Copyright © 2021 C.W. Farnsworth
Print ISBN: 978711592013
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or, if an actual place, are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Cover Design: C.W. Farnsworth
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For my grandparents.
I love you.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
Star pitcher. Town golden boy. Heartbreaker. Nemesis.
Caleb Winters was a familiar name long before he deigned Landry High with his presence. It took me all of ten seconds to determine he’s everything I’m not: charismatic, captivating, and celebrated.
Unlike most of Landry, he doesn’t shy away from my messy background. Or pretend I don’t exist. He answers my caustic remarks with choice retorts of his own. Our notorious bickering aside, I don’t have time for the town golden boy. I have actual problems. Challenges. Crushing responsibilities.
But when I’m suddenly forced to spend more time with him, I unexpectedly discover Caleb Winters might be more than just the entitled jock I’ve sparred with since freshman year. And that realization can only end badly. For me. Because everyone knows he’s destined for big, impressive things, and I’m… not.
Freshman
Year
ONE
__________________________________
High school has a distinctive smell to it. Like new notebooks and desperation. Reheated food and uncertainty. Ammonia and excitement. The locker-lined halls echo with gossip and the freshly scrubbed linoleum squeaks under the soles of my sneakers. Familiar faces flash by. Eyes meet mine, then dart away. I keep my face impassive. I came prepared for this.
I’ve been in this building a total of only two times, but I know where I’m going. It takes a special type of idiot to get lost in what is essentially a cinderblock square. I don’t slow my steps until I arrive at the glass door emblazoned with black, block letters that proclaim it to be my destination.
Smoothing the wrinkled paper I’m clutching against the skin of my thigh, I hope the school secretary won’t notice the matching damp spots where my palms have been clutching the form. And also pray she won’t mention the fact my green cotton dress is close to making a mockery of the dress code. I spent the summer in ratty t-shirts and jean cut-offs. Those clothes didn’t reflect my growth spurt the way any of my “nicer” ones do.
There are a lot of things I don’t know about myself yet. But I know I’ll never be the type of person to go shopping when my world crumbles apart.
The hinges groan as I push the heavy door open, announcing my arrival to the school secretary. She glances up with a prepared smile that falters slightly when she registers my features. The curse of living in a small, nosy town. I keep my own face blank, although I’m tempted to wrinkle my nose in response to the lemon scent hanging heavily in the air. The aroma is overpowering.
“Hi. I just need to drop this off.” I rush the words out, anxious to have them expelled. Eager to be rid of this form and be one step closer to getting through this day.
I drop the sheet of paper on top of the desk she’s seated behind, trying to ignore the bold letters at the top that are just another reminder I’m now an orphan.
The secretary’s brown eyes dart between me and the wrinkled sheet. “Of course, Ms. Matthews. I’ll get the paperwork entered in the system right away.”
“Thank you.” I turn to leave, squirming in the wake of her formal use of my last name. Landry High is known for its “treat the teenagers like adults, and they’ll act like adults” philosophy, which encourages faculty to address us by our last names. I’m not a fan.
“Uh—Ms. Matthews?”
“Yes?” I take my time spinning back around, unhappy about having to prolong this interaction.
“We have a new student starting today. I just pulled up your schedule, and you have the same homeroom. Would you be willing to show—” Her question is interrupted by the wooden door behind her opening. Revealing a face I’ve never seen before. A rare statement in Landry, Kentucky; home to just over five thousand people. I’ve never seen the features before, but I know exactly who they belong to. I knew the moment the words “new student” were uttered.
No Winters needs an introduction in the state of Kentucky.
It didn’t take long for the residents of Landry to move past the news of my father’s death last month, although the reception in the hallway confirmed no one’s forgotten about it. Not only because he was an outsider. Not only because of the circumstances surrounding it. But because it was overshadowed by the speculation of why Andrew Winters was moving back to Landry with his wife and only son. By excitement that Landry’s most respected family is expanding its presence in town.
Caleb Winters looks wealthy. Important. He also appears annoyed. A scowl mars his otherwise perfect features, indicating he’s about as thrilled to be here as I am. His black hair is ruffled, like he’s just run his hand through it; his blue eyes blaze, like the flame at the base of a candle absent of soot.
He strolls out of Principal Owen’s office and into the main office like he’s walking along a red carpet that was rolled out just for his arrival. I can practically feel the entitlement wafting off of him, cloying the citrus-scented air.
“Perfect timing,” the secretary says, conveniently ignoring the fact she never completed her request. And that I never answered, much less accepted. “Mr. Winters, Ms. Matthews here has the same homeroom as you. You can find your way there together.”
