The Hard Way Home

by C. W. Farnsworth

  Caleb just hums in response, still not giving me any indication as to what he’s thinking. And we’ve reached the entrances to the locker rooms, so I don’t have any more time to study his face and figure it out. “See you, Lennon,” is all he says before disappearing into the boys’ one.

  After I’ve changed back into my usual jeans and sweatshirt, I head to the newsroom for our meeting. There are some nerves swirling in my stomach, and I know why. This is our first paper meeting since I handed in the draft for my article about Caleb to Andrew. I didn’t want to write this article in the first place, but the stakes have risen exponentially since I received the assignment. In a way I definitely didn’t expect.

  “Hey,” Julie greets when I take a seat at my desk next to her.

  “Hey,” I reply, glancing around the newsroom. “No Andrew yet?”

  “Nope,” she replies. “But Joe said he was here earlier. Was muttering something about you and then left to ‘take care of something important.’”

  Crap. I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned Senator Winters. I thought it was good human interest, but Andrew probably thought it was distasteful. I have almost every sentence of the article memorized, and I run through the words I spent hours agonizing over, trying to figure out what else might have caused such an extreme reaction in Andrew so I’m prepared for his return.

  The newsroom door flies open a couple minutes later, announcing our esteemed editor’s presence.

  “You’re late,” Joe calls out to Andrew. “Thought you said the news waits for no one.”

  “I did say that,” Andrew replies. He looks . . . almost giddy, and I exchange a quick glance with Julie, trying to figure out what’s going on. She shrugs. Maybe this isn’t about me?

  “Well?” Joe prompts.

  “I had to talk to the printer,” Andrew says. “And up our order for the next issue to two thousand copies.”

  I feel my eyebrows fly upwards. Julie’s mouth drops open. That’s a hundred times our normal order. A quarter of Landry’s population. More copies than students who attend Landry High.

  “What? Why?” I ask, unable to keep my mouth shut. No one else is saying anything.

  Andrew grins. “Funny you should be the one to ask, Lennon. I read your article in study hall earlier. One of the best things I’ve ever read, and I’m not going to be the only one who thinks so. Everyone else, pay close attention to my notes on your own articles. This is going to be the issue people read. Make sure it’s your best work.”

  He pulls a leaflet of papers out from under his arm and starts distributing the packets around the room. He drops Julie’s article draft down in front of her, dotted with red ink. Mine falls next. Without a single mark. That’s never happened.

  Andrew continues moving around the room, dropping off articles and sharing feedback. I remain sitting, in a state of shock.

  “Can I read your article?” Julie asks me eagerly.

  “Sure,” I reply, sliding the sheets of paper over towards her. I tap my pen against the surface of the desk, trying to reconcile the last few minutes with the berating I was bracing for. Two thousand copies? I should be flattered, and a part of me is. But I also know broadening the distribution of my article about Caleb will only tie us together further in the eyes of the student body. I’ve spent the last three and a half years being defined by my so-called hatred of Caleb Winters. Now I’ll be known as the girl who wrote the article about him.

  “Wow. This is really good,” Julie eventually comments.

  “You sound surprised,” I respond, smirking.

  “No, I’m not,” Julie insists. “I just . . . based on how you reacted to getting it assigned I thought . . . ”

  She trails off, but she doesn’t need to finish her thought. I already know what she is trying to say.

  “Yeah, well, if I decide to do something I don’t see any point in half-assing it,” I respond.

  Julie laughs. “Clearly. But I hope you know this is going to seriously boost his reputation.” I must look dubious, because she laughs again. “I mean it. I like him more after reading this. The fact that you wrote it? People are going to give it way more credence.”

  I puzzle over her words for the rest of the meeting and the walk home. Caleb can already do no wrong in the eyes of Landry. Why would one semi-complementary article change that? I didn’t say anything bad about him, but I certainly didn’t gloss over any imperfections. Is that what Julie meant by people giving it more credence? That implies people care what I think or say, which is not an impression I’ve ever gotten.

