“Tomorrow at five thirty,” I reply. Meaning I’ll have to get up at . . . yeah, not thinking about that.
“In the morning?” Caleb lets out a laugh of disbelief.
“Yes. That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.” I smirk, certain he’ll leave it.
But I underestimated Caleb’s stubbornness. Or his dedication to torturing me. Or maybe both.
“Fine.”
I study him for a moment, testing his resolve. He doesn’t waver.
“Fine,” I finally retort. “I’ll meet you here.”
“You want to meet here?” Caleb glances around our surroundings in surprise.
“Seems like the obvious choice, considering the subject matter. Don’t be late.”
And then I spin and walk away, wondering what the hell I just got myself into.
The basketball gym is only half-full when I enter it. My ears immediately begin ringing from the sound of rubber soles squeaking against the varnished floor, and the pungent scent of sweat burns my nostrils. Cassie is easy to spot among the couple dozen spectators. She’s the only person not paying any attention to the game. At least until I take a seat on the wooden bleachers beside her. Cassie finally glances up; first at the game, then over at me.
“Hey,” she greets. “What took you so long? The game’s practically over.”
“I got held up at the paper,” I explain, which is partially true. But I don’t elaborate any further than that, although I know Cassie, along with the rest of the school, will eventually hear about my latest assignment. I’m still holding out hope the interview will get derailed, though. Caleb showing up on time tomorrow morning seems wildly unlikely. “Surprised you noticed I wasn’t here,” I tease. “You looked riveted to the game.”
Cassie makes a face. “Basketball was big at my old school,” she tells me. “Not so much here, I guess?” She nods towards the small, unenthusiastic crowd.
“I don’t really follow the sports scene,” I remind her. “But if I had to guess, I'd say your best bet for a big crowd is a baseball game.”
“Yeah, I probably should have figured that out.” Cassie looks at me thoughtfully. “Because of your English partner, right?”
I grimace. There were times I would go days—weeks, even—without having to think or hear about Caleb Winters. How I’ve gone from that to almost hourly reminders he exists is irritating and infuriating. Even if I knew he’d likely come up when I mentioned baseball.
“Right,” I confirm. Baseball has always been popular in Landry, but Caleb certainly hasn’t impeded its popularity. Far from it. Despite the rock I’ve tried to shove myself under when it comes to him, I know he’s racked up an impressive number of athletic accolades.
“Hmmm,” is all Cassie says in response.
The basketball game ends ten minutes later, with Landry winning handily. Cassie and I filter out into the lobby with the rest of the limited attendees. We’re heading towards the front doors of the sports complex when Cassie pauses and nods to our right. “I’m going to run to the restroom. Do you mind waiting?”
“No problem,” I respond, leaning against the brick wall. “I’ll be here.”
Cassie flashes me a grateful glance before disappearing into the lobby’s bathroom. I’m studying some of the framed newspaper clippings that line the wall when I hear a male voice say my name. I turn to see Will Masterson, my freshman year lab partner, looking at me with surprise. He’s still wearing his basketball uniform.
“Hi, Will,” I greet. We’ve only had a handful of brief conversations since our time spent sharing a blacktop table. Not for lack of trying on Will’s part. He always makes a point to say hi to me in the halls, which is hardly surprising. I’ve never seen him be anything but nice to everyone he encounters. That’s the problem. He’s too nice. Every conversation we have, I feel like I have to watch each word I say, worried some snark or sarcasm will slip through and I’ll accidentally offend him. I’ve also gotten the sense his friendliness might not be entirely platonic. The (few) other guys who have shown any interest in me have been easy enough to dissuade with a few sharp retorts, but I feel too badly doing that to Will. So, I generally try to avoid him. No chance of doing that now, though, so I paste on a smile as he grins at me. “Nice game.”
“Thank you.” He beams at my compliment, and I bite back a groan at the blatant admiration reflected in his eyes. “It’s really nice to run into you. I feel like I barely see you around.”
