Racing Savannah (Hundred Oaks #4)

Racing Savannah (Hundred Oaks #4) Page 10

“Like how to woo women. Or how to get over a really bad hangover.”

“Aren’t you already an expert in both of those areas?” I whisper back.

“Yeah. It would be an easy A, you know?”

I roll my eyes, but can’t help but smile.

Coach Lynn announces that we have to write a two-page paper about where we see ourselves in five years, and everybody starts groaning.

“Where will you be in five years? Still in college? Grad school? In the military? Married? Kids? Working at the car factory?” The teacher looks at me and says, “Will you be working on a farm? Each of you will be required to write a two-page paper.”

“Two pages?” Rory whines.

“Oh, just write that you want to be a gynecologist,” Vanessa mutters.

Rory bursts out laughing at that, and Vanessa smiles back at him. He holds Vanessa’s gaze for a second longer then faces the whiteboard.

Jack slips his pen behind his ear and leans across the aisle toward me again. “I hope this class has a lesson on how to decide if you want a tattoo or not.”

“Ha!” I laugh, blushing.

“Do you have a tattoo?” he murmurs.

“Maybe…If you tell my dad, I’ll kill you.”

He holds his hands up. “Your secret is safe…as long as you tell me what this tattoo is and where it’s located.” His eyes move from my chest to my butt to my stomach.

“You’re getting colder,” I whisper when he starts eyeing my ankles.

“What is it? A butterfly or a heart or something?”

“You’re getting even colder.”

“Is it a dragon?”

“Brr. You’re really cold.”

He grins. “Dammit, tell me where your tattoo is!”

“What?” Rory blurts, turning around, looking me up and down. “You have a tattoo?”

“Shhhhhhhhh!” says some brownnoser kid.

Coach Lynn sighs. “Face the front of the room please, Jack and Rory.”

Rory swirls around. Jack stretches his legs out to either side of the desk in front of him and smirks, continuing to eye me. Dad would kill me, so I pray Jack and Rory don’t say anything.

I honestly can’t believe I told Jack about the horseshoe tattoo on my hip. Maybe a little part of me wanted to tell him—to show him I’m not some little girl that can be pushed around.

Truly though? Maybe I want him to think of me as sexy.

If Pie Cured Confusion

Between periods, I’m disappointed to discover that Rory and I aren’t in the same lunch because his drama course is interfering, and of course he’d rather do that than eat with me. Ugh, nothing’s worse than eating alone.

When I head into the cafeteria, I find Jack slipping quarters into the Coke machine, holding a tray loaded up with a burger and fries. I skirt the edge of the cafeteria and make a break for the picnic tables in the courtyard. Outside I grab a seat in the corner, unsnap my Velcro lunch bag, and pull out a sandwich, carrots, a cookie, a juice carton, and one of those soups you can drink.

I open one of Mom’s history books—A Compendium of Poetry. I don’t like poetry all that much, but reading her books makes me feel closer to her and lets me pretend she’s right here beside me. I set my bookmark on the table and start reading the section where I left off. It’s about Robert Frost. It says one of his most famous poems is “The Road Not Taken.” I don’t completely understand some of the lines in the poem, but the last section makes me sit up and pay attention:

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Mom highlighted that one section in yellow. Did she feel like she lived life to the fullest? Did she take the right path for her? I bite into my sandwich and chew, thinking.

That’s when I hear him. “What is that?”

I turn to find Jack salivating over my sandwich. “Roast beef.”

He straddles the picnic table bench and sits. “Split it with me.”

“No.” I take a big bite, smacking obnoxiously.

He laughs. At school he’s so different from how he is on the farm where he’s the boss. “Where’d you get the lunch?”

“Yvonne,” I say through a mouthful.

“Yvonne made you lunch?”

“She did.”

“She’s never made me a lunch.”

“Probably because you’ve never asked her to, brainiac.”

“I’ll be speaking with her as soon as I get home.” He sits up straight and pops open his Coke. “I want a roast beef sandwich.”

“Boys,” I mutter. When I move to open my thermos, Jack snatches my roast beef sandwich off the table. He takes a huge bite, grinning, before I can stop him.

“Give me that!” I say, grabbing it back. A piece of roast beef slips out onto the bench. In retaliation, I grab a handful of his fries and stuff them in my mouth.

That’s when Brent, that bonehead from the party the other night, walks by, staring at me. Girls at the next table over see I’m sitting with Jack and give me dirty looks.

“This sucks,” I say to myself.

“What does?” Jack asks, scooping up ketchup with a fry.

“Everyone’s looking at me like I’m a science experiment gone wrong. They don’t even bother to say hi. They figure they know everything they need to know based on what I look like.”

“People are assholes.”

“Yourself included?”

