Chapter 13
LENNON
I t happens gradually: the shift in my life to accommodate the different way I view Caleb Winters.
I oversleep on Monday morning, since there was too much bouncing around my head Sunday night to fall right asleep.
Instead of avoiding Caleb, I look for him in the halls between periods. But I don’t see Caleb until English. He’s talking to Marcus Cooper when I walk into the classroom. Our eyes connect and we share a smile, but that’s the extent of any interaction.
Throughout the rest of the day, my nerves about Gym multiply. I managed to hit the ball three times before Caleb and I left the field yesterday, but that was out of too many unsuccessful attempts for me to feel any confidence. And it feels like there’s a lot more riding on this than a grade.
“You’re up, Lennon,” Mr. Evans calls, halfway through class. I’m the only person who has yet to successfully complete the requirement
By the time I reach home plate, my palms are so sweaty it’s a struggle to hold the bat. I run the advice Caleb gave me yesterday on repeat, praying it’ll be enough to get me through this.
Mr. Evans throws the first pitch. I swing too early, missing the ball by millimeters. My stomach clenches, dread and nerves swirling around. The second pitch glances off the top, skittering to the side as a foul ball.
I try to block out the whispers behind me, but it’s a challenge. My grip tightens around the bat as I glance over my shoulder, finding Caleb’s gaze immediately. He gives me a small nod.
I turn back around, choking up on the bat a little and waiting for the next pitch.
When it comes, I swing at the perfect moment.
Ball and bat connect with a satisfying crack.
I watch with a mixture of shock and satisfaction as the baseball goes flying.
Farther and farther, until it disappears from sight.
Mr. Evans is just as stunned as I am, his eyebrows flying up his forehead. “Congratulations, Lennon. You passed.” He glances past me. “Nice work, Caleb.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, burying the urge to snap at a teacher. “Lennon is the one who hit the ball,” Caleb replies.
Mr. Evans smiles. “Of course, if you want to be modest. No wonder the baseball team is so successful.”
I drop the bat. The blatant favoritism is hard to stomach. Just one of hundreds of examples of Landry’s snobbery.
Everyone stares as I walk back toward the dugout. I pause in front of Caleb. “Thanks for your help, Winters.” The words come out snarkier than I mean them to, Mr. Evans’s dismissal fresh in my mind.
A muscle jumps in Caleb’s jaw. “That’s it?”
“Is there something else I should be thanking you for?”
He shakes his head. Scoffs. “Nope.”
I keep walking. We don’t speak for the rest of class.
* * *
Three days later, I grab a racquet from the bin in the equipment room. We’ve moved on from baseball to tennis.
When I turn around, Caleb is standing there.
Impulsively, I grab another racquet and hold it out to him. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He studies me as he takes the racquet, like he’s surveying a puzzle. Half-assessing, half-confused.
We haven’t talked since gym on Monday. Haven’t really spoken since Sunday at the field. I don’t know what to say to him. How to act around him. Part of me is still processing the fact that we kissed.
“Dude! What’s taking forever? Oh. Hey, Lennon.”
“Hi, Luke.” I glance back at Caleb. “I’ll, uh, see you.”
He nods. I give Luke a small smile as I pass him.
Once everyone has grabbed a racquet, Mr. Evans marks 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.”
There aren’t enough tennis courts for us all to play at once.
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 scrutinizing the ground. I swallow a snort.
She’s always been prissy. It drove me crazy when we were younger. I’d be racing around the playground, while she’d sit on a 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. Sitting on grass is definitely evidence of a massive character flaw.”
Madison scoffs, 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 discussing it.
High schoolers start planning for the trip to a nearby campground as freshmen.
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 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 straighten her hair.
“Okay, I’ll bring mine too, then,” Poppy says.
Madison and Poppy move on to discussing their outfits. 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.
Everyone waiting, including me and my reluctant partner, stands to take the place of the losing pairs. Mr. Evans sends 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. She perks up as we head toward the nearest court. It’s my turn to walk slowly.
Caleb hasn’t noticed us yet. He’s talking to his partner, Harper Kelly. She was on the paper with me freshman year, which was probably the last time we spoke.
Right now, she’s entirely absorbed in whatever Caleb is saying, looking at him with the worshipful expression I’ve seen aimed at him many times before.
It bothers me in a different way than the reverence usually does. I’m…jealous.
Madison clears her throat loudly as we cross the baseline. “Ready to play?”
“Ready,” Caleb replies. His gaze shifts to me. A grin forms, surprising me. “You any better at tennis than baseball, Matthews?”
“I’m batting 500 these days, Winters,” I reply, relaxing into our usual banter.
His grin deepens, making his dimples pop. “Impressive.”
“Can we start the game already?” Madison butts in.
“Serve away, partner,” I reply, moving closer to the net.
I am 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 genetically programmed to be good at any sport, so the teams are pretty even.
Mr. Evans blows his whistle halfway through our third set. “Time’s up. Grab your gear and head back to the locker rooms.”
“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 best friends again?” Caleb appears beside me.
“What gave it away?”
We 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 his arm without thinking. He looks just as surprised by the unexpected contact as I am.
“I ride horses.”
“Isn’t the horse the real athlete?”
“I guess,” I reply. “But it’s not exactly easy squatting on top of a horse running thirty or forty miles an hour.”
“I guess not,” Caleb acknowledges.
“You ever ridden?” I ask, as we follow the gravel path that winds back in the direction of the gym.
“No,” Caleb responds. “When we’d come here in the summer, it felt like we’d spend half the visit at the racetrack. I got my fill of horses then. Became white noise after a while.”
Only a Winters could get away with insulting Landry’s pride and joy like that.
“Do you ride a lot?” he asks me.
“Twice a day. Once in the morning and once after school, so they all get exercised a couple of times a week.”
“Wow. I’d like to see that,” Caleb comments, which I’m not expecting.
“You can come watch whenever, if you’re really wanting to.”
“You’re inviting me over?” Caleb asks. There’s a teasing undertone to his voice, which almost sounds like flirting.
“I didn’t think you needed an invitation,” I respond. “Last time you just invited yourself to stay.”
“Is that why you asked Jake for a ride home from the movies?”
His tone is no longer playful. I glance over at Caleb, surprised 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.
“He lives closer to me,” I answer. “And I was…clueless.”