  This article is also going to cost me the distinction of being immune to Caleb’s charm, I realize.

  The paper meeting ran longer than usual, and I also have a pile of Calculus problems waiting for me, so I rush through the evening chores. I hop off Dusty’s back just as darkness is fully descending and lead her back to the barn shining like a beacon of light. Untacking only takes a few minutes, and then I release Dusty into her stall to enjoy her dinner.

  When I turn back around, Caleb is leaning against the adjoining stall. A puissant combination of felicity and anticipation fizzes inside of me. I’m happy to see him. “Hey.” My voice is blasé, not exposing the fact my insides are doing some impressive acrobatics.

  “Hey,” Caleb replies, tone easy and even.

  “Did you win?” He’s wearing his baseball uniform, and I really wish he wasn’t. It’s worse than the suit he wore to his grandfather’s funeral. The only other time I’ve seen him wearing Landry’s uniform was on the bleachers at junior prom, and even the memory of that encounter isn’t enough to curb the attraction mixing with the joy. It’s a heady cocktail.

  “Yeah,” Caleb responds. The answer I’m expecting, with an underlying note I’m not.

  “What?” I demand. Is he annoyed I didn’t know? Didn’t go?

  He shrugs, and I realize he’s not mad. He’s amused. Mirth fills his voice when he answers me. “I threw a no-hitter.”

  “That’s good, right?” I surmise.

  Caleb grins. “Yeah.” He straightens and takes a few steps towards me. I lean back against the hard ridge of the stall door as he approaches. I thought “weak in the knees” was something that only happened in Regency novels, but clearly it can happen in barns in Kentucky, too. Caleb’s presence is intoxicating. He doesn’t stop his approach until I can see all the shades of blue in his eyes.

  “I already went for my ride,” I whisper.

  Caleb’s dimples appear. He’s amused, not offended. “Yeah, I kind of figured. It’s pitch black out.” He came over anyway. Neither of us say it, but we’re both thinking it. His hot, hard body is pressing against mine now, but I don’t feel trapped. I feel protected. Shielded. I'm not normally one to ogle at a guy’s body, although the form-fitting pants and short-sleeved t-shirt he’s wearing do more than hint at Caleb’s physique. He looks strong. Masculine. Still a boy, but almost a man. He’s come a long way from the pompous fourteen-year-old who I met outside Principal Owens’ office.

  I kiss him first. He’s expecting it this time, though, and responds immediately. I’m cocooned in warmth again, not only from my own response. The thin polyester of his baseball uniform isn’t doing a whole lot to block the heat emanating from his body. Shivers race up and down my spine as tentative touches turn hungry. Fierce. Ravenous. I learn that when I suck on his lower lip he groans.

  We don’t pull apart until “Lennie!” echoes across the front yard. Caleb and I survey each other for a minute, both out of breath.

  Maybe it’s the residual endorphins. “Do you want to stay for dinner?” is out before I have a chance to think about it.

  If Caleb’s taken aback by my offer, he doesn’t show it. “Yeah, sure,” he agrees, before I have a chance to panic too much.

  And that’s how I end up entering the kitchen with Caleb right behind me. Gramps looks past me and starts gushing over Caleb. Apparently, the fact he pitched a whole game without allowing the other team to hit the ball is
kind of a big deal. Which explains some of Caleb’s amusement in the barn. My grandfather is more up-to-date on town news than I am.

  After dinner, which is thankfully one of Gramps’ better creations, I walk Caleb back out to his truck. It’s warm enough I don’t need a jacket. Although maybe that has more to do with Caleb’s proximity. He kisses me again before he leaves, the first time he’s initiated one between us. I’m giddy as I watch him drive away, even as a little voice whispers in the back of my mind this is a bad idea.