I’m tempted to argue, but all that would accomplish is prolonging this interaction out longer. So, I simply nod, and turn back around to leave the office again. I fling my full weight against the metal bar, enforcing enough velocity it swings open without the grumble I was met with before. I stride out into the rapidly emptying hallway, trying to act as though I don’t have a care in the world. As if this is just a mere inconvenience on an unremarkable day. In reality, I’m closely listening for the sound of footsteps behind me. There’s nothing, and then . . .
“I hope they haven’t inflicted your idea of a welcome
tour on anyone else.” The words are dry. Judgmental.
I scoff as Caleb Winters falls into step beside me, but I feel more like smirking. Weirdly, I welcome his combative tone. More of the cold silence he displayed in the office would have been easy to ignore, but I’m already in a bad mood. I’m angry. Embarrassed. Sad. The secretary in the office didn’t do anything to incite my wrath, and yet I wanted to snap at her. Caleb is asking for it. And I’m happy to deliver.
“Don’t tell me I’ve offended a Winters.” I inject as much mocking incredulity as I can muster into his last name. “The horror. And on my first day.”
Caleb just laughs, which bothers me more than anything he might have said in response. It’s a nice laugh. Husky. Genuine. But my appreciation for it fades when he explains the source of his amusement. “It’s your first day?”
“Took you long enough to put that together. Homerooms are assigned by class year, Winters.”
“Well, it certainly explains why the numbers are still going up and we’re already way past 204.”
I tug my crumpled class schedule out of my backpack, unwilling to take his word for it. I skim the paper.
Damn it, he’s right.
I spin in place and start stalking in the opposite direction, down the now-empty hallway. Evidently no one else had any issues navigating what I also thought was a foolproof system.
“You’ve got a bit of a temper, huh?” Caleb observes.
I don’t answer, confirming his point.
“Seems like a stupid idea, having the two new kids wander the halls together,” Caleb offers. I think he’s trying to smooth things over with me, but it’s the exact wrong thing to say. Being labeled as a new kid is the equivalent of social suicide in the Landry educational system, the way being labeled an outsider is the equivalent of being a pariah in the greater town.
“I’m not new.” The words are heated, overly defensive.
I can feel Caleb’s blue eyes on me, and I know what he’s trying to piece together. It’s a rarity to see a new face in Landry during the fall. I’m certain he’s spent summers at his grandfather’s massive estate, observing Landry’s most prized accolades first-hand: being home to the longest-running racetrack in the country, and the longest-serving senator. The former claim to fame is the reason Landry is flooded by unfamiliar faces in the warmer months; the latter is the reason Caleb Winters will never be considered a new kid or labeled an outsider. In a town that traces lineage and tracks net worth, he’s as “in” as it gets. And he knows it, which explains the confused look on his face right now. Because even the limited amount of time he’s spent in Landry up until now has been more than enough for him to meet each member of every notable family. We both know what him not recognizing me means.
I may not be new, but I’m certainly an outsider.
If this encounter had happened more than two months ago, I probably would be bright red by now. But loss and grief have a way of painting life into starker contrasts. Small, petty grievances tend to lose their sting when your world is toppled. Cleaved. So I don’t say a thing. I let the awkward silence between us stretch and stretch, until it has draped the whole hallway around us in discomfort.
“I don’t know your name.” It takes Caleb forty-six seconds to barge through the quiet. I don’t realize I’m counting them until he speaks.
“I surmised as much,” I reply acerbically.
“You know who I am.”
“The secretary called you Winters.” No way am I admitting to him I already knew exactly who he is. But I’ve already told him I’m not new to town, and even those who are know the Winters name. He knows I already knew. Knowing something and admitting it are two different things, though. “She called me by my name too, you know.” I can’t resist the dig. Although it suddenly dawns on me I’m essentially just emphasizing the fact he didn’t care enough to remember my last name when the secretary said it, which is not exactly the point I was hoping to get across.
Caleb doesn’t say anything as we pass the door marked 206 and finally arrive at our shared homeroom. I yank at the door handle, and yet another squeaky set of hinges announces our arrival. The custodial staff may have scrubbed the floors spotless, but some oil would have served me much better today than gleaming tiles to stomp along.
I’ve spent many sleepless nights wondering how uncomfortable it might be to encounter my classmates this August morning. Being entirely ignored was a best-case scenario. Arriving late with Caleb Winters in tow is essentially the polar opposite of the incognito entrance I was hoping to make.
