Chapter 8
LENNON
T he damp paper towel helps, but my face still feels sweaty and gross even after I’ve wiped it repeatedly. Glancing at the clock above the sink, I ball up the paper towel and toss it into the trash.
Landry High requires students to take one semester of gym each year, and that we do fitness tests as part of the curriculum.
I didn’t need to wheeze around the track four times to know I’m not in the best of shape.
I prefer to let the horse do the running, and I don’t exactly build up much cardio endurance hauling hay bales.
To make matters worse, I had to watch all the other seniors with the unfortunate fate of having gym second semester—including Madison and Caleb—jog around the football field effortlessly.
With one last anxious glance at the clock, I leave the locker room and hurry in the direction of the newsroom. Andrew hates when we’re late.
Instead of the usual hustle and bustle, I’m met with complete and utter silence when I walk inside. No one has moved from their desk to the center of the room where we usually hold our meetings.
It doesn’t take me long to figure out why.
“What are you doing here?”
Both Caleb and Andrew turn at the sound of my voice. Andrew looks relieved; Caleb amused.
“Did you get lost, Lennon?” he asks me, smirking. “Been waiting a while.”
“Gym ended ten minutes ago,” I reply. “You couldn’t have been waiting that long. And I’m guessing you spent most of that time trying to find the newsroom.”
Caleb makes a show of glancing around the small, sparsely furnished room. “At least there was a sign on the door. Otherwise, I might have confused this with a janitor’s closet.”
“Feel free to tell the school committee they should reallocate some of the athletic department’s funds, and we’ll redecorate.”
Caleb grins. “Nah, on second thought, I like it. Very minimalistic.”
“You shouldn’t have any trouble finding your way out. The door is two feet from you and marked Exit .”
I can tell from the way Andrew opens and closes his mouth twice he would love to rebuke me for directing that comment at the subject of our biggest story.
Caleb appears completely at ease as he strolls toward me. I’m painfully aware every member of the paper is tracking his movements.
There’s a reason we were relegated to a room in the far corner of the school. People who are not on the paper do not just stop by the newsroom.
Especially not popular people.
Especially not Caleb Winters.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss as he leans against my desk and studies the clippings from past articles I have posted. “You can’t just show up in the newsroom!”
“You showed up at my practice.”
“That was different!” I protest.
“How?”
“It…just was!” It’s far from a compelling reason, but it’s all I can come up with.
The corner of Caleb’s mouth curls up. I wait for him to pounce on the inadequacy of my response, but instead he changes the subject. “You’re avoiding me.”
“No, I’m not.” It’s my automatic reaction to disagree with anything he says, but in this case, he’s right. I am avoiding him. The only time we’ve spoken since his grandfather’s funeral was forty minutes ago when he asked me if it was my first time running.
Unfortunately, I think his own pace was fast enough he missed seeing the gesture I responded with.
Caleb is obviously expecting my denial, because he speaks before I’ve stopped. “Yes, you are.” His voice is confident. “Because of what happened at my grandfather’s funeral.”
Julie’s desk is closest to the door—closest to us—and she loses the battle pretending like she’s not listening to our conversation. Her head jerks toward us involuntarily, before she catches herself and quickly looks back at the computer screen.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I hoped—thought, expected—the weird moment we shared on Sunday would be easily forgotten.
“Why haven’t we met about the article?” Caleb crosses his arms over his chest. The move makes his biceps bulge, and I have to swallow twice before I can answer.
“I was giving you some…time,” I reply, in what I hope is a tactful way.
“I don’t need time.” Caleb glances at Julie. “Hey, do you have a pen?” he inquires.
“Uh, yeah…sure…here,” she stutters, handing a blue ballpoint to him.
Caleb smiles at her. “Thanks…”
“Julie,” she supplies.
His grin widens. “Nice to meet you, Julie. Any guys give you trouble, be sure to sic Matthews here on them. I can tell you from personal experience she’ll—”
“Caleb!” I snap.
Caleb smiles as he grabs a sticky note off the desk and jots something down on it using Julie’s pen. “Call me when you’re free tonight,” he says, handing me the fluorescent square of paper. “I have practice until six. We can meet up after that.”
I glance down at the series of numbers. Caleb hands Julie her pen and heads for the door. He turns back around right as he’s about to reach it. “Bring your English stuff too,” he calls. “We can work on the project.”
“What was that ?” Julie asks me as soon as the door swings shut behind Caleb.
