Colt snorts. “You’re not fooling anyone with that crap, Winters. It’s obvious—”
Footsteps sound behind me, and I have no choice but to round the tiled corner and leave the safety of the bathroom before they reach me. Both Colt and Caleb fall silent the second I appear, and that only increases my curiosity. What was Colt saying is obvious? That I’m only here because Caleb suddenly developed some warped sense of obligation?
Caleb scrutinizes my face closely as I approach, and I’m pretty sure it means he has an idea I might have overheard some of his conversation with Colt. Jake’s already rejoined the group, so as soon as I reach them we start off in the direction of the lobby.
“Are you heading home from here, Jake?” I ask as we near the exit.
“Uh, yeah,” he replies.
“Can I get a ride?” Jake glances at Caleb, and so do Colt and Luke. I don’t. Jake lives in an upscale gated community located only a couple of blocks from the high school. There’s not really any such thing as “out of the way” in a town as small as Landry, but there’s no denying the fact Jake lives closest to me. He’s the obvious choice.
“Of course,” Jake replies, although the words don’t sound all that magnanimous. More worried. Is he concerned someone’s going to see us together, or something?
Buoyed by scoring a ride home with someone other than Caleb, I turn to the other three boys with a bright smile. “See you guys Monday. That movie was great . . . exciting.” I barely paid attention to it, but surely “exciting” can apply to any action movie, right?
I’m trying to avoid looking at Caleb, but both Colt and Luke nod their heads. After flashing another smile, I head towards the exit doors. It’s only a few seconds before I hear Jake behind me. I hold the door as we emerge outside into the damp air. Jake Barnes is known for being a jokester. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him without an easygoing grin stretched across his face.
But he’s silent and serious as we walk down the sidewalk. He only speaks when we reach a shiny red truck that’s exactly what I would have described him driving if I’d been asked to do so. Aside from turning on the radio and instructing me to play whatever I want, Jake doesn’t say anything as we make the short trip back to Matthews Farm from downtown Landry. There are a couple of times when he opens his mouth, as though he’s about to speak, but he always closes it before any words actually escape.
“I’ll walk from here,” I say when he pulls into my driveway.
“You sure?” Jake replies.
“Yes,” I confirm, opening the door to climb out. “Thanks for the ride.”
I jump out and start walking up the dirt driveway, trying to put as much distance between myself and this weird afternoon as I can.
FOURTEEN
__________________________________
It feels like I’ve only just climbed into bed when my phone vibrates from its spot on the three-legged stool I keep to the right of my pillow for the sole purpose of making sure I hear my alarm in the morning. I fumble my fingers across the surface of the slab of oak for my phone, unwilling to open my eyes just yet. Once I convince my eyelids to open, I have to blink about a dozen times to make sure I’m not misreading the text I just received. Baseball lesson 1 pm.
I stare at the screen for a couple of minutes, trying to grasp my bearings. It’s 5:15 in the morning. My alarm hasn’t even gone off yet. And Caleb is texting me about meeting today? To play baseball? What is he even doing up at this hour?
Immediately, my brain conjures up a series of scenarios I’d rather not think about. Like how Caleb is probably awake right now because he’s leaving a random girl’s house to sneak back into his own. I fall further down the rabbit hole. Does every girl he touches feel like she’s being seared with pleasure and flooded with endorphins? Or am I the only one unlucky enough to have that reaction?
I’m glad Caleb didn’t text any earlier, because there’s no way I’m falling back asleep now. With a beleaguered sigh, I abandon the warm covers to get dressed. I only had fifteen minutes of sleep left, anyway.
I’ve just pulled on my usual fleece when my phone buzzes again. Thankfully, no one is here to see the way I lunge for my phone. It’s from him again. A series of obnoxious question marks.
Fine. I send the single word, biting back some of the snarkier ones I wouldn’t mind adding. He’s annoyed I didn’t respond to his text? At the crack of dawn? The only thing that holds me back is the hope doing so means I won’t have to spend gym class on Monday listening to overdone sighs behind me as I repeatedly miss hitting the ball.