“Senior year, you know,” I reply evasively, hoping he’ll fill in the blanks with what I’ve been busy with himself. I don’t want to outright lie to him, so hopefully Will’s imaging normal activities, like college visits and applications, rather than what actually takes up the bulk of my time: running a horse farm.
“I sure do,” Will lets out a low laugh. “Hard to believe it, huh? Seems like not that long ago we were lab partners.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I agree, not having to feign a smile this time. Freshman year never improved much from my disastrous first day, and the hours spent in Will’s friendly, upbeat presence were an unexpected bright spot in an otherwise dismal year. “That class was the best part of freshman year for me, you know,” I tell him impulsively.
“Really?” Will asks. He looks totally taken off guard by my comment, which is probably warranted. I’m not exactly known for being nostalgic or reminiscing.
“Really,” I confirm, smiling slightly. “You were always nice to me, and most people . . . weren’t.”
“Most people are idiots,” Will states, his tone emphatic.
I let out a wry laugh. “Won’t argue with you there.”
Will leans a little closer and opens his mouth to say something else. I’m entirely distracted by a sudden gush of cool wind and the slap of cleats hitting the lobby’s linoleum, but I fight to keep my eyes on Will and resist the urge to look over as the baseball team walks by. Unfortunately, Will doesn’t do the same, turning to face the commotion and taking my attempt to appear oblivious with him.
“Masterson! How’d it go?” Luke Evans pauses next to us.
“I’m insulted you have to ask.” Will grins. “Decimated them.”
“Nice work,” Luke congratulates, and then tucks his baseball glove under one arm so he and Will can execute one of those half-hand slap half-fist bump maneuvers guys seem to apply to every possible interaction: greeting, goodbye, or really any display of gumption.
“Thanks,” Will replies, grinning widely. “You guys are already practicing?” He gestures to Luke’s baseball attire.
“Already? We never really stop,” Luke replies. “Fall ball has started running right into the spring season.”
Will whistles. “Wow. That’s a lot of baseball.”
Luke nods. “Sorry I didn’t catch any of the game, our practice ran long. It got interrupted, so Winters had us stay later than usual.”
I wasn’t sure if Luke was among the guys huddled around Caleb earlier, but now I know for certain. I look at him for the first time since he stopped next to Will and me, and he’s sporting a cheeky grin. It dims when I glare at him.
“Really? What happened?” Will asks curiously, missing our exchange.
“Just some equipment issues,” Luke responds easily. I tense. I haven’t been keeping track of the players walking past us, in fact I’ve been doing everything I can not to look at them, but somehow I know Caleb has just entered the lobby. Most of the basketball team and other spectators have dispersed, and Luke was the only baseball player who stopped during that the team’s trek to the locker room.
Meaning I can hear every footfall as the spikes of his cleats hit the tiled floor.
“Congrats on the win, Will. I’d better get changed.” Luke is suddenly in a rush to depart, and despite the fact I still haven’t looked over, I know that means I’m right. Caleb is in the lobby, and Luke doesn’t want to be seen with me. It’s too late, though. I can feel the weight of his gaze on our trio as Luke hurries off, following a quick farewel
l fist bump hand slap motion.
Which is why I turn my undivided attention to Will as Luke disappears.
“Sorry about that,” Will apologizes. “Hadn’t seen Luke since winter break.”
“It’s fine,” I reply, injecting a little extra cheerfulness in my voice as I hear footsteps grow closer.
“We were talking about how much some people suck, right?”
I let out a loud laugh as the footsteps reach their crescendo and then start to fade away, ignoring the puzzled look my unexpected mirth earns me from Will. I sober once the sound disappears. “Yes, we were.”
“Hey . . . ” a hesitant voice says to my left, and I let out a sigh of relief when I see Cassie has finally reappeared. She looks quite surprised to find me standing with Will rather than standing alone the way I was when she left me.
“Hi,” I greet her enthusiastically, and get another confused look as a result. I’m really on a roll with those. “You know Will, right Cassie?”