“That was Caleb Winters,” I say sourly, dropping into my swivel chair.
Julie rolls her eyes. “I know. What I don’t know is why—”
“Lennon! Would it have killed you to be nicer to Caleb?” Andrew appears alongside my desk, looking annoyed.
“Yes. It actually might have.”
Andrew shoots me a sharp look. “Please do not do anything to mess this up, Lennon. I already told the printer to double our order for next month’s issue, before…
If Caleb is still willing to do the article but you mess it up and we have to lead with Steve’s story about the new running track—we’re going to end up with a lot of wasted paper. ”
I sigh. “I’m not making any promises. But if it makes you feel any better, Caleb still seems set on doing the article. If nothing I’ve said to him so far has dissuaded him, I seriously doubt he’s going to change his mind now.”
“That does not make me feel any better,” Andrew replies, which is probably fair.
“Look, I’m apparently meeting him tonight—” I grit my teeth in annoyance. “So I’ll have a draft ready for you next week, all right?”
“Fine.” Andrew lets out a long-suffering sigh, sounding more like a sixty-year-old than a high school senior.
I roll my eyes at his dramatics. “You insisted I do this, remember?”
“He said he’d do it with you, or no one else,” Andrew replies. “What was I supposed to do, Lennon?”
Andrew may act like he runs a global news organization rather than just a small school paper, but he did what any reasonable editor would to ensure a good story. He didn’t have a choice, but I did.
I could have gotten out of this, and I didn’t.
There’s nothing worse than realizing the person you should really be angry with is yourself. Because I didn’t take the out when Caleb offered it. Because I have been avoiding him since his grandfather’s funeral last weekend.
“The article will be fine, okay? Good. Great, even.”
Andrew eyes me dubiously, but nods. “Okay.”
He heads toward the center of the room, where the rest of the staff has already begun to assemble for the meeting. I grab a notebook and follow.
“Happy Hump Day!” Andrew calls out, falling comfortably into his favorite role: overseer of everything.
“I thought you said good reporters don’t make sexual references,” Joe Watkins replies with a cheeky grin. Out of everyone on the paper, he’s probably my favorite peer. Mostly because he seems to enjoy teasing Andrew about how seriously he takes his role almost as much as I do.
“My mistake. I thought I was dealing with near adults, not with reporters who have the maturity level of middle schoolers,” Andrew retorts.
“You should probably start calling me Mr. Watkins, then,” Joe informs him. “Treat people the way you want them to act, and all.” That comment draws a few guffaws from the rest of us.
Andrew exhales deeply. “Joe, you can go first.”
Joe leans back in his chair and crosses his ankles.
“I’m working on a piece detailing the two new courses they’re adding in the fall.
One is a medieval history class I would actually take if I was still going to be here.
The other is some super advanced chemistry for the nerds who already made it through regular and advanced.
Don’t expect any details on it because I didn’t understand a word of what Mr. Johnson said when he explained what the course would cover.
Should make a splash on the fourth page. ”
Andrew lets out another long sigh, but the rest of us are all grinning. “Great. Just avoid using the word ‘nerd’ in your article, all right? We’re trying to foster an inclusive atmosphere and demonstrate the academic rigor our curriculum offers.”
I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud, and I’m not the only one. I have no idea where Andrew comes up with this stuff. He must read the school handbook for material.
“Sure thing, boss,” Joe replies, adding a mock salute for effect.
“Steve, what about the running track?” Andrew asks.
I tune out the next few article updates in favor of worrying about tonight. So, it’s fitting when Andrew reaches me and I have no idea what we’re talking about.
“We already know how Lennon’s article is going,” he states dryly.
I roll my eyes.
“I totally thought people were exaggerating about you and Winters,” Joe comments.
“What do you mean, exaggerating?”
Joe shrugs. “People talk, is all.”
I’m no longer finding Joe’s commentary amusing.
“Julie, what’s the running track update?” Andrew asks.
“On time and on budget,” she reports. “It’s going to be a struggle to write a thousand words on it, to be honest.”
“Finish the draft,” Andrew instructs. “And then let’s see if we can add a new angle to it. There’s talk of a new auditorium. Maybe we can get a quote from Principal Owens on that.”
Julie nods.
Our meeting lasts another twenty minutes. I rush out of the newsroom as soon as it ends, eager to avoid any conversations about the entertainment Caleb and I provided prior to the meeting.