The Hard Way Home

by C. W. Farnsworth

  I kiss Caleb Winters.

  It’s not a quick peck. Not an awkward motion I could attempt to laugh off. I follow an idiotic, uncharacteristic impulse, and I kiss the boy who I used to hate. Who I thought hated me.

  His tongue tastes like spearmint, and the warm, muscular body that’s suddenly so very close to mine feels like home. Comforting. Safe. That intangible, irreplaceable feeling. How I feel when I’m snuggled in my favorite armchair in the living room, reading a book. While I’m sipping hot coffee in the morning and staring out at the misty practice track. Content. Comforted. It’s such a dizzying shift from how I ordinarily feel around Caleb Winters that I feel like I’ve just been thrown off a horse. It’s a disconcerting sensation I’ve experienced more times than I would voluntarily admit. There’s that same rush of suddenly ending up someplace unexpected, with no time to react to the change.

  And then there’s heat. It starts in the only spot we’re touching: our lips. But it rapidly spreads, first to the rest of my face, and then to my bloodstream. My veins carry the fever so that it radiates throughout my entire body, curdling in my veins and condensing in my stomach. It’s not an uncomfortable warmth; it’s an enticing one. I marvel over how my entire body suddenly feels the same way my face did when it was drenched in sunshine, until I become entirely distracted by a much more pressing realization.

  Caleb is kissing me back. The seconds I spent adjusting to the unexpected flash of heat were apparently the same amount of time it took him to break through the surprise of me kissing him. And Caleb becoming an active participant sends a fresh flood of fire through my body.

  I’ve kissed guys before. This shouldn’t feel any different. It’s just flesh pressing against flesh; skin cells to skin cells. But somehow, every cell in my body seems to know this is Caleb Winters I’m touching right now, and that does make it different. Annoyance has always been the predominant emotion he’s stirred in me, but the excitement swirling in my belly feels familiar, like maybe it’s always been there too, just waiting for me to move past the irritation.

  It takes me a lot longer to talk myself into pulling away than it should. Not only because it turns out Caleb is a really good kisser, but because I don’t want to face him just yet. I have no idea what to say. And I’m having a lot of trouble trying to plan it out while his tongue is in my mouth.

  Finally, I jerk back. What should have been, at most, a single kiss has already turned into a heated make-out session. “Shit.” I add a lot of extra syllables to the curse to compensate for the fact there are a lot of other profanities I’d love to shout now that my mouth is no longer otherwise occupied. Mainly at myself.

  “Just the reaction a guy hopes for.” The words sound amused, but I can’t bring myself to look at Caleb yet to gauge if it’s genuine. I’m too embarrassed. Too horrified. Too aroused.

  “We can pretend that never happened, right?” I ask him hopefully. Or ask the ground I’m staring at, rather.

  I expect him to challenge me. Or demand an explanation for my actions. So I’m surprised when he says, “Sure.” And relieved. Things make more sense when he adds to his hasty agreement. “As soon as you tell me why.”

  “Why?” I play dumb, but I finally look at him. He doesn’t look mad. He doesn’t look like he’s likely to drop this, either.

  “Why you kissed me.” I’m surprised he humors me and actually says the words, although he smirks afterwards, making me think he might have wanted to say them anyway.

  “Uh . . . I had a psychotic break?”

  The creases in the corners of his mouth deepen. “Try again.”

  “I wanted to for some reason, okay?” Some irritation seeps into my voice. “Don’t worry, I’m all good now.”

  “Is that a recent development?”

  “What?”

  “You wanting to kiss me?”

  I feel my cheeks warm, and pray it’s not evident on my face. Although I was probably already blushing, thanks to the embers still stoking flames in my belly. “Apparently.”

  “Interesting,” Caleb muses. “Did you have some advance notice? I should probably head back out to the mound, but I can stay here if you feel another bout of kissing urges coming on.”

  I roll my eyes. “I said I’m good. It won’t be happening again.”

  “You sure?” Caleb grins.

  I’m not certain of anything right now, but I summon as much confidence as I can for my response. “Yes.”

