“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.
Chapter 11. 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.
When Vanessa told Colton she was coming to the dance with me and Rory, he insisted on coming because his father the Franklin mayor is having a reelection event at their house and Colton hates glad-handing.
Rory mutters to me, “This better be worth it. I was making good progress on my new screenplay, Tattoos of the Clinically Depressed.”
“I hate dances,” Colton says, lifting his nose in the air like he just smelled a pile of manure.
Vanessa rolls her eyes at Colton. “Go take a nap over there, then,” she replies, pointing at the bleachers.
His eyes light up. “Great idea.” He hustles over to the bleachers, sits down, leans his head back, crosses his feet and arms, and places his ball cap over his eyes.
“When we first met,” Vanessa says, “I asked Colton what his hobbies were, and he replied, ‘Sleeping and TV.’”
We laugh together as I take in the scene. “We are definitely the oldest people here.”
“We’re gonna be wearing Depends undergarments before you know it.”
I laugh with her. Rory looks over at us, and when he sees her smiling, he smiles too.
“We could do what my brother and his friends used to do,” Vanessa says.
“What’s that?”
“See how fast we can get kicked out of the dance.”
“Seems pretty easy. All you’d have to do is whip out a flask or something.”
“Yeah,” she says. “But that’s boring.” She crooks her finger, beckoning Rory. He raises an eyebrow. “Let’s dance,” she mouths.
She and Rory meet in the center of the gym and start dancing like I’ve never seen dancing before. Popping and locking, doing the robot, grinding against each other. Kids crowd around them, laughing hysterically.
“These young minds are gonna be scarred for life.”
I whip around to find Jack standing there in a white T-shirt and faded jeans, barefoot. His hair is still slicked back with gel. I swallow, wishing I could touch his biceps and run my hands across his shirt. He looks yummier than a ranch dressing fountain.