Chapter 4 #2
“I didn’t say it was a good thing, Winters.”
We reach the library with an uneasy truce hanging between us. As expected, Mr. Gibbs is the only person in sight. He gives me the same nod of greeting as every other time I’ve entered this library before turning back to whatever book he’s reading.
I head straight toward my usual table. Caleb follows, taking the seat across from me as I pull out the study guide I made for my Oceanography test.
I’m shocked he’s sitting with me. It’s not like there aren’t other seats available. But I try not to show it. I focus on my notes instead.
Motion across the table draws my attention back to Caleb. I watch him pull a binder out of his backpack and begin flipping through the pages.
My gaze drops back down to my own papers, but I glance up again just a few minutes later.
Caleb is attractive. I’ve always known that.
I’ve heard the admiring whispers when he walks down the hall.
But I don’t typically allow myself to focus on the way his dark hair falls across his forehead or to think about how straight the line of his jaw is when we’re arguing.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing to distract me from either of those things in the silent, empty library.
Except for the blaze of embarrassment when he glances up and catches me staring at him. “What?” he whispers, looking at me curiously.
“Nothing,” I reply hastily, dropping my eyes back down to the study guide in front of me.
I don’t let my eyes wander again until the first bell rings, signaling the start of homeroom in five minutes. I continue to avoid looking at Caleb as I pack up my belongings and stand.
Based on the shuffling sounds coming from the opposite side of the table, he’s doing the same.
“I’ll do the interview with Simon, if you want.”
“What?” I freeze, then glance at Caleb. It’s not what I expected him to say. And, I’m surprised to realize, not something I’m thrilled to hear.
“I’ll do the interview with Simon. If you want me to,” he repeats.
“Is that what you want?” I ask.
“After everything it took to get you to agree to do it in the first place?” Caleb raises a brow as he looks at me expectantly.
And I have a stroke. Or a brain freeze. Or some other impediment that stops me from telling Caleb there’s nothing else I’d love more than not having to write an article about him.
“I’ll talk to Simon…and get some better questions for a follow-up interview,” I tell Caleb as we walk out the doors from the library.
I’m not a quitter.
The hallways aren’t crowded, but other students are trickling in, and we attract more than a few double takes as people pass us by.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll see you in English,” I say as we linger just outside the library doors.
Something between me and Caleb suddenly feels tenuous. Off-kilter. The easy annoyance that’s always hovered between us has vanished.
Caleb opens his mouth to reply.
“Lennon!” I turn to see Will walking down the hallway in our direction. “Morning,” he greets cheerfully, grinning at me.
“Hey, Will.” I smile back.
Will seems to notice who I’m standing with for the first time. “Hey, Winters,” he greets, a hint of surprise in his voice.
“Masterson,” Caleb replies, sounding bored. “I’ll see you later, Lennon.”
I give him a quick, jerky nod. “Bye, Caleb.”
It seems like something shifts in his expression, but he turns and heads in the opposite direction before I have enough time to study it.
“I didn’t think you and Caleb got along,” Will remarks, studying Caleb’s retreating back with a look of confusion.
“We don’t. I have to write an article on him for the paper.”
“Oh,” Will says. After a moment he adds, “I didn’t know you covered sports.”
“I don’t,” I state, with a fair bit of irritation in my voice.
“Okay…” Will replies, obviously looking for more of an explanation.
“It’s a long story,” I tell him. That I could have just ended and didn’t for a reason that eludes me.
“Your article isn’t due tomorrow, is it?”
“No. Why?” I ask.
“Marcus is having a party tonight to celebrate our win yesterday. I was hoping you might want to go, since you were one of the few people who bothered to actually come to the game.”
“Oh.” I start to form a refusal automatically, but then stop to reconsider. Maybe Cassie’s right. What could the harm be? “Yeah, sure,” I say instead. “Is it okay if I bring Cassie?”
“Of course. Do you want me to pick you up or meet you there?”
“We’ll meet you there. I know where Marcus lives.”
“Cool. See you then,” Will says, before continuing down the hallway.
I start in the opposite direction, quickening my pace when the warning bell echoes around me. Thankfully, my homeroom is a quick trip down the hall and to the right. I drop into my usual seat next to Cassie just as the final bell rings.
The morning announcements boom overhead, but I don’t listen to what is being said. I lean over as far as the small desk will allow.
“I need you to go to a party with me tonight,” I whisper to Cassie.
She turns to me, her brown eyes full of surprise. “What?”
“I saw Will on my way here. He invited me to a party tonight, and I need you to go with me. Please.”
“Of course I’ll go with you. We can—” The announcements end and attendance starts. “We’ll talk at lunch,” Cassie says, then leans back in her chair.
* * *
The rest of the day passes quickly. Mr. Tanner’s class is a lecture on literary devices for our upcoming papers, but we don’t separate into partners. I caught Caleb’s eye when I dropped our outline on Mr. Tanner’s desk, and he gave me a nod. That was it.
I head home straight after school ends, glad the paper doesn’t have a meeting today. I shirked on chores this morning since it was so outrageously early, and I rushed to ensure I’d beat Caleb to the field.
A wasted effort, in retrospect.
At lunch, Cassie made me promise I would come over after dinner to “prepare for the party.” I have no idea what that means.
The last party I attended was a birthday party in middle school that definitely didn’t require two hours of preparation.
Cassie insisted a couple of hours were necessary, though, and she was so enthused I couldn’t bring myself to tell her no.
I also have a feeling this will be my first and final high school party.
Might as well make the most of it.