“I think we had gym together last semester,” Will supplies helpfully.
“Yes, we did.” Cassie smiles. “It’s nice to see you, Will. Did you have a nice break?”
“Yeah, I did,” he responds easily. “You?”
“It was good,” Cassie replies simply, and then silence falls over our trio.
“Well, we’d better get going,” I say when it becomes clear neither of them are going to say anything else. “Have a good night, Will.”
“Yeah, you too,” he replies. “And thanks for coming, Lennon. It was really nice to see you.”
I smile at him before I head towards the main doors. Cassie follows me.
“He likes you,” she informs me as soon as we emerge outside. Dusk is just beginning to fall, and I watch our shadowy shapes move alongside us as we head towards the parking lot.
“Yeah, I know,” I admit.
“So? Did he ask you out?”
“Of course not!”
Cassie deflates slightly. “Bummer. He’s definitely interested, though. I bet he will next time you talk.”
I blanche. “I hope not.”
“What? Why? He’s cute!” Cassie exclaims. “And he seemed really nice.”
“He is nice,” I sigh. “Too nice.”
“You won’t go out with him because he’s too nice?” A mixture of confusion and amusement fills Cassie’s voice.
“Yes,” I reply simply, unwilling to share the other reason. None of my classmates, the few who might care or the many who wouldn’t, are aware of the fact I’ll be staying in Landry after graduation. Watching everyone else embark on their exciting futures will be difficult enough without getting romantically attached. There’s also no one I’m interested in that way.
“You guys could be perfect together. He could make you a little friendlier, and you could make him a little more . . . intimidating?” Cassie teases.
I give her a hard look, and she laughs. “I like that he’s nice, I just don’t want to date someone I feel like I can’t be myself with.”
Cassie nods. “That makes sense. But I still think you should give Will a chance. You can just go on one date with him. Maybe he’s not as nice as he seems.” She gives me a sly look.
“I’ll think about it,” I reply as we reach the end of the sidewalk. More to get Cassie off my back than actually meaning the words. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“I can drive you home,” Cassie offers. “It’s almost dark out.”
“I’ll be fine,” I respond. “It’s not far.”
“Okay,” Cassie agrees. I’m guessing she’s noticed I’ve never invited her over or allowed a circumstance to arise where she might have to visit Matthews Farm, but she’s never commented about it. Nor does she start now. “See you tomorrow, Lennon!”
“See you!” I call back as I start to make my trek home. The sun is continuing its rapid descent, showcasing a brilliant spray of color across the otherwise fading sky. Only a whisper of orange remains by the time I finish my trek across the east pasture.
Gramps is on the phone when I enter the house, so all I do is drop my backpack in the kitchen before heading upstairs to change into my barn clothes and boots. The ancient hinges let out a familiar groan of greeting as I push the door open, revealing the light yellow walls and white lace curtains of my childhood bedroom. The decor is better suited for a ten year old girl than a seventeen year old one, but I haven’t had the heart to change any of it. Redecorating my room so it was suited for a “big girl” was part of my mother’s final attempt to break free of her gambling addiction, along with the many negative influences perpetuated by it, before an aneurysm ensured she’d never have the chance to conquer it permanently.
It doesn’t take long to change, and Gramps is still on the phone when I emerge downstairs, so I’m out in the barn within minutes. It’s dark out now, much later than I usually start my chores. Rather than start to bring the horses in right away, I flick on all the lights, and then go about preparing the grain and hay allotments and delivering them to each horse’s stall. I mucked out this morning before school, so the stalls are all still clean.
All the horses are eager to get inside and eat. I rode Dusty this morning, but Geiger won’t be getting his scheduled exercise tonight. The practice track doesn’t have any lights, and galloping an ornery stallion in the dark is a surefire way for something to go terribly wrong.