Of course he doesn’t send anything more after that.
There’s a whisper of warmth in the air when I step out onto the front porch, the first I’ve felt in months. The barest hint of color is just beginning to edge across the brightening horizon, silhouetting the barn and the broad oaks that surround it in a pastel hue. Landry doesn’t look so bad right now. This image? Spread before me like one of the oil paintings that line the hallways of Caleb’s family’s estate? It’s resplendent. Dazzling. Magnificent.
Thanks to Caleb’s text, I’m running ahead of schedule, and I also don’t have the usual constraint of school since it’s a Sunday. So I head into the stallion barn first to tack up Geiger.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m appreciating the sunrise as a streak of color from my perch atop his broad back. The world flashes by in a series of slowly brightening hues as we circle the practice track again and again. My thighs are burning by the time Geiger seems amenable to slowing his pace. I slide off the saddle, letting out a quiet “oomph” when I hit the ground a bit harder than I expected to.
Gramps has already started distributing the mares’ grain by the time I’ve untacked Geiger and fed both him and Gallie.
“Morning, Gramps,” I greet as I enter the tack room.
“Morning, darling,” he responds, giving me a broad smile. “Good ride?”
“Yeah, it was,” I reply.
“You were up early . . . Everything all right?” As much as Gramps would love for me to expand my minuscule social circle, his apprehensive expression suggests he may be realizing that actually taking place could come with its own challenges. I wasn’t exactly forthcoming with details last night about how my trip to the movies went.
“Everything is good,” I rush to assure him. “I just happened to wake up extra early this morning. Yesterday was fine. A bit weird, but fine.”
Gramps nods, looking relieved.
After we finish chores and I shower, I head into town to meet Cassie. Spending Sunday mornings in Landry’s sole coffee shop has become a weekly tradition ever since the first time she suggested we meet there. I use the time to do homework, while Cassie tends to people watch and draw.
She’s already waiting outside when I cross the street. Downtown is livelier than it was yesterday, with more people taking advantage of the nicer weather.
Cassie gives me a quick hug of greeting before we head inside the cafe. “Cute fleece,” she teases.
I roll my eyes at her. Cassie is what can only be described as a fashionista. I’ve never seen her wear the same outfit twice. One of the many ways in which we’re complete opposites. “It’s new,” I inform her.
Cassie scrunches her nose in distaste as she surveys the gray fabric I’m wearing. “It looks the exact same as all your other ones.”
I shrug. “There’s not much variety in the fleece market, I’m afraid.”
Cassie shudders. “Let’s go get breakfast. I’m starving.”
We join the long line of people waiting to buy beverages and food. Despite its length, the line moves fairly quickly, and then we’re ordering. Cassie decides on a veggie omelet and a latte, while I opt for my usual muffin and cappuccino. The barista hands Cassie a beeper to alert us when our order is ready, and then we set off in search of an open table. Options are limited, and we end up at a small table close to the front door.
I’ve only just sunk down into one of the chairs when the bell above the
door clangs, announcing Madison’s arrival. Close behind her are a few other members of her posse, Ryan James, and . . . Colt.
Madison passes with a sneer, Ryan a leer, and then, “Hey, Lennon,” Colt says casually as he passes our table.
Madison whips her head around in shock, and it’s satisfying enough I decide to play along. “Hi, Colt,” I respond in an equally nonchalant manner.
Colt nods in acknowledgment and keeps walking, shrugging when Madison whispers something to him that I’m certain is about me.
Looking across the table, I see Cassie is staring at me with both eyebrows raised. “What was that about?” I take my time pulling my Oceanography textbook out of my backpack. “Lennon?” Cassie prompts, seeming to sense my reticence is indicative of the fact I’m withholding something juicy from her.
With a sigh, I fill her in on my unexpected afternoon.
“I’m sorry, what? You went on a quadruple date with Caleb Winters and three of his friends yesterday?”
“I definitely wouldn’t categorize it as a date,” I correct. “More like they were all hanging out and I just happened to be there.”