Despite the chill in the January air, Gramps is sitting out on the front porch in one of the ancient rocking chairs when I get home. He looks up from the magazine he’s reading when the creaky steps announce my arrival.
“How was school, Lennie?” he asks, taking a sip from the mug set beside him.
“It was fine,” I reply. It’s my standard answer.
“You left awfully early this morning,” Gramps remarks.
“I had to work on something for the paper,” I tell him. “I’m heading back out to the barn to finish things up now.”
“Don’t worry about the feed bags. They were already moved.”
I shoot Gramps a hard look. “You didn’t.” Disapproval is heavy in my tone.
“No,” he responds, sounding disgruntled. “Tom stopped by earlier for a visit. He moved them.”
“Good.” I let out a sigh of relief. “Did he happen to say anything about those articles I sent him?”
Tom Stradwell owns the Landry Gazette , along with a host of other local papers, and is one of my grandfather’s oldest friends. He’s also my best chance at having something to do besides muck out stalls and clean tack in the fall.
“He liked them,” Gramps tells me, still sounding disgruntled. And disapproving. “Said to come see him in May if you’re still interested in some work.”
“Of course I’ll still be interested,” I stress. “I hope you made that clear.”
“Schools are still taking applications, Lennie.”
“Gramps, we’re not going through this again. You can’t take care of the farm yourself.”
“Then we need to sel—”
“We’re not selling the farm,” I state firmly. “This is your home. My home.”
“I just wish…” He lets his voice trail off.
“I know,” I mumble. Sometimes, I really hate my parents for the respective messes they left behind.
“Look, lots of people take gap years. I’ll have more time to do things around the farm when I’m not in school.
I can make some repairs, market the stallions better.
We’ll have Stormy’s foal to sell. Maybe that’ll be enough for me to take some online classes, at least.”
Gramps opens his mouth with what I can already tell will be an argument, so I take evasive action. “I really need to get started on the chores. I’m headed to a party after dinner,” I inform him.
Sure enough, that tidbit derails him completely. “What?” Gramps looks stunned. Saying I don’t get out much is akin to suggesting Landry’s residents have a mild interest in horse racing.
“I’m going to a party tonight,” I repeat. “I mean, as long as that’s okay?”
“I—yeah, of course,” Gramps fumbles. In addition to the surprising flicker of activity in my sad social life, he’s also thrown by me asking permission. Our relationship is usually defined by me taking care of him.
“All right, then.” I take advantage of his lingering shock to slip inside the empty house.
Rather than dump my backpack in the kitchen like usual, I carry it upstairs with me so I can change out of my jeans and sweatshirt into rattier jeans and a dirty sweatshirt.
I typically don’t bother changing on Fridays, since Saturday is the designated laundry day, but I don’t really want to show up to the party smelling like manure and covered with horsehair.
By the time I finish all the barn chores and exercise Gallie, it’s pitch black out and I’m starving. I finish brushing down the massive black stallion and head inside, happy to see dinner is already waiting on the table.
Whispers of steam rise from the freshly cooked burgers. I eagerly lather plenty of ketchup and mustard onto the warm bun before delving into my food. Some of Gramps’s culinary creations are questionable, but his burgers are always good.
Gramps surveys me curiously as I eat. “You’re hungry tonight.”
“It was Gallie’s day,” I explain. The youngest of our remaining seven horses, Sir Galahad is feisty on a good day.
Like all of them, he should really be ridden more than twice a week, but my schedule is already stretched trying to accommodate two rides a day.
Exercising Gallie is like trying to stay aboard a rocket ship.
He was born when I was in fifth grade, and won every race he entered, just before my dad died and everything really fell apart.
Gallie’s stud fees are our main source of income these days.
Gramps shoos me away from doing the dishes after supper, so I head upstairs to change back into what I wore to school. I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror attached to the back of my door, trying to see myself the way a stranger would.
My hair is my best feature. It’s thick and straight, and thanks to a lack of any recent haircut, hangs almost to my mid-back. Ordinarily it’s a mundane shade of light brown, but in the sun I have coppery highlights that emphasize the green in my hazel eyes.
Right now, in the artificial light cast by the lamp on my dresser, it’s difficult to find anything remotely special about my appearance.
My brown color is boring and my eye color is overshadowed by the dark circles beneath my eyes.
The sweatshirt I’m wearing hangs loosely around my thin frame, jumbling what few curves I have.
I walk over to my closet, swinging the slightly ajar door fully open so I can peer at the contents.
There are only a few hanging items to flip through.
A jean jacket, which is out because I’m already wearing denim, a sweater that shrunk last winter, my rain jacket, and a navy blouse.
I actually like the blouse a lot, but it’s entirely unsuitable for January.
Sighing, I close the door and resign myself to my current outfit. I’ll be wearing a coat over it, anyway.
I head back downstairs. Gramps is still in the kitchen, finishing up the dinner dishes. He looks up when I enter the room.
“Okay, I’m going to head out,” I tell him. “I’ve got my cell. Call if you need anything, all right?” I hesitate. I’m gone all day to school, but hardly ever at night. What if he needs something? What if…
Gramps reads the uncertainty on my face.
“I’ll be fine, Lennie. Won’t ride one of the stallions or move any hay bales.
Just a Jays game and bed for this old man.
” He grins, and it creases the skin around his eyes, the exact same shade as mine.
Even when his face relaxes, the lines remain, the folds firmly etched in his face after decades of squinting in the sun at horses galloping by.
His expression sobers, and his voice gains a bit more authority. “Go have some fun, all right?”
I nod reluctantly and head out into the chilly evening.