  Caleb smirks, but heads in the direction of the mound of dirt in the center of the field without pressing the issue any further. Kissing him was a mistake for a whole host of reasons, but at least it seems to have taken care of the sour mood he was in before. His blue eyes are practically dancing under the rim of the baseball cap he’s wearing, and the corners of his mouth are tilted up slightly, like he’s suppressing another smile.

  Rather than drowning in embarrassment, I’m surprised to discover I’m also in a better mood all of a sudden.

  “Ready?” Caleb calls out, his voice cheerful.

  “Yup!” I sound way too excited to be playing baseball, and Caleb’s lips twitch. Lips that were just pressed to mine. Focus, Lennon.

  A few pitches later, I finally make contact with the ball. It’s a low, straight hit that drops to the grass just past the pitcher’s mound, but it’s still a hit. I just stand there, a bit dumbfounded by the foreign sensation of actually connecting the bat and the ball. Feeling them collide was a lot more satisfying than I expected it would be, and I gain a little more understanding about why someone might actually dedicate time to playing this sport. There’s an unexpected desire to hit the baseball again, and to hit it harder. The proud grin stretching across Caleb’s face might have something to do with it.

  “Okay, I didn’t think we had to go over this part as well. You’re supposed to run once you actually manage to hit the ball, Matthews.”

  In an extremely mature move, I stick out my tongue at him. “I don’t think I need to practice that part.”

  “I think you do,” Caleb tells me. He’s started walking backwards across the grass towards the baseball. Slowly.

  So I start jogging towards first base. Despite knowing what he’s planning to do. Maybe because of it. Sure enough, he picks up the baseball and chases me. I reach the white square first, but only barely. Caleb’s right behind me, and he steadies me as I trip over the edge of the base a bit.

  I turn around, and he’s right there. “Thank you,” I blurt. “For helping me.”

  His proximity is doing dangerous things to my insides again. He’s hijacked my impulses, so that instead of screaming “leave” they’re shouting “stay.”

  He’s so close I feel the mint essence from his gum prickle my face as he speaks. “Do you still want to kiss me, Lennon?” he whispers. His voice is low. Husky. Seductive. A tone I’ve never heard from him before and never want to stop listening to.

  “I told you I’m good.” My voice lacks any conviction.

  “I want to kiss you,” Caleb admits, and the admission causes my racing heart to skip a beat entirely. Then it starts galloping again, circulating the heat that’s begun to build despite the fact we’re not even touching. Yet.

  “Only if we can pretend it never happened,” I insist. “You taught me how to bat and that was it. You’ll argue with me in English on Monday?” I ask the question a bit desperately, so it’s really more of a plea.

  “Lennon . . . ” Caleb’s voice is slightly strained.

  “Yes or no, Caleb?” My willpower is crumbling anyway, but he doesn’t know that. I know my insistence is silly, but for me it’s just like wanting to be valedictorian. My resistance to Caleb’s seemingly universal charm is one of the few ways I don’t mind being separated from my peers. It’s bad enough I’m letting him know I’m not as indifferent as I appear, I don’t want anyone else to have the faintest clue. But more than my stupid pride, I’m worried about my heart. If Caleb can make it pound like I’ve just run a marathon, then he has the pow
er to do a lot of things to it. Namely, break it. Everyone knows Caleb Winters is destined for big, impressive things. In places bigger and far more worldly than Landry, Kentucky. And I’m . . . not.

  “Yes,” Caleb finally answers, and then his lips lower to mine. My mind goes blissfully blank as we stand on first base.

  The irony of it doesn’t escape me.

  FIFTEEN

  __________________________________

  Caleb lied. Maybe I did, too. To myself.

  You can’t kiss someone you thought you hated and then still act like you hate them. Or maybe you can.

  But I can’t. And neither can Caleb, apparently.

  It happens gradually: the reshuffling of my life to accommodate the fact I no longer view Caleb Winters as my nemesis.

  The first time I notice it is when my pen runs out of ink in English, disrupting the meticulous notes I’m taking on our class discussion of The Catcher in the Rye. I start to hunt through my backpack for another writing utensil, but a black pen drops on my desk before I can locate one. Caleb walks past and leaves class to go to the bathroom. It doesn’t occur to me until the door closes behind him he must have been watching me already.