“Because Caleb invited you?”
“I have to write an article on him for the paper. I think he’s just trying to ensure I don’t write anything embarrassing.”
“Huh,” Cassie replies, not looking at all like she believes me. I don’t believe me.
“I mean, why else would he have invited me?” I fish in a moment of weakness.
“Some of the girls—” Cassie starts, and then stops.
“What?” I press.
“Some of the girls at lunch—that day Caleb came over to our table, you know?” I nod. “They were saying you’re the only girl they ever see Caleb choose to talk to. Maybe . . . maybe he likes you.”
“I don’t think so,” I say quickly.
Cassie surveys me thoughtfully. “Come on, you can’t honestly tell me you wouldn’t be interested if he is. I know you’ve got your weird rivalry thing, or whatever, but Caleb Winters is seriously hot. He looks like the main character on a soapy teen drama. You can’t honestly tell me you’re immune to that.”
I think back to my reaction to our proximity yesterday. Yeah, definitely not immune. “Not entirely,” I admit. “But there’s more to a guy than how he looks.”
“True,” Cassie agrees. “Although the only person I’ve ever heard say anything bad about him is you.” She shoots me a questioning look.
“It doesn’t matter,” I insist. “I’ve got more important things to think about than how Caleb Winters feels about me.” The words are meant more for me than her. Since analyzing Caleb’s words and actions are how I’ve spent the bulk of the past twenty-four hours.
“Did you start to hear back from some schools?” Cassie asks excitedly.
I could probably push this conversation back a few more weeks, but I’ll have to tell her eventually. Might as well be now. “No. I’m not going to college, actually. At least not in the fall.”
“Oh. Wow. I—” Cassie clearly has no idea what to say, and I don’t blame her.
“It’s just not feasible,” I explain. "My grandfather can’t manage the farm by himself.”
“That’s really selfless of you,” Cassie remarks, recovering slightly.
I shrug. “It’s what family does.”
Cassie nods.
“I’m sorry I lied to you before,” I offer. “It’s not something I love talking about.” I love Gramps. I love Matthews Farm. But staying in Landry feels an awful lot like being left behind.
“I get it, Lennon. Well, maybe not entirely,” Cassie corrects. “But I understand it. We’re good.”
I give her a small smile, and then am relieved to see our buzzer light up on the table. We head to the counter to retrieve our food and coffee, and then return to our table to delve into the steaming sustenance eagerly, effectively abandoning any heavy conversation.
I leave the coffee shop a couple hours later and drive straight to the high school. Caleb is not at the field when I arrive, and I start to both hope and worry he forgot about our lesson. I walk out onto the field and take a seat on the plush grass that surrounds the diamond, tilting my face back and closing my eyes. It rarely dips below freezing here, but it has been months since it’s been pleasant enough I’ve purposefully prolonged my time outside. The rays of sunshine soaking my face allow me to pretend I’m on a tropical island. Or a private cruise. Or . . . A car door slams, effectively ending my daydream.
Caleb strolls towards me, carrying a bag I assume must contain baseball equipment. He didn’t forget, and I’m surprised by how happy that makes me.
“Hey, Matthews,” he greets.
“Hey,” I reply, standing and dusting off my jeans.
Caleb drops the bag on the grass next to me and unzips it to reveal a bat and glove on top of a bunch of other sports equipment.
“Here.” He holds out the bat to me, while he tucks the glove under one arm, and then continues to rifle through the bag.
“Thanks,” I reply, taken aback by how brusque he’s being. I walk over to home plate, and Caleb takes his spot on the pitcher’s mound.
“I’m just going to toss a few to you to start,” he tells me. “So I can try to figure out what’s messing you up. I wasn’t paying close enough attention during gym.”
“I thought the whole reason you’re doing this is because you had to watch me ‘butcher a simple swing’ for ten minutes?” I ask, a bit testily.
