“It was worth it,” Cassie assures me. And it sounds like she means it. “Did you see her face after you threw that second cup? I thought—”
“Lennon!” I turn, and Will has appeared. “Hi, Cassie,” he adds.
“Hey, Will,” she responds, and I smile.
“Can I get you ladies anything to drink?” he offers.
I bite my bottom lip to contain my smile, but Cassie doesn’t have the same wherewithal to block her amusement. A bubble of hilarity escapes between her lips.
“Yeah, drinks would be great,” I tell Will.
He returns with cans of beer, and one glance at Cassie reveals she’s also imagining what the slow glug of beer would have looked like trickling over Madison.
Cassie excuses herself a couple minutes after Will returns with our drinks, in an obvious attempt to leave the two of us alone. We chat easily, although Will does most of the talking. He’s in the midst of explaining the joke gift holiday tradition in his family when one of his basketball teammates ambles over to us, clearly already having had a lot to drink.
I tell Will I’m going to grab another drink, and he nods, preoccupied with keeping his teammate upright. Rather than head for the beverages, I hike up the edge of the small hill that slopes into the clearing and sit on a random truck’s tailgate. I find Cassie next to the bonfire, and watch her chatting with a few other girls before turning my gaze upward at the stars. I’ve just started tracing the shape of the Little Dipper when I feel the tailgate dip from the weight of another body.
“Heard you dumped beer on Madison,” Colt Adams states in greeting.
“Your sources are correct,” I reply, keeping my gaze overhead so as not to reveal how shocked I am Caleb’s best friend is voluntarily speaking to me. That’s happened . . . never.
Colt chuckles. “He did it because Masterson invited you, you know.”
My mind races at the implication, but I keep my voice emotionless when I respond. “No idea what you’re talking about, Colt.”
“How much do you want to bet he’s going to come over here? Twenty bucks?”
“I don’t have twenty bucks.”
My honest admission doesn’t have the effect I hoped it would. “Fine. If he doesn’t come over here, I’ll give you twenty bucks. If he does, I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing I was right.”
“Whatever.” I resume staring at the star-strewn sky.
“So, how come you’re finally gracing us with your presence?”
“Gracing you with my presence? Laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?” I don’t think Colt is drunk, but I’m hardly the best judge. And it would explain why he’s talking to me, never mind what he’s said.
“I’ve found charm to be more effective than giving a girl a bloody nose.” I give him a sharp look for that comment, but all Colt does is smile serenely. Maybe he is sober.
“Once again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” Colt smirks. “You may be a lot of things, Lennon, but you’re not clueless.” He hops off the tailgate in one smooth motion. “I really hope you start coming out. Things are much more entertaining with you around.”
“You’re leaving before our bet is resolved?”
He nods to our right. “Better luck next time.” I look over to see Caleb approaching me. Colt suddenly disappears.
“You just lost me twenty bucks,” I inform Caleb as he takes the spot beside me Colt just vacated.
“Well, I caught quite a bit of beer spray and a bruised shoulder earlier, so I’d say we’re even, no?” His tone is a bit wry, but there’s no anger in the words.
“Hazard of being around Madison,” I reply. “Surprised that hasn’t happened to you before.”
“Probably because the only person who would dare toss beer on her is you.” His voice is almost amused. “And you’re not exactly a frequent attendee at these things.”
I shrug, not denying it. “I doubt she’ll manage to come up with any insults I haven’t heard before. It was worth it.”
Caleb doesn’t say anything, and I make the mistake of looking over at him. Those piercing blue eyes aren’t looking at the party, or the sky. They’re looking at me. My clothes. My face. I don’t know how much he can see in the dim light, but something tells me Caleb has noticed the changes in my usual appearance. A warmth that has nothing to do with the borrowed wool I’m wearing works its way through my body. I lift my gaze back up to the stars, thoroughly unsettled.
“Could you leave?” I finally ask irritably. “Or do you just love annoying me too much?”
