Miranda Kenneally - Racing Savannah

After school, I spend a good hour grooming Star and feeding him, and then I decide to walk to the very edge of Cedar Hill and skirt the lake over to Whitfield Farms. I climb the fence and walk past cows and pigs and ducks and other animals up to Rory’s farmhouse. I ring the doorbell, he lets me in, and we go to his room. His dog Ava is lounging on the rug, panting with her tongue hanging out.

Old movie posters cover his walls. It seems all posters in his room must feature one or all of the following:

1. An explosion

2. A woman’s cleavage

3. George Clooney

Rory flops down on the floor and resumes playing some crazy racecar game called Ho Down in Hoochieville, where he drives around and picks up hookers.

Pig.

I drop onto Rory’s bed and sigh. “You’ve gotta ditch the Star Wars bedding if you ever expect to get laid.”

“The right girl will accept me, Darth Vader and all,” Rory says, thumbing his controller.

Trying to block out images of Sunday night’s almost kiss and trying to forget how Jack said I could go to college—which further proves he and I will never work out—I cuddle with Rory’s Chewbacca stuffed animal and watch him play his video game that is effectively setting women’s rights back a hundred years.

“I heard you ate lunch with Jack yesterday,” Rory says.

“It was more like he wanted to steal my roast beef sandwich.”

“I’d bet $20 that you’ll hook up with him within a month.”

I fall backward onto Rory’s pillow, thinking about the past few days. Jack could be a first-class womanizer who’s way out of my league…but he has a soft side. He calls his sister sweetheart and helps his mom with her cookbook. He brought me coffee just the way I like it. But I won’t be one of the supposed one-night stands the maids talk about. Hell, he could’ve hooked up with both Kelsey and Abby last weekend, and that was after flirting with me! But he’s so nice…and he wasn’t paying all that much attention to Kelsey at lunch…

“You’re on. That’ll be an easy $20. I’m not gonna hook up with him,” I say.

Rory pauses his game. “Just be careful. He won’t give you the kind of relationship you deserve.”

My friend is telling the truth, but embarrassment washes over me nevertheless.

“Well, just for that, I’m not gonna tell you the great gossip I’ve got on you, Ror.”

“Me?” He starts playing his game again. “Did someone tell you how I acted out a scene from Call Me When Your Mom Is Back in Town—”

“No, no,” I say. “Somebody likes you.”

“God, I wish we could send that girl to Antarctica or something. I can’t stand how Evelyn Treanor stalks me between classes and tries to pinch my butt. Who does that—”

“It’s not Evelyn.”

Rory’s pimp character picks up a hooker in a monster truck. “Who is it then?” he asks, sideswiping a pimpmobile.

“Vanessa Green.”

He drops his controller and whips around, his mouth falling open. On the screen, his monster truck runs into a 7-11, flinging a bunch of bystanders into the air and causing a massive explosion.

“Bullshit.”

“Nope. Should I talk to her or anything?”

Rory pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m interested, but you don’t have to say anything. I’ll handle it myself.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I dunno,” Rory replies with a shrug. He pushes his bangs off his forehead. “I’ll just wait and see what happens.”

But doesn’t he want to be in control of something like this? Doesn’t he want to put himself out there?

“Would you take her to dinner or something?” I ask. “A girl like that—you gotta take her somewhere fancy in Nashville, not Tennessee Ballers. Where are you gonna get the money for a date like that?”

“I’d find the money.”

He abandons the hooker game to stand and pace around the room, pausing to check his floppy brown hair in the mirror. I love that Rory says he’d find the money. It’s black and white for him: if he wants to take a girl on a fancy date, he’ll find a way to make it happen.

Would Jack ever take a risk for me?

“Shit.”

Jodi, the Goodwins’ chef, is pacing back and forth across the Hillcrest common room. Cindy still isn’t feeling well. She’s lying on the couch while Dad massages her feet and makes her drink water. He thinks she’s dehydrated. The other bad news is that we’re short-staffed for Mr. Goodwin’s fancy dinner party tonight.

If Cindy calls out of work sick tonight, it sure won’t make our family look good. It would truly suck if Dad lost his new job.

“Mom, let me help,” Ethan, Jodi’s thirteen-year-old son, says. “What can I do?”

“If you owned a tux maybe you could serve,” Jodi replies.

“Let me take Cindy’s place,” I interrupt, standing up.

Everyone stares at me. Working in the kitchens during a fancy Goodwin dinner is the last thing I want to do, but I can’t let Cindy get fired.