  When Caleb returns to class, he makes a comment about the phoniness Holden sees as being portrayed in the adult world. I raise my hand, and Mr. Tanner calls on me next, a little warily. “I agree with Caleb,” I start. I’d think I was imagining the ripples of shock in the room, if not for the surprised expression on Mr. Tanner’s face as well. I rush the rest of my response, feeling a bit silly. And annoyed. Surely it’s not that shocking I agree with Caleb about one thing, right? “But I also think phoniness is used as an excuse for withdrawing from the world around him. By pretending the issues aren’t as complex as they really are, he can believe he is not beholden to making the same mistakes.”

  “Very insightful, Ms. Matthews,” Mr. Tanner compliments, and then moves on to Marcus, who also has his hand up.

  *****

  Three days later, I feel Caleb’s presence behind me in the equipment room at the start of gym class, and hand him a racquet without really thinking about it. It’s only when I see Madison looking back and forth between us with narrowed eyes that I realize I might have made another gaffe. Thanks to Caleb’s unorthodox baseball lesson, I managed to pass the baseball unit, and now we’ve moved on to tennis.

  Once everyone has grabbed a racquet, Mr. Evans starts marking pairs off on his clipboard. I’m pretty certain he would be my least favorite teacher based on nothing but the subject he teaches, but that title is solidified when he calls out, “Matthews, you’ll be with Herbert.” I groan, and Madison looks horrified.

  There aren’t enough tennis courts for us all to play at once, so Mr. Evans sends Madison and me, along with a few other pairs, to the grassy knoll to the right of the courts. I plop down on the grass, glad it’s a sunny day and the blades aren’t damp. Madison lowers herself down gingerly after inspecting the ground closely. I swallow a snort. She’s always been prissy. It drove me crazy when we were younger. I’d be the one racing around the playground, while she’d sit delicately on the swing and refuse to play tag.

  “Sure you don’t want to get a chair?” I ask her.

  She glares at me and tosses her long mane of blonde hair over one shoulder. “I just have standards. Unlike some people.”

  I adopt my most serious tone. “You’re right. Not minding sitting on grass is definitely evidence of some massive character flaw.”

  Madison scoffs, and then turns to talk to Poppy Tisdale about the upcoming senior trip. It’s still three weeks away, but I’m not surprised they’re already talking about it. High schoolers start planning for the trip to a nearby campground as freshman. The senior-only trip is that legendary. Back in freshman year, I even had some vague fantasy I might be able to go. It feels awfully far away now. There’s no way Gramps could manage the horses all by himself for three nights. I’ve been bracing for an argument about it, because I know he’ll try to convince me he can, but the topic hasn’t come up yet.

  “No, I’m bringing my straightener anyway,” Madison is saying. “I know they said it draws too much power, or whatever, but Amanda Stephens said she used hers last year, and it was totally fine.”

  I bite my bottom lip, trying to contain my amusement over the thought of Madison blowing a fuse at the campsite and depriving everyone of electricity, just so she can perfect her admittedly impressive locks.

  “Okay, I’ll bring mine too, then,” Poppy replies eagerly. “I was so worried Caleb was going to see me with frizzy hair.” I chew the inside of my mouth, trying to figure out why those words bother me. “I mean, not that he’s interested in me,” Poppy tacks on quickly, and I glance over to see her looking nervously at Madison, who also looks less than pleased about Poppy’s comment involving Caleb.

  Madison and Poppy move on to discussing their outfits, and it’s a struggle to keep a straight face as they describe the tank tops and dresses they’re planning to pack. For a trip to a campground. In the woods. In April. I keep my mouth shut, though, as I mindlessly pick at blades of grass.

  “Time to switch!” Mr. Evans calls out, and the group of seated bystanders, including me and my reluctant partner, all stand to take the place of the losing pairs. Mr. Evans starts sending partners out onto the court in the order they arrive at the metal gate that leads onto the green asphalt. Based on how Madison is literally dragging her feet, I figure out who we’ll be playing even before Mr. Evans says, “You two will be paired with Winters and Kelly.”

  That definitely gets Madison’s attention, but I have to suppress a groan. The two of us head towards the nearest court silently.

