Chapter 20
LENNON
M y palms are damp with perspiration, both from the sunshine bearing down on me and my own nerves. I fiddle with the notecards I’m gripping, resisting the urge to bounce my knee.
You can do this. You can do this. You can do this , I chant to myself.
Surreptitiously, I wipe first one palm, and then the other, on the green silk skirt of the new dress Gramps insisted I buy when I told him I’d be the class valedictorian.
I can see his beaming face perfectly from the spot onstage where I’m seated.
He insisted we arrive ridiculously early so he could snag a seat in the first row behind the graduates.
Gramps is confident I can deliver this speech and not make a fool of myself.
I wish I were as certain.
I switch the notecards to my right hand so I can wipe my left palm. The top notecard flutters to the ground next to my folding chair.
I freeze.
Crap .
I’m literally on display, seated in what’s meant to be a position of honor at the center of the stage, right next to the podium where Principal Owens is currently speaking.
After three days of endless edits, I know every word of my speech by heart. But relying on my memory while delivering a speech in front of almost every person I know is a daunting prospect.
I contemplate how to manage an awkward shimmying slouch or pretending to itch my foot so I can retrieve the notecard. Before I can act, Mr. Evans, who was chosen as the faculty speaker, leans down and grabs it for me.
“Thank you,” I whisper when he hands it over.
Gym is no longer my least favorite class. An easy change to make, since in about ten minutes I’ll be a high school graduate, forever free of Kentucky’s mandated class curriculum.
Principal Owens mentions my name, and I realize he’s introducing me. There’s applause—loud applause—not just polite clapping, and then I’m standing at the podium staring out at a sea of expectant faces.
“Principal Owens, faculty, friends, family, and my fellow graduates. This is a day I’ve looked forward to for a long time. But when I was writing this speech, I also came up with a lot of things I am going to miss about Landry High.”
I keep talking and talking, until suddenly I’m down to the last notecard. Something I dreaded and I’m surprised is suddenly about to end. Kind of like high school.
“There are two people I wish could be here today. But I want to acknowledge the person who’s the reason I am.
Gramps, you might be a terrible cook and a worse mechanic, but you’ve never allowed me to believe there’s anything I can’t do.
You are the only person I’ve always been able to rely upon.
You make me proud to be a Matthews. To be your granddaughter.
I hope I’ve made you proud, too.” I swallow a couple of times to clear the lump that’s formed in my throat.
“And to my fellow graduates: no matter where you’re headed next, I know you’ll soar.
We survived three days in the Kentucky wilderness, so basically, we can survive anything.
” There’s a ripple of laughter. “Congratulations, graduates!”
I flip my tassel, and it’s over.
I’m not expecting the swell of noise. There’s applause, cheering, and then a wave of navy as all the seniors—now graduates—toss their caps toward the cloudless sky.
Principal Owens comes over to the podium to hand me my diploma, and then makes some parting remarks.
The school band plays “Pomp and Circumstance” again as the rest of my class files out along the aisle that’s been cleared to the open stretch of the football field just beyond where the ceremony is being held.
Families follow suit, abandoning their seats to congratulate their children, grandchildren, siblings, nieces, nephews, neighbors.
My steps are shaky as I descend the stage’s stairs, stunned it’s suddenly over.
Gramps is waiting for me off to one side. He beams when he spots me, and I see the faint trail of some salty residue on his weathered cheeks when I draw closer.
“I’m so proud of you, Lennie,” Gramps’s smile is wide enough it threatens to overtake his whole face. “You were wonderful up there. Really wonderful.”
“Thanks, Gramps,” I whisper as he pulls me into a hug.
“Your mama would be so proud of you, darling,” he continues. Salty tears burn my eyelids. Gramps rarely mentions Mom. Losing her still hurts us both. “Your pops, too,” he adds, which is an even more selfless gesture.
Gramps never got along with my father. The only reason he allowed him to come stay at Matthews Farm after Mom’s death was for me.
I say nothing, just squeeze him a little tighter.
Gramps insists on taking me out for lunch to celebrate. When we return to the farm, he heads inside to watch the Jays play.
I hover on the front porch, still in my graduation dress, trying to figure out what to do with myself.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t have anything I have to do. There’s no school assignment. No tests to study for. The horses don’t need to be brought in for another few hours. I don’t start working at the Landry Gazette as a research assistant for another two weeks.