“Guilty as charged.” He holds his hands up, laughing. “You are really pretty…” He drags a hand through his blond hair. “But you’re kind of like a great book…you know, you pick up a book at the bookstore because it has a beautiful cover…but it’s what’s inside that pulls you in.”

That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. I give him a small grin and his eyes meet mine.

That’s when Vanessa, Kelsey, and Colton enter the courtyard. Kelsey stops dead when she sees me sitting with Jack.

“What?” she mouths at Jack. He stiffens as his friends saunter over. Colton and Vanessa are bickering.

“Any idiot can be on The Price is Right,” Colton says. “Jeopardy! shows that you’re smart.”

“But you get to spin the big wheel on Price is Right,” Vanessa says.

“I wish they could incorporate that wheel into Jeopardy! ” Colton muses, biting into his burger.

“You guys remember Savannah, right?” Jack asks. “She works on my farm. We were just going over some business.”

Once Kelsey hears that, she stops glaring at me and turns her attention to her cell phone, glancing up at Jack a couple times. Vanessa smiles but can’t get a word in, because Colton launches into a speech about how, if he were to go on Jeopardy!, he’d bet it all and make it a true Daily Double.

“Listen, I wanted to talk to you about Star,” Jack says to me. “Do you have any idea what’s wrong with him?”

“No,” I lie, remembering how Star got upset when Jack came around. I don’t want to say anything until I’m sure I’m right.

Jack pops another fry in his mouth. “Tomorrow before school, before you exercise Star, can we try gate training him again?”

“Yes, sir.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

“Smart ass,” Jack says with a grin. “Stop calling me sir. For real.”

Kelsey glances up from her phone, looking at me as if I said I love doing homework. “You call him sir?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I snap, and she turns her focus back to her phone. Jack covers a grin by sneaking another bite of my sandwich. I yank it away. “Give me that!”

I bite my lip, excited about the prospect of hanging out with him tomorrow morning. I tell myself it’s only business. But if it’s only business, then why are all these girls giving me dirty looks because I’m sitting with Jack?

My heart can flutter all it wants—that’s not gonna change the fact that Jack is not in my league. How could we ever have a good working relationship if I were to let him have his way with me, and then things go back to the same ole same ole?

I steal one more of his fries, just to show him who’s boss.

Dad and Cindy want to take me out to dinner tonight to celebrate my first day of senior year. Neither of my parents got a high school degree, so this is a big deal for me. Of course, Dad’s idea of “going out to dinner to celebrate” is not the same as mine.

“Really?” I ask, as we park in the dumpy parking lot of a dive diner called Foothills.

“I said the same thing, Shortcake,” Cindy says, making me wince. “I told him we should go to the Cracker Barrel, but your dad never listens to me.”

“Do boys ever listen?”

“No,” Cindy replies.

Dad tries to hide his grin as we climb out of his ancient truck. “Mr. Goodwin told me Foothills is the best place in town.”

The F and the T of the neon sign are burned out, so it looks like we’re going to OO HILLS diner. The bell jingles as we open the door. We order coffee and breakfast for dinner, and after we finish eating eggs and bacon that are surprisingly amazing, we pick songs out on our private little jukebox until Dad clears his throat.

He reaches across the table and takes Cindy’s hand in his before he speaks. I feel my eyes grow wide at the sight of them holding hands. Holy hell, what’s coming?

“Savannah—”

“Are you sick?” I ask quickly, wanting to rip the bandage off.

“No,” Dad says. “Why’d you ask that?”

“Mom,” I choke out, as my heart races out of control. When my parents told me Mom had cancer, we went to McDonald’s as a special treat.

Dad puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer. “I’m not sick,” he says quietly, glancing over at Cindy. “It’s the exact opposite. We went to the doctor this afternoon for a gender ultrasound.”

“Let’s order pie and have a toast with our forks,” I say, raising a hand to wave down a waitress.

“Shortcake, don’t you want to know if it’s a boy or a girl?” Cindy asks.

Part of me wants to know, and part of me doesn’t. “Whatever it is, we’re still getting pie.” I wave my arm at the waitress. She’s standing behind the counter yapping on her cell phone.

Cindy’s face falls and Dad gently curls a hand around the back of my neck.

“Savannah…” Dad’s tone brings my attention back to him instead of pie procurement.

“I guess Cindy’s gonna need a double order of pie,” I say, trying to delay the conversation. If things were different for my family, I wouldn’t mind so much that they’re having a baby. “So what is it?”

Cindy grins shyly. “It’s a girl.”

“Oh.”

“What’s wrong? Talk to me,” Dad says, kissing the side of my head.

“I was thinking about tomorrow,” I lie, not wanting to discuss the baby. I lightly run my fingers over spilled salt on the sticky table.