Racing Savannah

Chapter 14. My First Race

Even though I majorly crashed and burned Tuesday morning on the track, Jack still wants me to race Saturday at Kentucky Downs. Other than him, it’s all I can think about during the day. Gael has me riding for hours a day now, and my arms and legs feel like noodles thanks to his weight training.

But late at night, when I’m alone with my thoughts, while Dad and Cindy are cuddling together on the couch and Rory is immersed in his writing or spending time with Vanessa, I think of Jack. I should’ve known better than to make out with him, but everything felt right, and I’ve always heard you should live in the moment. When she was my age, I doubt my mother thought she’d lose her life at thirty.

On Thursday night after everyone has gone to sleep, I climb out of bed in my pajamas and go to the common room. I flick on the lights and sit down at the computer.

I type colleges in Tennessee into Google. A school called Belmont pops up as the first choice. I tap the link and a picture of a brick building surrounded by lush green trees fills the screen. I click on the admissions homepage and scroll through the requirements. Looks like they suggest a minimum GPA of 3.5. Mine is 3.2. School has never been my forte. I’d rather shovel manure than do algebra.

Holy shit—the Belmont application fee alone is $50. Is it that pricey at every school? Didn’t Rory say some cost $35? Applying to five schools like this one would cost $250. Other than people like Jack, who can afford that?

Still. The pictures of the dorm rooms, the quad, and students having fun at basketball games make my heart speed up a little.

“Why are you out of bed?”

I quickly exit out of the browser and swivel to face Dad, who’s standing there holding a glass of water.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I say. “What are you doing?”

“Cindy was thirsty. What were you looking at on the computer?”

“Um, nothing really.”

Dad sits on the couch armrest. “It looked like you were on a college website.”

I slowly lift a shoulder, cracking my knuckles. “Just messing around.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in college. I thought you were gonna work as an exercise boy.”

“I am,” I say quickly. There’s a long still silence, as Dad’s eyes leave mine and focus on the glass of water.

“You’ve changed a lot in the few weeks we’ve been here, Shortcake…I barely recognize you anymore since we moved. I never imagined you’d be interested in jockeying or college.”

I sigh and push the button to turn off the computer monitor.

“Don’t get me wrong—I’m proud of you, but I don’t know anything about college,” Dad goes on. “I guess we could ask Mr. Goodwin what he knows but I don’t know how we’d pay for—”

“No, no,” I say. “Don’t talk to Mr. Goodwin.” I can’t handle the idea of being more in debt than we already are. What I need to do is keep making money. That wouldn’t happen if I went to college.

“Dad?” I ask. “Are you going to marry Cindy?”

He gives me a sad smile and cradles the glass in his hands. “I’m going to ask her when I have enough money to buy her a ring.”

The memory of Mr. Winchester snapping his fingers at me to refill his wine glass pops into my mind. He was wearing a large ruby ring encircled with diamonds. He didn’t even say please and thank you. Probably doesn’t care who he hurts, just like Mr. Cates. He didn’t care that he sold Moonshadow to a bad man who whipped her and made her race, even though she wasn’t in shape. I bite down on the inside of my cheek so I won’t cry, so the pain won’t swallow me.

“You’d better get to bed, Shortcake. You’ve got training in the morning.”

I climb back in bed and mentally run through my game plan for Saturday’s race, but as I begin to nod off, lush images from the Belmont website fill my head, flooding my dreams with color.

Friday afternoon after I’ve visited Star in the pasture, I meet Gael in his office in the manor house to watch racing film.

I’ve never been to the second floor of the manor house before, but I know from Cindy that Mr. Goodwin’s office is up here. She vacuums and dusts it every day.

I swallow as I pass large, closed, double wooden doors. I peek inside the stall manager’s and the estate manager’s offices, finding them hard at work on their computers. A glass chandelier that looks like it’s from France or something blinds me with its bling. Mr. Goodwin’s personal assistant is typing on the computer and talking on the phone. She points me down the hall. While looking for Gael, I discover that Jack has his own office too.