The questions come out harshly, but Caleb appears unbothered by my tone. “It’s not my least favorite pastime,” he comments, followed by an infuriating smirk.
“So I rank above playing baseball or hooking up with snotty wannabe debutantes?” Caleb raises a brow. I smirk. “Your two other pastimes.”
Caleb lets out an exaggerated scoff. “‘Snotty wannabe debutantes’? Is that what you call girls who don’t toss beer on other people?” His voice has a bit of an edge now, too.
I bristle. “It was an accident.”
“Twice?”
“The first time. I tripped. I didn’t have any control over who got soaked.”
“Awfully convenient where it landed, then.” There’s no teasing now. He’s mad.
“Trust me, if I had any sort of cosmic power I would not be wasting it on drenching Madison in beer. No matter how much I can’t stand her. There are a lot of other things I’d do, or change instead.”
“Like what?” Caleb asks.
I fumble. I expected him to keep goading me instead. “What?”
“What would you change?”
“Everything,” I blurt, then reconsider my words. Not Gramps. Not the horses, no matter how much work they are. “Some things.”
“Your parents?” Caleb asks quietly.
My gaze flies from the sky to him. People don’t bring up my parents. Thanks to Ryan James’ big mouth, I know Caleb heard about my dad’s death, but he’s never acknowledged I’m an orphan. “Maybe.” My voice sounds small. Young. Vulnerable.
And suddenly, I’m panicked. This is too far away from our ordinary insults. Miles away. States. Oceans. Much rawer than this morning. It feels intimate. I feel exposed. I want to flee, but I won’t give Caleb the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten to me again. In an entirely different way.
“You said you were single this morning.” I say the words in an attempt to navigate our conversation back to less personal waters. To paint him like the carefree heartbreaker I know he is. Maybe it would have worked. But my voice is all wrong, unrecovered from my last statement. My tone is too accusing, too emotional, with a hint of hurt.
I sound like I care.
Which I don’t.
I wait for Caleb to accuse me of being jealous, so that I can emphatically deny it. But Will decides to reappear before Caleb can say a word.
“Lennon!” Will lopes over to the side of the truck, glancing at Caleb curiously. Probably wondering why he keeps finding him next to me. I’m pondering the same thing.
“Hey!” I greet Will more enthusiastically than I ordinarily would, for two reasons. One, I’m incredibly grateful he interrupted our conversation when he did. And two, I want Caleb to notice the discrepancy between their welcomes.
“We’re playing Horseshoes,” Will informs me. “You in?”
“Definitely.” I slide off the tailgate without a backwards glance, leaving Caleb sitting there.
“Were you discussing the article again?” Will asks me as we head towards the dirt patch where I can see the game being assembled. His voice is casual, but there’s an undercurrent of curiosity.
“No. My parents,” I state bluntly. Since Will is one of the few people in Landry who has a favorable view of me, I’m not eager to blemish it by disclosing we were mostly discussing how I tossed beer on someone earlier. I’m also curious if Caleb’s willingness to discuss my parents is a pro
duct of the time that’s passed since my father’s death, or if it’s unique to him.
Will stumbles on nothing. “Oh. That’s . . . ”
That answers that. “Morbid, I know.” I finish his sentence for him.
And also kind of cathartic.
EIGHT
__________________________________
I enter school on Monday expecting it to be a day like any other. I’m wide awake, which is a rarity at this hour. I spent the weekend sleeping, riding, and trying to write my article about Caleb.
At first, I think I must be overtired after all. But after the third person says hello to me, I decide I’ve stepped into some sort of alternate reality instead. I turn down the hallway towards my locker, smiling hesitantly back at a girl in my History class who’s never spoke to me before.
“Lennon!” I turn to see Cassie bouncing down the hallway. Her eager expression falls slightly when she takes in my appearance. “You were supposed to wear the red sweater,” she chastises. “It looked so good on you.”