  *****

  The following two weeks seem to fly by. Caleb’s schedule grows more hectic thanks to baseball, and mine was already packed. But he continues coming over, mostly at night, but sometimes in the morning, and we talk. About everything and nothing. School gossip, politics, books, sports, music, movies. The only thing we never discuss is the future. I suspect Caleb never brings it up because he knows the entire school is eagerly trying to figure out which elite Division I university he’ll be pitching at next spring, and it’s a topic he’d rather not discuss.

  Of course, I have my own reasons for avoiding the subject.

  “Caleb’s been spending a lot of time over here lately,” Gramps comments one evening at dinner, right after Caleb’s just left.

  “I guess,” I reply, a bit thrown by his cautious tone. He fawns over Caleb. Plus, I thought he’d be doing cartwheels over the fact that I have a . . . something.

  “Just be careful,” Gramps warns. “The Winters, they . . . well, Elaine—”

  A shockwave rolls through me at the sound of my mother’s name. “What about Mom?”

  “The Winters family has been worshipped here for a long time,” Gramps says. “Caleb’s father, Andrew—well people treated him the same way they treat Caleb now. I’m glad you’re having some fun, but I don’t want you to get hurt.” I wonder if Caleb would be amused or horrified my grandfather is apparently aware of his heartbreaker reputation. Probably both.

  Gramps reaches under the kitchen table and pulls a blue bundle of fabric out. He hands the roll to me.

  “Uh, what’s this?” I ask.

  “A sleeping bag,” Gramps replies, smiling slightly. “Figured you could use it on the senior trip. It gets cold up in the mountains at night.”

  “I’m not going on the senior trip, Gramps. I—”

  “Yes, you are,” he interrupts. There’s an undercurrent of authority I don’t often hear from him. “I let college drop—for now.” He gives me a stern look. “Because you’re partially right. I don’t have any good options for taking care of things around here myself for that long. But three nights I can handle. And, before you ask, I do have friends coming to help out. Go be a kid for a bit, Lennie. I know you had to grow up fast, and I’m sorry you did. But life is short. You already know that. You’ll regret it if you don’t go.”

  I want to argue, but studying his weathered, wrinkled face, I realize this is for him as much as for me. He wants to do this.

  “Okay.” I blow out a breath. “I’ll go.”

  I stand to clear our empty plates, and then circle the table so I can wrap my arms around him, chair and all. It reminds me of the days I used to spend traveling around the farm on his back.

  “I love you, Gramps.”

  He pats my arm affectionately. “Love you too, Lennie. Just no shenanigans with that Winters boy on the trip, all right?”

  “Gramps!” I exclaim. I can feel my cheeks burning, and I’m glad he can’t see my face right now.

  He laughs and stands. “What sort of guardian would I be if I sent you off on an overnight trip without mentioning it? I was a young man once myself.”

  “Stop talking! I’m going out for the night check now,” I inform him, still blushing.

  Gramps’ chuckles follow me out of the house. The mare barn is still and quiet when I enter it, but the horses hear the door creak open and start rustling around. I head inside the tack room to grab the hay bags I already prepared earlier. I divvy them out among the five mares the same way I do every night, and then return to the tack room where we store all the hay and grain.

  I lay down on the unopened bale and stare up at the bottom of the trophy case. More specifically, at the four sets of initials there. Mine, my mother’s, Caleb’s, and, after my conversation with Gramps, a pair I’m pretty sure must belong to Caleb’s father. Andrew Winters.

  It’s a bizarre thought. My mother and I were about as opposite as two people could be. She was flighty, unreliable, and gregarious. I’m none of those things. It’s strange to think we may have similar taste in men. Although that’s not entirely true. I don’t . . . like Caleb because he’s popular. Or celebrated. I like him because I enjoy talking to him and his mere presence gives me butterflies.

  I stand and grab a permanent marker before I lay back down.

  I scribble out the “hates” between our initials. Then, I cross out the initials themselves.

  Perceived permanence is dangerous.

  SIXTEEN

  __________________________________

  I’ve spent most of high school making fun of the girls who fall over themselves to talk to Caleb Winters. Yet here I am, anxiously scanning the halls. Looking for him.

