Racing Savannah

“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.



Taking the Road Less Traveled



Church bells ring at Westwood Chapel for Will Whitfield’s wedding.



Rory, his younger brother Trey, and two other guys I don’t recognize dressed in tuxedos are serving as ushers, seating the female guests.



“Wow, you look great,” Rory says, sticking an elbow out. “I’m glad you got all that mud off your face.”



“You ass.”



“You aren’t supposed to say ass in church, S.”



Smiling, I take his arm and let him escort me to a pew. I’m still giddy from the race a few hours ago. I’m on such a high, I feel like I could slam dunk a basketball. Jack wants me to be his jockey in the Dixiana Derby!



Along with an ace bandage to mask the hideous bruise on my shin, I wore a green silk dress that belonged to my mother. It’s really beautiful and not mom-style at all.



The Goodwins sit a few rows in front of me. Jack sits between his mother and Shelby with his arms stretched around them across the pew.



I run my fingers over the beige wedding program laced with blue ribbon. It reads:



Parker Anne Shelton + William Connor Whitfield



Vanessa walks into the church and looks around, clutching her wedding program. I wave at her then pat the seat next to me. One of the ushers—a guy with loose curly blond hair that reaches his shoulders—sees Vanessa and gives her a big hug before escorting her to my row.



“Thanks for letting me sit with you,” she whispers, rolling and unrolling her wedding program. “I wasn’t sure if I should come.”



“Why not?”



“I mean, Rory invited me, but it’s not like we’ve been going out all that long. I haven’t met his parents yet.”



“It’s fine—his family will love you. Besides, I just met Rory, like, a month ago, and they invited me. Who was that guy who you hugged? The super hot one.”



“Oh,” Vanessa says with a smile. “That’s Sam Henry. He played football with my brother in high school—but don’t even think about going after him. He was single for like a year, but he’s very much taken again now.”



Will steps out in front of the crowd. A few guys whoop at him, and he pumps his fist, making a lot of the little old ladies in the congregation gasp in horror.



“Oh my God, Will is so hot,” Vanessa mutters to me. “Maybe when the minister asks if anyone objects to this union, I’ll jump up and down and holler a lot.”



“I bet Will’s fiancé would tackle you.”



“True.”



“Rory would probably tackle you too.”



“I wish.” She fans herself with the wedding program.



Rory joins Will at the altar; he keeps patting his breast pocket every three seconds—I guess he’s terrified he’ll lose the rings, and if I were Will, I’d be a bit worried about that too.



Instead of organ music, a guitarist begins playing and a beautiful girl with long black hair starts down the aisle, being escorted by a man. They both stop on Parker’s side of the aisle, and the guy doesn’t sit down or move to Will’s side. I open my wedding program. A girl named Kate Kelly is Maid of Honor. And for some reason a guy named Drew Bates is a bridesmaid…? I giggle, loving that she has a guy bridesmaid dressed in a tux.



“Rory looks nice,” I tell Vanessa.



“Agreed. He should wear tuxes all the time.”



“Even on the farm?”



“Even on the farm.”



Suddenly everybody stands and we turn to watch Parker walk down the aisle, carrying a handful of wildflowers. Her creamy dress is very simple and made of lace. It has short, capped sleeves and hangs above her knees. When I get married, I don’t want anything extravagant—I want a dress just like that. She’s not wearing a veil and her long messy brown hair reaches her waist and is all over the place. Will beams and looks like he might cry.



The ceremony is short, but hilarious. Rory, of course, misplaces the rings and spends over a minute searching his pockets. Parker and Will don’t seem to care, as he cups her face, laughing. They never stop smiling, even when the minister accidentally calls Will “Bill.”



And then it’s suddenly over with a “You may now kiss the bride” and for some God awful reason, Rory yells “Get ’er done,” which makes Vanessa bury her face in her palms. The guys in the congregation leap to their feet and cheer and basically act like a pack of hooligan monkeys.



Rory and I ride in Vanessa’s Mercedes to the reception in the Whitfields’ backyard. Glittering lights hang inside a big white tent and tea lights dot the tables. They serve fried chicken and mac ’n’ cheese and lots of other yummy foods on the buffet. An awesome band plays rock music as people alternate between eating and dancing. If I ever get married, I want a wedding just like this.



There really are, like, eight thousand male Whitfield cousins here. With all the floppy brown hair, it’s like a boy band convention, and a bunch of them want to meet me, the “girl horse jockey.”



Rory sneaks two entire bottles of champagne over to us and smuggles the evidence under the table. He and Vanessa start drinking the champagne, giggling like crazy as they feed each other bits of food. I accept a tiny bit of champagne—I don’t want to mess up my training tomorrow morning with a hangover.



Rory and Vanessa keep stealing kisses and somehow end up snuggling under the table with their contraband champagne—and with the options being 1) sit alone at our table, 2) sneak under the table with them (awkward!), or 3) get the hell out of Dodge, I find myself outside, circling the dinner tent, looking back and forth between the dancing and the stars.



The beautiful Maid of Honor is dancing closely with a guy who dared to wear flip flops. A ginormous engagement ring glimmers on her hand. I wish my life could be that perfect. Will and Parker are swaying right next to the couple, laughing and talking to them. The hot usher, Sam Henry, is dancing nearby with an extremely tall blond girl. She looks very much absorbed with the hot usher. For good reason.



Jack is dancing with his mother, twirling her around. I gaze over to Mr. Goodwin’s table to discover him sneaking a hot dog while his wife is busy. It’s like Jack knows I’m thinking of him, because he looks over his mom’s shoulder, gazing at me. Scanning me up and down, studying my forest-green silk dress. He slowly starts to smile and holds up his pointer finger, telling me to wait.



What’s that supposed to mean? What am I supposed to wait for?



That’s when Will Whitfield jogs up and I hug him and tell him congrats.



“Have you seen Rory?” he asks, scanning the tent. “It’s nearly time for the toasts.”



“Uh, you might check under that table over there. He’s drinking champagne with Vanessa Green.”



Will’s mouth forms an O. “Maybe we won’t have a toast from him then.”



“That’s probably a good idea. It’d probably just be a repeat of ‘Get ’er done!’”



“My mom is gonna kill him for that.”



“Who’s that couple who was dancing with you and Parker? The beautiful maid of honor girl.”



Will looks over his shoulder at them. “Parker’s best friend, Kate, and her fiancé. We’ve been friends with them for years. Since right after high school, actually.”



“Oh yeah?”



“It’s funny. I nearly went to prom with Kate, but I liked Parker more. I can’t imagine what life would be like if I’d made a different choice. It would’ve been so easy…but so wrong, you know?”



I nod, feeling my eyes burn. It’s like that Robert Frost poem I read in Mom’s Compendium of Poetry book. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…The narrator had to choose which path to take—just like we all do.



An older guy, one of the eight thousand Whitfield cousins, approaches, smiling.



“This is my cousin, Alex.”



“Hey,” the guy says, shaking my hand. “I’m about to take Meemaw home,” he tells Will and gives him a guy hug. “Congrats.”



“By the way,” Will says to me, “there’s a new litter of Springer spaniel puppies in Tanglewood barn. They were born just this morning to my dog, Ash. Maybe one of them will like you,” he says with a chuckle before heading back over to his new wife. His cousin Alex smiles at me. A genuine, sweet smile.



“I wish I could stay for a dance with you, but Meemaw is getting tired. I’m her ride.”



“Aw, that’s cute.”



“You know what they say—grandmas before girls.”