“Ms. Lennon Matthews, I presume?” My attention is drawn away from the sea of familiar faces staring openly at me to the middle-aged woman standing in the front of the room. Her lips are pursed, and she looks less than pleased about our late arrival. A tight bun exacerbates her stern face and crossed arms.
Despite my lingering annoyance towards the boy I can feel hovering behind me, my manners kick in automatically.
“Yes, ma’am,” I confirm. There’s a sharp intake of breath behind me, and I have to battle the urge to look behind me and witness the moment Caleb Winters realizes I’m a member of Landry’s most disgraced family. What’s left of it, anyway.
“And this must be Mr. Caleb Winters with you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Caleb steps forward, stopping about five feet to my left. Distancing himself from me. “I’m Caleb Winters.” Confidence saturates his voice, and attention shifts from me to him. Demeaning murmurs morph into excited whispers. Pitying stares become admiring glances.
It doesn’t surprise me. It doesn’t sting. But it does piss me off.
“I’m sorry we’re tardy, ma’am. Caleb thought the room was the other way.” I regret the hasty words as soon as they leave my mouth. I’m not a liar. Or I didn’t use to be. But it’s easy—disarmingly easy—to act poorly if that’s what people expect from you.
Caleb looks at me for the first time since we entered the classroom. I expect him to appear annoyed, or angry, but he doesn’t. He seems surprised, and somehow that’s infinitely worse.
“I’ll let it slide since it’s the first day,” our teacher announces. “Take your seats, please.”
There are exactly two open seats left. One in the front and one in the back. I head towards the rear of the room, feeling the weight of the disparaging looks differently as I settle in the hard chair. Shame is a heavy cloak. Especially when it’s warranted.
Based on the surprised look Caleb just gave me, I may have just managed to make the one classmate who didn’t already look down on me for no reason a genuine one to.
My guilt doesn’t last very long, though. I stop off at my locker before lunch to dump the three heavy textbooks I’ve already accumulated inside. Landry takes its academics very seriously. I already decided I will be avoiding the cafeteria and eat lunch in the library instead. I’m about to head in that direction when I hear a voice belonging to someone I’d really rather avoid. Ryan James is a stereotypical jock. He’s played quarterback since whenever boys start playing football, and the combination of that and his endless supply of self-confidence has granted him some form of popularity. He spent the first half of the summer directing some serious attention my way. My best friend—now ex-best friend—Madison was convinced he had a thing for me. Nothing my dad’s death didn’t take care of. I wonder how he’s handling Caleb’s arrival. The first challenge to his alpha male status since kindergarten.
As if I summoned him, I hear another voice I recognize immediately. “Hey. It’s Ryan, right?”
“Right,” Ryan confirms, and I smile a bit at the annoyance he’s barely trying to hide.
“Colt said I should meet him here,” Caleb explains.
“Oh. Cool,” Ryan responds, a little less hostility in his tone. “So what do you think of Landry so far?”
My initial reason for stalling at my locker was to wait for Ryan to leave. But now I hover for another reason. I’m curious what Caleb will say. If he’ll mention the rude gir
l who led him the wrong way this morning.
“It’s all right. I already know the town from visiting in the summers, and I’ve seen some people I recognize.”
“Bummer. The girls were arguing about who would get to show you around,” Ryan comments.
“Won’t be necessary,” Caleb responds. There’s a pause, and then, “You play?”
There must be some football paraphernalia in Ryan’s locker. Probably a photo of himself in uniform. “Yeah,” Ryan replies. “Quarterback. You?”
“No. Baseball.”
“Oh, good. You found it. Was worried you might get turned around.” Colt Adams’ voice joins the conversation. “Must have been Lennon’s fault earlier.”
I cringe.
“You know Lennon Matthews?” Ryan asks. To Caleb, I presume. Colt and I have gone to school together since we were five.
“Not really,” Caleb replies.
“But you heard about her dad, right?” Ryan questions. “Dude was doing drugs at the track with some buddies. Overdosed. That whole family is messed up. Her mom—”
I slam my locker door shut, and have the satisfaction of seeing all three boys jump, along with everyone else in the immediate vicinity. They all remain silent as I walk towards them, finally heading in the direction of the library.
“Don’t stop your conversation on my account, dudes,” I comment sharply as I pass them by. Colt looks concerned; Ryan uncomfortable. I can’t get any read on Caleb. His face is blank.
But as I continue down the hall, he ends up being the first one to say anything.
“The cafeteria’s the other way, Matthews!”
And that’s the moment I decide I hate Caleb Winters.
Sophomore
Year
TWO
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The Hard Way Home Page 1