  I glance to the right again, but there’s no sign of him. Annoyed with myself for even looking, I unzip my backpack so I can transfer the books for my first three periods from my locker.

  “Looking for someone?”

  I startle, and then look to the right. Caleb is now standing in front of the locker directly next to mine, giving me a wide grin.

  “Nope,” I lie as I zip my backpack up. “Although . . . I guess, since you’re here . . . I am kind of wondering what you thought of the article?”

  “What article?” Caleb asks, completely straight-faced.

  I shoot him a glance that makes it clear I’m not amused. All he replies with is a smirk. So, I start babbling nervously. “I know it was supposed to be all about baseball, but I don’t really know that much about baseball, which you know, and I thought that adding—”

  The bell rings, cutting me off.

  “I’ve got to run,” Caleb says. “Mr. Kerry is a stickler for attendance. I’ll come over tonight, okay?”

  I nod, although it doesn’t escape my attention he’s leaving without saying anything about the article. I head in the opposite direction from Caleb’s retreating back, towards my own homeroom.

  Cassie is literally bouncing in her seat when I enter the classroom, a copy of the school paper clutched in her left hand. Surprisingly, I realize most of my classmates already have copies as well. That’s definitely a first.

  “Cool article, Lennon,” Harper Kelly comments as I pass her.

  “Uh, thanks,” I respond.

  I sink down in my usual seat next to Cassie just as the announcements start. Cassie doesn’t pay Principal Owens’ voice any attention.

  “Oh. My. God,” she tells me, leaning across the aisle so she’s closer to me. “I can’t believe you wrote this, Lennon!” She shakes the paper in my face.

  “In a good way or a bad way?” I whisper.

  “Good! I mean, ‘there’s a reason that every resident of Landry, Kentucky knows the name—”

  “I know what it says, Cassie.”

  She laughs. “Right. Yeah. I guess you would.”

  It turns out maybe Andrew wasn’t insanely optimistic on the number of copies. All day, I keep passing peers clutching copies of the paper.

  Ryan James shows up at my locker at the end of the day, while I’m distracted switching books between my backpack and locker.

  “What did Winters have to do to get such a glowing review from Landry’s least social butterfly?” he asks, dangling a copy of the school paper between his fingertips.

  “Answer a few questions,” I deadpan, not rising to the bait.

  “Well, you never answered my question about hanging out,” Ryan persists.

  I huff out an annoyed sigh. “Yeah, I actually did. I’ve got to go.”

>   I move to leave, but he blocks me with my own writing, holding out the copy of the paper he’s holding. “At least sign it for me.”

  I’m tempted just to blow past him, but a more appealing idea comes to mind. “Sure.” I grab a pen from my backpack, take the paper from him, and scrawl “NOT INTERESTED” in uppercase letters across my article on Caleb.

  “Here you go,” I say sweetly, holding it out to him. “Since you didn’t get the message last time.” I brush past him.

  I head to the library, where I’m supposed to meet Eddie Powers for our third tutoring session. He’s a sophomore on the baseball team who is currently struggling with geometry and seems bereft of the superiority complex most of Landry’s jocks seem to fall prey to. He’s on time, just like he’s been the last two times, which elevates my positive opinion of him further. I’m a stickler for punctuality.

  “Sweet article about Winters,” he compliments he takes a seat across from me at the table I selected in a far corner of the library.

  “Thanks,” I reply. “Maybe it’ll improve the baseball team’s opinion of me. I know there’s no love lost there.”

  Rather than laugh like I expect him to, Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, right. Like any guy on the team would dare say anything about you.”

  I was in the midst of pulling a notebook out of my backpack, but I freeze when his words sink in. “What do you mean?”

  Eddie shrugs, less interested in the topic than I am. “Everyone just knows not to say anything about you. Last year one of the other freshman made a crack about your dad, and Winters almost broke his nose. Uh, sorry.”

  I’m too distracted to take offense high schoolers are still using my father’s overdose as comedic material. “You must have misunderstood.”