And there’s nothing I want to do.
Dropping into one of the two rocking chairs, I kick off my shoes and rest my bare toes on the porch banister, staring out at the grazing horses.
The bright sun pulls out the distinctive blue shade Kentucky grass is known for, rolling off in the distance as far as the eye can see. I gaze at the serene sight and admit the truth to myself.
There is one thing I’d like to do right now. Or more accurately, one person I’d like to see. But I’m sure he’s in the midst of the fancy graduation party his mother was planning the color scheme for months ago. And then he’s leaving tomorrow.
I fall asleep at some point. Nerves kept me up most of last night, and the relief about having my speech over with is relaxing.
When my eyes blink open, it’s dusk.
Gramps is talking to someone on the farmhouse’s old rotary phone when I walk inside.
My room is a mess, evidence of my hasty departure this morning strewn everywhere. For having exactly one outfit option, I did an impressive job emptying most of my closet.
I change back into my usual jeans and T-shirt before heading out to the barn for the evening chores. Once the horses are fed and watered, I return to the house to help Gramps prepare dinner.
In the middle of eating, my phone begins to buzz.
Without looking at the screen, I know what the messages are going to be about. Much like the senior trip, the graduation night party is a Landry High legend. Only the graduates are allowed to attend, meaning there’s just one chance to.
Since I ended up attending both the senior trip and prom—the two other rites of passage—I know Cassie is expecting me to go tonight.
There are several reasons I’m not sure if I should. I ended up being the only senior listed without a college in the graduation program. I’m also not sure what people made of my speech. And the main reason: seeing Caleb one final time before he leaves will be more than a little bittersweet.
Cassie ends up deciding for me. A long series of honks sounds outside as I’m washing the dishes. I know it’s her even before I pull aside the curtain that covers the window.
“Go celebrate, Lennie,” Gramps tells me, taking the plate I was washing. “I promise not to throw a rager while you’re gone.”
I roll my eyes as I head to the door to let Cassie in.
“Is that not what they’re called?” he calls after me.
I’m grinning as I open the door. “Get in, we’re—” Cassie stops talking. “What are you wearing?”
I glance down at my rattiest jeans. My navy sweatshirt has a smear of horse slobber across the chest. And there’s a dollop of dish soap on my sleeve.
“Clothes?” I offer unhelpfully.
Cassie lets out an exasperated sigh, but her lips quirk as she steps over the threshold. “Howdy, Earl!” she calls as she passes the kitchen and heads upstairs.
She’s never been inside the farmhouse before, but doesn’t have any trouble navigating her way into my bedroom. I follow, intrigued by what she thinks she’s going to conjure up from my closet. All she’s going to find is clean versions of what I’m wearing.
Based on the perplexed look on her face when I enter my bedroom, she’s thinking the same. “No offense, but—”
“Funny how people only say no offense right before they’re about to offend you.”
Cassie laughs. “Fair. But is this your whole wardrobe? All of it?” She waves at my closet.
“Yeah. My clothing allowance is going toward feeding the horses, at the moment.”
Cassie pauses flipping through my hangers and whirls around. “Lennon, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” I assure her.
She bites her lip, then moves to the dresser and starts rummaging through drawers.
“Here.” She tosses me a pair of faded jeans I hardly ever wear because they’re too tight to ride in. “Put these on.” A minute later, she holds up a V-neck T-shirt I’m not sure if I’ve ever worn. Definitely not since I got boobs, and I recall why when I pull the shirt over my head.
“Perfect,” Cassie proclaims, with an approving nod.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Both the shirt and jeans are snugger than what I was wearing. But they’re still cotton and denim, which I’m comfortable in.
I pull my hair out of its braid, say goodbye to Gramps, and then we’re headed to Jake’s house. Thanks to homeroom rumors, I know he hosts most of my classes’ parties throughout high school. It makes sense he would have the honor of holding the final one.
The house is packed when we walk inside, which isn’t all that shocking based on the number of cars outside and the level of noise.
Jake lives in a luxe development close to the high school. The interior is the opposite of where I live. No creaky floorboards or worn furniture or temperamental heating. Everything—the furniture and the appliances and the wallpaper—looks new and fancy.
As Cassie and I walk through the house, I’m surprised by how many people stop to talk to us. Both of us.