It takes almost an hour to finish up everything in the barn. Gramps has already made dinner by the time I enter the kitchen. It’s tacos, which is a bit adventurous for him. It turns out one of his old trainer buddies was the one calling earlier from down in Florida, where he’s training two-year-olds for the upcoming season. I nod along as Gramps narrates their conversation about breaking from the gate, but I’m not really listening. I’m surprised and relieved Gramps remembers as many training techniques as he apparently does. It eases some of the worry that appears every time he can’t find his keys or leaves the oven on.
After we finish dinner, I help Gramps clean up the kitchen and then say good night. I shower and dress in my favorite pair of striped flannel pajamas, then settle in the rickety wooden chair to complete my assignments for tomorrow. The English outline only takes me ten minutes, but the study guide for my Oceanography class takes a lot longer to complete. I quit when the words start swimming across the page in a black-and-white river. I should have time to go over it again in the morning. Even if—and that’s a big if—Caleb actually shows.
I pack up my bag for tomorrow, get ready for bed, and then slide between the soft sheets, letting out a deep sigh. I love this moment. Nothing that needs my attention. No looming task or assignment. Just silence and my warm, cozy bed. I try to savor it, relish the tranquility.
But I feel myself start drifting towards unconsciousness as soon as my head hits the pillow.
SIX
__________________________________
There’s already a figure sitting on the bleachers when I hop over the gate onto the baseball field.
My stomach sinks as I walk across the grass.
“You’re early,” I state as I take a seat one row below him on the hard metal. The surface is the same temperature as the early morning air, and I’m glad I took the time to put on extra layers when I woke up. The first streaks of sunrise are only just beginning to inch across the horizon, nowhere near powerful enough to warm the bleachers.
“So are you,” Caleb observes. His words are casual, just like his stance. He’s slouched between two of the risers, and the brim of his baseball cap is pulled low, masking most of his face. “Hoping to wrap this up early so you can leave for your Arctic expedition?”
I roll my eyes, and he gives me one of his rare, genuine grins.
Maybe it’s the time. I’m not used to interacting with other people this early, and I haven’t had time to raise the protective shield that’s fully in place by the time I ordinarily arrive at school. But I’m uncharacteristically honest with him. “I was going to leave at 5:3
1,” I admit.
Caleb chuckles. “Why do you think I showed up early, Matthews?”
“I’m offended you think so little of me.” I’m not; I’m surprised he predicted I’d try to get out of this again, and that he made certain I wouldn’t be able to.
“You already admitted to it, Lennon. No need for the fake indignation.”
Ordinarily, it’s a comment I’d bristle in response to, but Caleb’s voice isn’t mocking. It’s matter of fact.
“Let’s get started,” I say, biting back the sarcastic comment I have ready. Despite the chilly temperature and early hour, Caleb actually seems to be in a decent mood. Pissing him off is probably not the best way to get this over with quickly and painlessly.
Caleb doesn’t say anything, which I take as an agreement. “Where do you want to play next year?”
“Pass.”
“You can’t pass on an interview question.”
“I just did,” Caleb retorts.
I grit my teeth. So much for a decent mood. “I can’t write an article about ‘pass.’”
“Then ask a different question.”
“Fine. What’s your favorite thing about playing baseball?”
Caleb’s blue eyes swim with humor. “That’s your second question?”
“I’m not the freaking sports writer, Caleb. I don’t know anything about baseball. What do you want me to ask you?”
Caleb heaves out a sigh, but the exasperated sound doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s still amused. And I belatedly realize I used his first name again. “I’m good,” he states.
“What?” I scramble to recall the question I asked him.
“You asked me what my favorite thing about playing is. I’m good.” I scoff. Loudly. Between that answer and “pass” I’ll probably win a journalism award for this article. “It’s the one thing I never have to think about,” Caleb continues. “When I’m out on the mound, everything is simple and straightforward. Throw the ball as fast as I can to the spot where it needs to go. Yeah, we practice a ton, and I’ve had great coaches, but I’ve always been good at it. It’s the one thing that clicks, you know?”
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