Chapter 3
LENNON
D usty could go out with Stormy, but then I’d need to put Commie out solo. Maybe all the mares should…
“Lennon? Lennon!”
“What?” I ask, tapping the pencil against my notepad and trying to act as though my attention only just drifted from the newsroom, when in reality I’ve tuned out most of the school paper’s hour-long meeting.
Our editor, Andrew, is a senior like me. Meaning he views the next five months as his final chance to leave an everlasting mark on Landry High Times .
His “vision” for the next few issues took up the first forty minutes of the meeting.
I zoned out after five to plan the turnout schedule for the next week.
“You’ll be covering the baseball interview, Lennon.”
I sit up straighter. “Baseball interview? What baseball interview?”
“It’s Caleb Winters’s final season. He finally agreed to do an interview with the paper.”
I’ve never seen Andrew look so enthused. He’s practically beaming as he delivers the news that makes every other member of the staff perk up as well.
“How thrilling,” I drone. “I’m not writing it, though.”
“You have to!” Andrew pushes his tortoiseshell-framed glasses back up the bridge of his nose. I recognize it as one of his nervous tells. The two of us have had several creative differences since both joining the school paper freshman year.
“No, I definitely do not ,” I inform Andrew. “Me writing an article about Caleb Winters is a terrible idea. You know that we don’t get along. And I don’t know anything about baseball. Simon is the sportswriter!”
Simon startles when I say his name, looking nervous rather than eager.
Despite my personal misgivings, I know Andrew is right to be excited. An interview with Landry’s star pitcher will be huge for the paper.
But Simon still isn’t jumping in and offering to do the interview for me, which is strange. I’ve personally been subjected to hearing him drool over Caleb multiple times.
“Actually, you do,” Andrew states. “Caleb said he’d only do the article if you were the one who interviewed him.”
“He said what ?” I blink at Andrew, stunned. “I’m sure he only said that because he knows I won’t agree to it. Or he won’t show up. Or he’ll make up all his answers. This is his way of getting out of it. Using me.”
Andrew doesn’t disagree. “Not a chance we can take,” he replies, then shrugs.
“Winters never talks to the press. No one knows where he wants to play next year. What he thinks about his final season. This is our chance to get a serious scoop. There’s not a single person in this town who wouldn’t read an interview with Caleb Winters. ”
“I wouldn’t.” My voice is petulant.
“Not sure you’ll have much choice, considering you’ll be the one writing it.”
The school paper has always been a refuge for me.
None of the other members of the staff are people I’d consider to be friends, but none of them have ever treated with me with any form of derision.
I’ve carved out a grudging respect here.
And writing for the town paper, the Landry Gazette , is my sole and best opportunity for employment following graduation.
Not only do I not want to quit the school paper, I can’t.
Despite the many hours we collectively pour into each issue, I’ve never even seen any of my classmates read the school paper. There’s no way I’ll be able to convince Andrew to do anything to endanger this story.
Which means I’ll have to take this up with the instigator of this infuriating predicament.
“Fine,” I state, slumping back in my chair. Andrew eyes me suspiciously, skeptical about my sudden lack of objection. “I’ll give him one chance. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I can send you some questions to ask, Lennon.” Simon finally chimes into the conversation.
I sigh. “Thanks.”
Andrew shoots me another wary glance, but moves on. “Julie, you’ll be covering Mr. Barnett’s retirement. Steve, the plans for the new running track. Good work, everyone! Drafts for the new issue by the end of next week, please.”
The huddle in the middle of the room breaks apart, all of us heading back to our assigned desks.
“I guess the rumors are true,” Julie Larson muses as she takes a seat at her desk, which is adjacent to mine.
“What rumors?” I ask, shoving my notebook inside my backpack.
“That you hate Caleb Winters.”
“We hate each other,” I correct.
“Then why would he have you do his interview?”
“To torture me. He’s a jerk.” I zip my bag up, annoyance reigniting.
“I’ve never talked to him,” Julie states.
I glance at her, surprised. That’s something I haven’t managed to do in a small school while actively attempting to avoid him.
“But if he is a jerk, he’s a hot one.” Her tone has turned wistful.
Admiring. And I can’t summon the amusement that used to appear when I saw girls fawn over him. Instead, I’m picturing blue eyes.
“The most dangerous kind,” I warn as I grab the last of my belongings and head toward the door. “See you tomorrow, Julie.”