It looks like Caleb clenches his jaw, but I’m too far away to tell for certain. He throws the baseball at me. It’s a lot faster and more direct than Mr. Evans’ throws, and I instinctually jump back, so it hits the chain link behind me with a loud clang.
“Seriously?” Caleb questions.
I feel myself flush. “I wasn’t ready.”
“Obviously,” Caleb calls back. He grabs another baseball, and I lift my arms to prepare to swing. But he doesn’t throw it.
“Why aren’t you throwing it?” I finally ask.
“Oh, are you ready to hit it now? I couldn’t tell,” Caleb says mockingly.
“Ass,” I mutter under my breath. I know he couldn’t have heard what I actually said, but his mocking smile deepens, like he has a pretty good idea. He finally pitches the ball. I swing this time, but it’s a few seconds too late. The next time I swing too early. After the tenth failed attempt, I start to lose patience.
“Lower your stance,” Caleb coaches. “And straighten your arms a little more.”
I try to follow his instructions, but I still don’t come close to connecting with the ball. “This isn’t helping,” I inform him, annoyed. “We should just call it. I don’t even get why you are doing this. You hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, Lennon.” Caleb replies, but the words are an amusing contrast to the annoyed voice he conveys them in. He sure sounds like he hates me.
But I don’t bother to point that out. “Fine. Dislike, then.”
“I don’t dislike you, either.” Annoyance inches towards irritation.
I raise my eyebrows meaningfully in response to his tone. “Yeah, right.”
“I mean it. I don’t,” Caleb insists.
“Then why have you spent the last three and a half years insulting me?” I snap, opting to overlook the nasty tone of our current conversation. It’s not like I don’t have plenty of other examples to draw on.
“When have I ever insulted you?”
“You—” I pause, both from the surprising turn this conversation has taken and because I literally don’t know where to begin unpacking the last few years of barbs. The bleachers to the right provide a flash of inspiration. “You told me I looked terrible at prom last spring.”
Caleb suddenly looks a bit amused, and I feel a flash of nervousness. Maybe I gave too much away by revealing I recall a conversation we had almost a year ago perfectly. “I don’t remember saying you looked terrible.”
“The subtext was clear.”
/>
Caleb doesn’t respond to that, although he keeps talking. “But I do recall you telling me to fuck off, go to hell, and never talk to you again in the course of that conversation.”
I feel my cheeks flush again. Maybe that wasn’t the best example. “You caught me at a bad time,” I mumble. Definitely not the best example.
Caleb allows himself a small smile at the expense of my obvious discomfort. “Clearly.” The humor fades from his face. “But I didn’t mean to insult you that night. I’m sorry.”
I gape at him. “You’re . . . apologizing?”
“Yeah,” Caleb shrugs. “Now, can we get back to baseball?”
“Um, sure,” I respond, feeling a bit like I’ve just been spun around in circles wearing a blindfold. On a moving carousel. But I try to clear my head by reciting the advice Caleb’s called to me so far. I’m here to hit a baseball. Once. That’s all I need to do. Nothing else matters.
Caleb throws another perfect pitch. My timing is better this time, but I still have a weak hold on the bat. The metal cylinder whizzes through the air with some serious force, but does so a couple inches north of where the baseball arrives. I stumble a bit from the momentum of my high swing, and I’m impressed Caleb keeps from laughing. I’m certain I look ridiculous.
It is enough to get him to leave the pitcher’s mound, though.
“I think I figured out part of the problem,” he tells me as he approaches home plate. He steps behind me, and starts readjusting my grip on the bat, the same way he did in gym class. Except there aren’t any confused classmates watching us today. We’re alone.
For the second time in just as many days, I find myself close to Caleb Winters. Really, really close. And unlike in the dark movie theater yesterday, there’s no fight sequence to distract myself from the butterflies his proximity attracts. From the fact he smells like pine and rain and salt and some other masculine scent.
“Okay, so you’re going to—” Caleb moves so he’s in front of me, probably to survey my stance from a new angle, and for some reason I do the most absolutely stupid thing I could possibly do.
The Hard Way Home Page 15