“I forgot,” I reply, which is true. I’m so accustomed to grabbing whatever sweatshirt is draped over the back of my desk chair that by the time I remembered Cassie’s instructions I was already halfway to school. “I’ll wear it tomorrow.”
Her face brightens again. “Have you noticed anything weird this morning?” She whispers as we continue down the hall.
“Yeah, I have,” I reply, glancing away from her to hallway again. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“I think it’s because of Friday night,” she replies.
It takes me a minute to grasp her meaning. “You mean, what happened with Madison?”
Cassie nods. “I heard—” Whatever she was planning to say is interrupted by the sound of the first bell. “I’ve got to run,” she tells me. “I’ll see you in homeroom.”
I keep walking down the hallway solo, and finally reach my locker. It’s growing increasingly crowded in the halls, but people still manage to send me side looks as they pass by. There’s no derision in the glances, just curiosity. Maybe a hint of awe. I was in no way expecting the few hours I spent in the clearing to have any bearing on my social status at school, and I’m surprised to realize it apparently has, to a certain, likely temporary extent.
For once, people appear to be associating me with something other than my notorious parents and my dislike for the guy everyone else loves. I’m now infamous for having the gall to drench Madison Herbert in beer. It’s an upgrade. I think.
I’m less certain when Ryan James suddenly appears next to my locker and leans against Ellie Nash’s.
“Want to hang out tonight?” He shoots me a cocky grin.
“You’re asking me out?” My tone is dry, not betraying the shock coursing through me that’s a product of the surprise I manage to keep out of my voice. I see Ryan more than I’d like to, thanks to the fact his locker is only a few doors down from mine. Occasionally, he’ll toss a suggestive comment or innuendo my way. But he hasn’t asked me to hang out since his brief flash of attention the summer before high school. Following my father’s death, he’s never shown any interest beyond exploiting the shock value speaking to me tends to incur, which is why I usually just choose to ignore him.
“Seems that way,” he answers. He smirks, seemingly confident in what my response will be. Maybe ignoring him for the past few years was a mistake.
“Hmmmm . . . give me a minute,” I respond, turning back to my locker.
“A minute?” Ryan’s voice is thick with disbelief. If I had to place a bet, I’d say the odds are pretty high he’s never been turned down before. Landry High may offer a small pool of dating prospects, but the number of girls who have yet to fall for Ryan’s self-assured lines probably looks more like a puddle at this point. It’s not that I don’t see the appeal. He’s attractive, with wavy blonde hair, light brown eyes, and a boyish grin I’ve seen render many a girl speechless. But there’s something about his slick charm I’ve always found repellant.
“To think of all the things I’d rather do instead,” I give him a sweet smile. “On second thought, that’s going to take longer than a minute. Like a few days, maybe?”
“Good to know the rumors don’t disappoint,” Ryan responds, giving me a look I’m concerned to see is almost admiring. I thought that barb would send him packing. I’m about to ask him what he means when he adds an unexpected question. “Is it because of Winters?”
“What?” Surprise forces my voice to come out higher than usual, and I hope he doesn’t read it as some admission of guilt. “Why would this have anything to do with Caleb?”
Ryan gives me a scrutinizing glance. “I saw you two talking Friday night.”
“He has nothing to do with why I don’t want to ‘hang out’ with you tonight,” I state firmly.
“You think you’re too good for him, or something?” Ryan laughs at the absurd notion, but it also seems as though he’s being . . . protective towards Caleb? I’ll never understand boys. Ryan was the golden boy of Landry before Caleb took that crown from him freshman year. I’ve wondered if the involuntary relinquishment bothered him before, but I’ve never seen any evidence of it. Whenever I’ve seen the two of them together they appear friendly, but it’s hard to believe there’s no tension between the two. At least on Ryan’s side. No one likes being upstaged.
“Yes, that’s exactly it.” My voice is dripping with sarcasm.
“He was kissing Madison when you drenched her. You seem like the type to have a jealous streak.” I’m caught off guard by that comment, but I try not to let it show. I didn’t even see Ryan at Marcus’ on Friday night. Is that what people are telling him? Or did he come up with this absurd theory himself?