  Caleb hasn’t noticed us yet. He’s talking to his partner, Harper Kelly. She’s a sweet, shy girl, who was actually on the paper with me for a bit freshman year. Right now, she’s entirely absorbed in whatever Caleb is saying, looking at him with a worshipful expression I’ve seen aimed at him many times before.

  Madison clears her throat loudly as we cross the baseline. “Ready to play, Caleb? Harper,” she adds, a bit reluctantly.

  “Ready,” Caleb replies. His gaze shifts to me, and a grin forms. “You any better at tennis than baseball, Matthews?”

  “I’ll have you know I’m batting 500 these days, Winters,” I toss back.

  The grin deepens, making his dimples pop. “Impressive.”

  “God, can we start the game already?” Madison butts in with.

  “Serve away, partner,” I reply, moving closer to the net.

  I’m better at tennis than I am at baseball, but not by much. Harper misses more tennis balls than she hits too, but Madison is actually pretty good. And Caleb seems to be genetically programmed to be good at any sport, so our teams are pretty even.

  Mr. Evans blows his whistle halfway through our third set. “That’s all for today, everyone.”

  “Good game, guys,” I call out to Caleb and Harper.

  Madison scoffs loudly beside me. “No longer playing hard to get, Lennon?”

  “Well, I saw how well being easy was working out for you,” I retort. “You’ve been dating Caleb for how many months now?”

  She sends me a glare filled with loathing, and then stalks off.

  “You two seem well on your way to becoming friends again,” Caleb comments as he appears beside me.

  “Oh, yeah,” I reply flippantly. “Absolutely.”

  We start to walk off the tennis court, following the rest of the class. Caleb lets out a quiet chuckle, and I know his next words are going to be teasing before they leave his mouth. “So are you just generally uncoordinated, or . . . ” I shove him without thinking. He looks just as surprised by the unexpected contact as I am.

  “I ride horses,” I defend, trying to quickly move on from the impromptu action.

  “Isn’t the horse the real athlete in that instance?”

  “I guess,” I acquiesce. “But it’s not exactly easy squatting on top of a horse running th
irty or forty miles an hour.”

  “Huh. I guess not,” Caleb acknowledges.

  “I’m assuming that means you’ve never ridden one?” I ask, as we follow the gravel path that winds back in the direction of the gym.

  “Nope,” Caleb confirms breezily. “When I’d come here for the summer, half the visit was spent at the racetrack. I got my fill of horses then, and I never paid much attention to the jockeys. Became kind of like white noise after a while.”

  I barely manage to keep from rolling my eyes. Only a Winters could get away with insulting Landry’s summer pastime like that. Not to mention, Caleb’s lackluster assessment of watching a race from the stands, where seats start at four figures, would be ridiculous enough. The Winters’ private box probably serves champagne and caviar.

  Caleb seems oblivious to my snarky amusement. “Do you ride a lot?”

  “Twice a day. Once in the morning and once after school so they all get exercised twice a week.”

  “Wow. I’d like to see that,” Caleb comments, which I’m not expecting.

  “Well, like I said it’s a bidaily—” I don’t even think that’s a word, but Caleb doesn’t seem to notice. “—occurrence. You can come watch whenever if you’re really wanting to.”

  “You’re inviting me over?” Caleb asks, a little slyly. We haven’t discussed our kiss since that afternoon at the ball field, and I can’t help but wonder if that's the reason for the impish gleam in his eyes. If we were to kiss again, which isn’t exactly something I’d be opposed to if the number of times I’ve thought about the baseball lesson is any indication, it seems a lot more likely to happen at my home than at school again.

  “I didn’t think you needed an invitation,” I respond. “Last time you just invited yourself to stay.”

  “That’s the thanks I get for driving you home at the crack of dawn?” Caleb rolls his eyes. There’s a pause, and then, “Is that why you asked Jake for a ride home from the movies?”

  His tone is no longer playful. I glance over at him, caught off guard by the fact he’s bringing it up. His expression doesn’t give me any indication of what he’s thinking. It’s completely blank, almost purposefully so. “No . . . ” I reply carefully. “He just lives closer to me.” And I was worried I might kiss you if I spent any time alone with you, I add silently. Turns out my inclination there was spot on.