“Bye, Lennon,” she calls after me. “When you do the interview, ask if he’s single!”
I grimace as I head out the door of the newsroom. Good to know she took my warning seriously.
I told Cassie I’d stop by the boys’ basketball game after the paper meeting, so I head out the front doors and make my way over to the sports complex.
It’s not the route I usually take. And it brings me directly past the baseball field.
Despite the chilly temperature and the fact the baseball season doesn’t start until—actually I have no idea when the baseball season starts, but I know it hasn’t—I recognize enough of the navy-clad figures to realize the team is out on the field practicing.
Which means he must be out practicing.
I alter my course slightly, veering to the left of the parking lot and alongside the stretch of metal bleachers.
“Winters!” I disregard the half dozen guys gathered around Caleb and march right up to him. He’s leaning against the chain-link fence, tossing a baseball back and forth between his hands like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Must be nice.
Caleb says nothing in response when I call his name, just cocks a brow maddeningly.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Feel free.”
“Somewhere else?” I ignore the mutters the words prompt among the other baseball players.
Lunch earlier illuminated an alarming level of interest in my interactions with Caleb, and I’d like to avoid feeding further speculation. Caleb either doesn’t know about the gossip, or more likely doesn’t care, because he remains in place.
“I’m in the middle of practice.”
“You’re leaning against a fence.”
He doesn’t move. “You want to talk, talk .”
“Fine. What the hell is your problem?” I hiss.
Caleb doesn’t look nearly as apprehensive as I think he ought to. “You’re mad at me? That’s a nice change.”
I scowl. “If you stopped trying to purposefully piss me off , you wouldn’t have to deal with me being mad at you.”
Caleb merely arches an arrogant brow.
“You told Andrew you wouldn’t do an interview with the paper unless it was with me? Why the hell would you do that? It’s not bad enough we’re partners on that English project? You want to spend more time together?”
There’s a low, husky laugh behind me. I glance over one shoulder at Colt Adams. He turns the sound into a cough as soon as our eyes connect, but I’m not fooled. I narrow my eyes at him, then turn back to Caleb.
“Well?”
He sighs. “After three plus years of being begged to do so, I agreed to do an interview with the school paper that will probably mean more than four people read it. I didn’t realize that was a problem. More like it merited a thank you .”
“Four people? God, you’re such a jerk.” The fact he’s probably not wildly off on his readership count is irrelevant.
“Are you done? We’re still in the middle of practice.” Caleb gestures to the loose grouping of his baseball teammates, none of whom are making any attempt to act like they’re not hanging on to every word. I don’t know why girls are the gender associated with loving gossip.
“I’m not doing the interview with you.” I leave no room for argument in the statement.
But Caleb finds some. “Then why are you here, yelling at me about it?”
I grind my teeth, probably doing some damage to my molars. “Do the interview with someone else, Caleb.” I speak each word as if it’s a sentence, the final threads of my patience fraying like worn rope.
“You’re the best writer on the paper. It’s you or no one else, Lennon.”
Caleb emphasizes my first name slightly, and I know it’s to let me know he caught that I used his. But I’m more distracted by the fact he just complimented me.
At least, I think he did.
I’m waiting for the punchline.
But it doesn’t come. “I have a busy schedule. You’d have to work around it.”
Caleb doesn’t hide his grin, and I know it’s because he thinks I’m just continuing to be difficult. I keep to myself. Aside from the paper, I’m not involved in any school activities. Honestly, I’m shocked Caleb even knew I’m on the paper.
“You’ve got a busy schedule?” He scoffs. “Okay, fine. When do you want to meet?
“Tomorrow at five thirty,” I reply promptly. Meaning I’ll have to get up at…yeah, not thinking about that.
“In the morning?” Caleb lets out a laugh of disbelief.
“Yes. That’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.” I smirk, certain he’ll leave it.
But I underestimated Caleb’s stubbornness. Or his dedication to torturing me. Or maybe both.
“Fine.”
I study him for a moment, testing his resolve. He doesn’t waver.
“Fine,” I finally retort. “I’ll meet you here.”
“Here?” Caleb glances at the baseball field.
“Don’t be late.” I spin around and walk away, silently seething. I thought Caleb would back down after teasing me a little. There’s no way he actually wants me to interview him. It will be torture for the both of us.