“I can see how you were probably too busy hooking up with every girl who gave you the time of day to notice, but Caleb and I do not get along. He’s the last person I would get jealous over, believe me.”
Ryan seems to, because the expression he gives me is almost . . . disappointed? And suddenly, his line of questioning starts to make sense. He wants me to like Caleb. I suspect some of Ryan’s confidence is feigned. Caleb’s is not. It’s just part of who he is. He’s a Winters. Grandson of a senator. He’s the most decorated athlete Landry High has ever produced. He’s smart. Good-looking. It’s just who he is, and no one can diminish any of it. I’m sure there have been plenty of girls who have chosen Caleb over Ryan. But that’s better than me turning him down for no obvious reason at all.
“Think it over,” Ryan tells me, recovering his lazy grin. “See if you reconsider what I said about jealous streaks.”
“I was not jealous!” I tell him emphatically.
“Who said I was talking about you?” he asks cryptically before straightening and continuing down the hall. “See you, Lennon.”
My day doesn’t improve much from there. I have a pop quiz in History, followed by an announcement in Oceanography we’ll be spending the class period performing an octopus dissection. Our Oceanography teacher, Ms. Lyons, tries to assuage the protests by announcing we can choose our lab partners. Everyone but me seems cheered by the prospect.
Shannon is in my class, though, so I seize the opportunity to test out Cassie’s comments on Friday night. I don’t fully believe her. I’m guessing it’s her way of “helping”—and by helping I mean forcing—me into better integrating with our lunch cohort.
“Do you want to work together?” I ask Shannon, plopping down on the empty stool next to her.
“Sure,” she replies, appearing genuinely enthusiastic about the prospect, which I take as a promising sign. “I’m not sure I would have taken this class if I’d known it would involve dissecting sea creatures.”
“Hopefully it won’t be too—” I stop talking when Ms. Lyons sets a metal tray in front of us that’s mostly covered by a slimy, gray lump. It jiggles when the tray makes contact with the table. “Gross,” I finish.
Although it appears gelatinous, the mucilaginous surface of the mollusk p
roves challenging to pierce. After we’ve donned surgical gloves, Shannon holds the sides of the dead octopus while I attempt to pierce the skin with the scalpel. It’s a difficult, disgusting process.
“Well, it’s a good thing we stopped getting invites to all the track events, because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat calamari again, or any of the other fancy seafood they serve,” I comment.
“I’m sorry,” Shannon replies.
“It’s all right, I never really liked it all that much anyway.”
She lets out a little laugh. “No. I’m sorry about the way I—the way so many people—treated you freshman year. That some people still act that way. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”
“It sucked,” I summarize succinctly.
Shannon nods. “If it makes any difference, I’ve always been impressed by how you handled it. I know I never would have been able to keep my cool the way you did. I don’t think many people could.”
“Yeah, well, they probably wouldn’t have to,” I state. Shannon doesn’t deny it. My father’s fatal overdose was far from the first scandal to rock Landry. The only difference is Gramps and I chose to stay in town rather than relocate. Gramps’ roots are too deep to ever leave Landry voluntarily. It’s why I won’t allow him to consider selling the farm. It’s part of who he is. “But thank you,” I add, acknowledging her words. And the courage it took to say them.
Shannon smiles at me, and I feel like my social “line” might have just become a triangle.
I encounter Andrew on my way to my locker after Oceanography. He’s hurrying down the hallway, but stops when he spots me.
“Lennon! Just the person I wanted to see,” he tells me.
That worries me slightly, but I smile anyway. “About what?”
“The article, of course! How is it going?” He doesn’t give me an opportunity to answer. “I heard about Friday night, by the way. Brilliant!”
I don’t think he’s talking about tossing beer on Madison Herbert, so I ask, “Why?”
“Going to a party to see how Caleb acts off the field? Great way to get a different perspective for your article. Why do you think journalists follow around their subjects for days?”
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