What seventeen-year-old has his own office?

I peek inside to find him talking on the phone about a stud fee deal and flipping through a large book at the same time. His office is very…clean. And tasteful. Jack has a flat-screen TV that’s muted and tuned to the horse-racing network. Pictures of his family and friends cover the walls, along with famous horses and horsemen, including an autographed photo of Ron Turcotte, the jockey who rode Secretariat and had over three thousand wins…until he got hurt in a race. He’s in a wheelchair now.

I leave Jack to his work and knock on the door to Gael’s office. His office is very…much the opposite of Jack’s. It’s like a giant snow globe exploded in here. Paper is everywhere. Red Bull and Diet Coke cans litter every available surface.

Gael leaps to his feet like he’s on a pogo stick. “Barrow! Sit right here.” He clears a spot for me on his sofa and plops down next to me with a remote control in his hand.

Gael rubs his cheek, looking over at me. “You ready for tomorrow?”

I clutch my knees. “I think so.”

“You’re great on a horse and great during practice, but racing in a race is a whole new ballgame. You gotta respect it. If you’re not careful and you don’t know what you’re doing on the track, you could die.”

My stomach jumps into my throat when I think of what could’ve happened the other day. What if the horse’s hoof had struck my head and not my shin? Riding a 1,200-pound animal at forty-five miles per hour is a rush. A dangerous rush.

“This footage will help you learn what to expect and know how to deal with any contingencies that might come your way,” Gael says.

He pushes play and I spend the next two hours watching races. Elite races, smaller races, really fun races, really horrific races. I want to cover my eyes when riders fall and get hurt, but that would show weakness, so I stare straight ahead, trying to keep my eye on the goal.

That’s hard after watching the Preakness Stakes where Barbaro pulled up, broke his hind right leg, and had to be euthanized.

Saturday morning, as usual, I’m up before dawn.

But today is different. Today is the annual Kentucky Downs Handicap. Normally people train for years before their first race, but Jack fast-tracked me. I hope I do okay today…I kind of feel like a poser.

Gael told me to sleep in and get my rest because I’m racing later in the day—at noon sharp. But I couldn’t stay asleep thanks to prerace jitters. I’m so jumpy, it’s like I’ve already had my coffee even though I haven’t drunk a drop. Kentucky Downs is about thirty miles north of Cedar Hill. In the past week, Kentucky Downs has held eight races. Over $1 million in purse winnings have already been given out, but today’s three races are the biggies.

Star is competing in the Juvenile Downs, a race for two-year-olds. The purse is $75,000, and the winner will make 70 percent of that, with the rest going to the runners-up. That means if Star wins, I’ll get 5 percent of $52,500. $2,625. That’s more money than I’ve seen in my entire life.

Jack is also entering Lucky Strikes in the Kentucky Turf Cup, which has a purse of $200,000. In the Goodwin world, these races are small potatoes, but Star needs a win. And I’m hoping I can help him with that. I don’t have any illusions I will win my very first race, but I pray we won’t come in dead last. I need to prove that I’ve got what it takes, that I’ve got something special.

While the Ladies Marathon race is going on, I sit on a stool in the barn, breathing in and out, talking softly to Star, who’s busy eating grain.

Then all of a sudden the Marathon must be over, because Jack appears at the stall, rubbing his hands together as he keeps his distance from Star. He’s wearing a sleek gray suit, white shirt, no tie, and cowboy boots. The no-tie look makes me tingle all over. I want to kiss the triangle of tanned skin exposed at his neck. Jesus Lord, all this anxiety over the race is making me a perv.

“Hey.” Jack takes off his hat to muss his hair, looking everywhere but at me. “You feeling good?”

“Pretty good. A little tired. I’ve never been in the sweatbox before.” The morning of a race, most jockeys go in this super hot room called a sweatbox and sweat all the extra fluid out so they’ll weigh less for the race. “It was so relaxing I felt like I was on a beach somewhere.”

