Racing Savannah

Chapter 8. Blinded by Inspirational Posters

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.

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?