“You can be a server,” Jodi says, nodding at me. “Just follow Paula’s lead and you’ll be fine.”

“I’m so sorry,” Cindy says to me, clutching her stomach. Dad gives me a kind smile, looking grateful as he places his hand over Cindy’s.

“It’s not a problem,” I say, but it is. I can’t imagine serving Jack twice in one day.

Cindy loans me one of her maid uniforms, because unlike at breakfast, I have to put my Goodwin game face on. The blue dress hangs below my knees and if I look straight down, I can see my bra.

Super embarrassing. God, why did Dad have to get Cindy pregnant?

Up at the manor house, Ethan is helping his mom plate the salads while Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin greet their guests in the parlor. Paula is filling carafes with wine. Jack is hiding out in the kitchen, sneaking bites of everything Jodi is cooking. He pops a shrimp in his mouth and she smacks his hand. “For the third time, get out of my kitchen!” Ethan and I crack up when Jack steals a piece of cornbread behind Jodi’s back.

Jodi hands me a water pitcher and tells me to go fill the glasses in the dining room. I pour water into a glass and I’m moving on to the next place setting when a handsome guy I’ve never seen before stumbles through the doorway. He appears to be twenty or so. His black suit, blazing red tie, and shiny shoes just scream power.

“Where’s the goddamned bathroom?” he says.

“Down the hall to your left,” I reply quietly, taken aback by his behavior. I start toward the kitchen to see what else Jodi needs me to do but he takes me by the elbow and turns me around. I smell alcohol on his breath.

“I’m Marcus Winchester.” He puffs his chest out like he’s more important than Prince William then scans my body. “I can’t believe the Goodwins keep you hidden away.”

You have got to be kidding me.

“Excuse me,” I say, cradling the water pitcher against my chest, and try to head toward the kitchen, but he doesn’t let go of my arm.

He looks down at my uniform, well, more specifically, down my dress, because it’s way too big.

I have a sudden urge to throw this water on Marcus—but if I do that, my dad and Cindy might get fired and we would have to leave before the baby is born and we might not find more work and where would we live and oh holy God—help.

“I’m needed in the kitchen.”

“You’re needed here.” Marcus laughs softly, squeezing my arm harder. “Don’t you want a kiss? I’ll give you another chance, even though a bad girl like you doesn’t deserve my forgiveness.”

Who the hell does he think he is?

Marcus leans in and I’m debating whether or not to toss the water on him when Jack appears in the doorway.

“Jack,” I blurt.

Marcus releases my arm and I step away, panting, my tongue heavy and dry. I shake my head at Jack, trying to show him that Marcus is the last thing I want.

“Marcus, meet Savannah. She’s one of my good friends,” Jack says with the hint of a threat in his voice.

I step away, my hands shaking as I continue pouring water into glasses. I breathe in and out. It’s only a couple hours. I can handle a couple of hours. My hands go from shaky to earthquaky in a matter of seconds and I can’t imagine how pissed Mrs. Goodwin will be if I drop this glass pitcher on her hardwood floor.

“You’re friends with your servants?” Marcus asks, raising his eyebrows. His eyes are red and hazy. “My servants clean my toilet.”

Jack grabs Marcus’s elbow. “C’mon, we’ve got a great bourbon collection you should see.”

A minute later, Jack reappears by my side and takes the water pitcher from my hands.

“Did Marcus hurt you?” he murmurs, placing the pitcher on a sideboard.

I hate that Marcus questioned whether Jack could be friends with a servant like me. And all I can think about is how Jack looked at me today when he found out I’m not going to college. Like I’m this pathetic little bee, swarming around, with no thoughts and dreams of my own. Marcus Winchester and his I’m-a-rich-person-so-I-can-do-whatever-I-want attitude reminds me of horrible Mr. Cates.

“Why would you invite such a Neanderthal to dinner?” I ask.

“Dad’s working on a business deal with his father.” Jack pulls a handkerchief out of his suit pocket and dabs it on my face, and I cover his hand with mine, searching his eyes. It feels nice being comforted by him, and I wish I could stay in this moment, but I can’t. I’m pissed.

“So it’s okay if Marcus humiliates me because your dad does business with his father? That sucks.”

Jack’s face drops and he furrows his eyebrows. He takes his hand off my face then walks around the table and finishes pouring water into each glass. Him taking over my chore is a nice concession, but can that really make up for what happened?