Jack laughs softly. When he finally meets my gaze, his blue eyes pierce into mine, and I wish we could have a repeat of last weekend’s kissing session. That would help me relax. A glance at his lips makes it hard to tell where my stress from the race ends and the sexual tension begins.

“You’ve read all the notes Gael gave you? You know all about the other horses, their jockeys, and their trainers?”

“Yes.” I straighten my posture, trying to look impressive, which is hard when Jack stands a full foot taller than me. “I’m all set.”

Jack blows air out and rubs his hands together again. “Thanks for doing this.”

“Thanks for letting me do it,” I say softly.

“You look good in the Goodwin colors,” he says, scanning my black and green riding silks.

“I look like a damned Slytherin.”

He laughs, looks around, and takes a step closer, wetting his lips. He gently pecks my cheek, sending a jolt up my legs and down my arms and between my thighs.

“I got you something for good luck,” he whispers in my ear. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a purple swirl lollipop.

“Yaaaaaay.” I take the sucker, and before I know what I’m doing, I slip my arms around his waist. He sucks in a breath. Clenches up.

Crap. He doesn’t want this. I take a step back, pissed at myself. I can’t believe I gave in to instinct.

“I’m sorry.” My cheeks are burning.

He looks away. “I need to tell you something. There’s gonna be press here today. Press specifically for you.”

“Me?” I blurt.

“Yes, you.” His mouth slides into a small smile. “You’re a big deal. This race is nothing compared to some of the big Kentucky races, but still. You don’t see girl jockeys all that often at races in general. Especially ones so young.”

I was already nervous enough. I drag a hand down my red braid and bring it to my mouth to chew on it. I pull a deep breath.

“Thanks for telling me,” I say. “I’d hoped you were gonna tell me something else.”

“Oh yeah? What?”

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head quickly.

He gently pulls the braid from my mouth, grasping my hand for a sec. The heat from his skin soothes my nerves and makes me want to dive right back into his arms. Jesus. When did I become such a horn dog?

That’s when Rory brings Echoes of Summer back from her race and Jack disappears. Rory looks from me to where Jack vanished and starts beat-boxing, making music like you’d hear on his video game, Ho Down in Hoochieville. “Bowchicawowow.”

I flip him off.

I pause and breathe deeply as I unwrap the sucker and stick it in my mouth.

“How’d she do?” I ask as Rory pushes Echoes of Summer into a stall.

“Third place,” he says, grinning. “Not bad for an old lady.”

I pat her muzzle. “She’s only seven. I’d hate to hear what you call me when I’m not around.”

Rory yanks a wrinkled booklet from his back pocket. “Hey, I got the race program. Your name’s in it!”

I dash over to him, stick the sucker Jack gave me in my mouth, and thumb through the program. There I am.

HORSE

Tennessee Star

JOCKEY

S. Barrow*

TRAINER

G. Solana

OWNER

J. Goodwin/Cedar Hill Farms

* Denotes Apprentice Jockey

I close the program and cradle it against my chest.

And before I know it, before I can get my heartbeat under control, Rory has Star’s tack thrown over his shoulder and we’re heading up to the paddock, passing by other barns and the drug-testing pavilion. I finish the lollipop during our walk and throw the stick away.

Dad, Gael, Jack, and Mr. Goodwin meet us there as we’re securing the colt’s saddle.

Dad squeezes my shoulder. “You know you don’t have to do this, right? We can always send Townsend out instead.”

I tighten my gloves, glancing around at the other jockeys. They all look relaxed, chatting and joking with their trainers and owners. I blow air out through my mouth and bounce on my toes.

“I got this,” I tell Dad. Jack and Rory exchange a smile at my words.

I mount Star and we make our way out onto the track. Kentucky Downs is old and the grandstands are small like the bleachers at the Hundred Oaks softball field; most spectators are hanging around the fence and on the infield. Or they’re inside at the casino.

