

I laugh. “He hasn’t said anything to me. It’s just the way he looks at you.”

“Good to know. Thanks,” she says, and we finish running our laps together. On the last lap, Colleen and Jaime, these snotty girls, run by and give me strange looks.

“Bitches,” Vanessa says.

“Bitches,” I agree.

We bump fists and head into the locker room to change clothes. I’ve never been all that great at making girlfriends, but I like Vanessa. I smile over at her as I pull my gym bag from my locker.

Crazy that she’s interested in Rory, considering they come from very different lives. What will the other kids say when they hear about this? Will they wonder why Vanessa would date a farmhand?

That’s when it hits me: even if other people had a problem with it, Vanessa wouldn’t give a damn. I wish I could get away with not giving a damn.

After study hall in the library, I drag my fingers across locker doors on my way to the art room.

I discover Colton fast asleep on the sofa outside the guidance counselor’s office. Vanessa wasn’t kidding that he likes to sleep. When I look at the wall above the couch, I’m blinded by inspirational posters: CONFIDENCE, WINNING, COURAGE, TEAMWORK, DESTINY, CHARACTER.

Oh, my eyes. Why can’t there be an inspirational poster for BADASS?

Thinking about Rory and his dreams of going to college, I open a pamphlet about the ACT. I scan the information, reading about upcoming test dates and facilities and—

Shit.

Just taking the test costs $50.05! Why is nothing free? Or at least cheap! How are poor people supposed to plan for the damned future if everything costs so damned much? How can Rory afford the testing costs plus the application fees?

And what the hell is the five extra cents for?

I slip the pamphlet back in its slot and turn away, and run smack into Jack. He’s drinking a Capri Sun and carrying a blue camping cooler.

“Yvonne packed you an entire cooler?” I ask, giving my Velcro bag a dirty look.

He grins. “Sure did. She gave me string cheese. And a juice pouch!” He toasts me with the Capri Sun.

I shove his chest. “She gave you string cheese!”

“I might have one left,” he says with a wink.

“I want it!”

“You wouldn’t share your roast beef with me yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, you ate half of it anyway.”

“What were you looking at?” Jack asks, nodding at the wall of brochures. “Deciding when to take the ACT?”

“Oh, um, no—”

“Did you already take it? I’ve taken it twice but I’m gonna take it again because Dad thinks I can do better,” Jack says, sipping his juice pouch.

“I haven’t taken it.”

“You can borrow my study guides if you want. I’ve got a whole box of them.”

“I’m not taking the test.”

“You’re taking the SAT then?”

“No…I’m not applying anywhere, so there’s no reason to take the tests.”

“But what about college?” Jack asks.

“Why would I go to college? I can work as an exercise rider and make plenty of money. You have to, like, pay for college.”

“But don’t you want more?” Jack asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I do. That’s why I applied to be an exercise rider. Plus, a high school degree is worth a lot.”

Jack stares at me for a long time, sucking on his Capri Sun.

“Are you going to college?” I ask.

He looks shocked at my question. “Yeah. Probably nearby, so I can keep an eye on the farm. Maybe Vanderbilt. I’m gonna major in business and get my MBA, like my dad did.”

At my old school in Charles Town, only about half the graduates ended up going to college. The rest went on to work at the casino or a hotel, or got married.

Jack continues, “I have no idea why you wouldn’t go to college.”

I suck in air through my nose, dumbfounded that he doesn’t understand how little money I have. Is he clueless?

“My family could never afford it.” Hell, Cindy can’t afford to take one morning off work. Not to mention the root canal she needs.

He sips from his Capri Sun again. “Don’t your parents want more for you?”

“My dad’s really proud I’ve made it this far. I mean, he doesn’t have a high school degree or anything…neither he or Cindy went to college, and no one in their families have ever been…My mom died, you know?”

A sad smile crosses his face. “Yeah, my father told me. We were really sorry to hear about that…What was she like?”

I swallow the lump in my throat and blink tears away. “Well, she sang when she vacuumed. She was a real bad singer. Like, worse than the horrible singers on American Idol.” Jack laughs with me. “And she made Mickey Mouse pancakes every Sunday morning. She loved history.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet her,” Jack says softly, gazing down at me.

The bell for fifth period rings. Jack reaches into his cooler and whips out the last string cheese and hands it to me before taking off down the hall.

I peel the plastic off the cheese, put it between my teeth, and yank it away, chewing.