The cheering starts the minute Star begins to trot across the grass. A bunch of reporters are taking pictures of me. The flashes make me see spots. I hope Star isn’t scared of cameras. I groan, praying my picture won’t accompany a front-page article on how I blew it at Kentucky Downs.

Dad appears to my right, riding an Appaloosa pony. Star sniffs the pony and rams his head into Dad’s side, acting bratty.

“Don’t hesitate to pull up if anything goes wrong,” Dad says, and I nod, chewing on my braid. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I reply.

When it’s post time, I meet two hands at the starting gate and they push Star inside the fourth position, locking the gate behind us. Dad disappears off the track.

Seven furlongs. Just under a mile. I can do this. I breathe in and out. In and out. In and out. The crowd cheers. It sounds like pressing a seashell to my ear and listening to the dull roar of an ocean.

The bell rings and the gates crash open.

Star blasts off. It’s a clean break out of the gate. We shoot to the front along with two other horses.

“Go!” I shout, holding on tighter than ever before. The nine sets of hooves slamming the grass sound like a train speeding away with my heart.

I glance to my right and left. Sergeant Major, a speed horse, is right next to me. He’ll lose his energy soon—I can already hear the colt huffing and puffing. On my left is Lazy Monday, who has good endurance. I’ve gotta make sure Star doesn’t get too tired, too fast, so I ease up a little on the first turn.

On the backstretch, I move up on the outside. For a moment, we take the lead. Then in a blink of an eye we’re back in the third position. But as I’m entering the final turn, a colt named Winning Waves sneaks up on the inside. He bolts past me. Dirt from a mud hole splatters on my face and chest.

“Come on,” I urge Star. He gradually increases his speed, but he’s losing his breath. We begin to pass Winning Waves. The horses are neck and neck.

On the home stretch, we’re fighting against Winning Waves. Two other horses are in front of us. The crowd is going wild. Cheering. Clapping. I’m loving the rush. “Go, Star! Hurry up!”

I cross over the finish line right before Winning Waves. A horse named Gina’s George is announced as the winner.

We lost by two lengths! Damn.

But we came in third place. Star has never done that before.

I hug his neck. “Good boy, Star. Good boy.” He nickers and sighs.

I make my way over to the scoreboard to check our time. Reporters snap photos of me and I grin as I push my goggles up on top of my helmet. Third isn’t bad for my first race. Then I see my official time on the scoreboard. My practice this morning was faster by three seconds. I rub my eye and take a deep breath, working to swallow the disappointment. Third is good, I remind myself. But will Jack be angry?

Over at the paddock, Rory is smiling as he reaches out to take the reins and control of the horse, and the next thing I know, Jack is pulling me down and wrapping me in a tight hug as more photographers take my picture.

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”

I bury my face against his chest, laughing, getting dirt all over his suit. We spin around in a circle and I’ve never felt so close to another person, not even when we were kissing.

I love that we worked together to make this happen. I’ve never felt so strong, like I could lift a boulder. Like I could do magic.

“I want you to be my jockey in the Dixiana Derby.”

“Shit, for real?” I exclaim. That’s only like three weeks away. It’s a huge race at Paradise Park with a half a million dollar purse!

“I do,” Jack says. I leap into his arms and we jump around like kids during recess.

“Jack,” Mr. Goodwin says loudly. “We all want to talk to Savannah.”

Jack releases me and grins. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that our fathers are actually smiling. Wait. We were just hugging like crazy, and they aren’t freaking out?

“Let’s go see your mother, son.” Mr. Goodwin leads Jack toward the bleachers. He and I look back at each other, beaming.

“You did good, Shortcake,” Dad says, squeezing me close to him. “I wish your mom could’ve seen it.”

I wrap an arm around Dad’s waist, get up on tiptoes, and kiss his cheek.

I came in third friggin’ place.

Hell. Yeah.