Left Field Love
: Chapter 1

Any hope of today being better than I expected dies a slow death as soon as I step inside the open doors of Landry High School. The soles of my ratty sneakers squeak against the scrubbed linoleum as the smell of grass and sunshine is replaced by the scent of ammonia and new notebooks.

I only catch glimpses of the gray lockers that line the walls between the hordes of teenagers crowding the hall. My heart travels up to my throat, lodging in an uncomfortable lump that expands with each side glance and every whisper.

My gaze remains straight ahead as familiar faces flash by. Eyes dart away. Heads tilt together.

I keep my expression impassive.

I woke up prepared to face stares.

This is the first time I’ve been inside Landry High, but I know where I’m going…I think. It takes a special kind of idiot to get lost in what is essentially a cinderblock rectangle. Walk long enough, and you’ll end up back in the same exact spot.

My steps don’t slow until I arrive at the glass door that leads into the main office. Once I do, I suck in a deep breath. The wrinkled paper I’m clutching makes a crinkling sound as I attempt to smooth it against my thigh before pulling the heavy door open.

The hinges groan, announcing my arrival to the school secretary. The middle-aged woman glances up with a prepared smile that falters slightly when she registers my face. The curse of living in a tiny, pretentious, nosy town.

No secrets exist in Landry.

I feel the weight of her sympathy settle over my shoulders like a lead-lined blanket as I shuffle up to the front desk.

The worst part of grief is the expectations. How everyone thinks they know exactly what grieving should look like. How they’re uncomfortable when it’s displayed yet judge its absence.

I keep my face blank, although I’m tempted to wrinkle my nose in response to the lemon scent saturating the air. The aroma is overpowering.

I cast a nervous glance over my shoulder, chewing the inside of my cheek as the two girls across the hallway don’t bother to hide the way they’re staring at me through the glass.

“Hi. I just need to drop this off.” I rush the words out, anxious to have them expelled. Eager to be rid of this form and be one step closer to getting through this day.

According to the state of Kentucky, the school year is one hundred and seventy days. High school is four years. After today, I’ll only have six hundred and seventy-nine days to get through.

Six hundred and seventy-nine days.

Rather than comforting, the countdown sounds…long.

I set the paper on the counter, watching the secretary’s brown eyes dart between me and the wrinkled sheet. “Of course. I’ll add this to your file.”

“Thank you.” I whirl around, eager to leave.

“Lennon?”

“Yes?” I take my time spinning back toward the desk, uneasy. I’m so sick of sympathies, especially forced ones.

“We have a new student starting today. I just pulled up your class schedule, and you two have the same homeroom. Would you be willing to show—” The wooden door behind her opens, interrupting her question, and revealing a face I’ve never seen before. A rare statement in Landry, Kentucky; home to just over five thousand people.

The guy walking toward me might be a stranger, but I know exactly who he is. I knew the moment I heard the words “new student.”

No one with the name Winters needs an introduction in the state of Kentucky.

It didn’t take long for the residents of Landry to move past the news of my father’s death last month, although the whispers in the hallway confirm people haven’t forgotten about it. Not only because he was an outsider. Not only because of the circumstances surrounding it. But because it was overshadowed by the speculation about why Austin Winters was moving back to Landry with his wife and only child. Overshadowed by excitement that Landry’s most respected family was expanding their presence in town.

Caleb Winters looks wealthy. Important. He also appears annoyed.

A scowl mars otherwise attractive features, suggesting he’s about as thrilled to be here as I am. His black hair is ruffled, like he’s just run his hand through it; his blue eyes blaze, like the flame at the base of a candle absent of soot.

He strolls through the main office like he’s walking along a red carpet rolled out exclusively for his arrival. Condescending, purposeful steps shorten the distance between us. I can practically feel the entitlement wafting off of him, cloying the citrus-scented air.

“Perfect,” the secretary says, conveniently ignoring the fact she never actually asked me anything and that I never answered—much less accepted. “Caleb, Lennon has the same homeroom as you. She can show you the way since you missed orientation.”

My black mood darkens. I could make this awkward for everyone and remind her I also missed orientation last month—to attend a funeral. Or I can suck it up and get this over with.

Blending into the background is where I’m comfortable. Caleb Winters comes with his own spotlight.

“Okay,” I manage. I basically flee from the office, flinging my full weight against the metal bar so the glass door swings open and striding out into the rapidly emptying hallway. Attempting to act as if I don’t have a care in the world. As if this is just an inconvenience on an unremarkable day.

In reality, I’m listening for the sound of footsteps behind me. There’s nothing, more nothing, and then…

“You’re a terrible tour guide.” The words are a dry, judgmental drawl.

I scoff in response as Caleb Winters falls into step beside me, but I feel more like smirking. Weirdly, I welcome his rudeness. More of the stony silence he displayed in the office would have been easier to ignore, but I’m already in a foul mood. I’m angry. Embarrassed. Sad. I wanted to snap at the secretary simply for doing her job.

Caleb is testing me.

And I’m happy to push back.

“Don’t expect any special treatment from me, Winters.”

“You know who I am.”

It’s not really a question, so I don’t bother answering.

“Doesn’t seem fair,” Caleb adds, when he realizes I’m not going to respond. “I don’t know who you are.”

I laugh, because the town golden boy saying something is unfair is amusing. If the gossip is to be trusted, Caleb has been living in Landry for a week. As soon as he arrived, he automatically received the acceptance I pined after for all of middle school.

“Life isn’t fair,” I reply. “But I guess I could see how that’s a difficult concept for someone like you to understand.”

There’s a sudden, warm pressure on the crook of elbow. My body reacts before my brain can catch up, electric shocks of awareness skittering across my skin while a red flush crawls up my neck. It’s an unfamiliar, unexpected, unpleasant reaction that’s also the most thrilling sensation I’ve ever experienced.

“Have we met before?” Caleb asks seriously, ignoring how I’m gaping at him.

“No.” I jerk my arm away so we’re no longer touching. It makes it much easier to think. To breathe, even, which is especially annoying. That’s supposed to be a simple reflex.

“So you approve of judging strangers?”

I open my mouth. Close it. Stare at him. I hate the whispers when people hear my last name, and it bothers me that Caleb has a valid point. There’s a difference. The Winters name is associated with power and money and prestige. My family is the subject of scandal and pity. But both are pre-determined associations. Stereotypes.

Caleb doesn’t break my gaze the way I’m expecting him to. He stares back, his expression more searching than superior.

Shocking me further, he asks, “Do you know what number our homeroom is?”

One dark eyebrow rises, emphasizing the question. Caleb has a couple of inches on me, which adds an unfamiliar dynamic I don’t appreciate. At the end of eighth grade I was taller than all of the boys in my class.

“204,” he says, when I don’t respond.

I scowl at Caleb before tugging my crumpled class schedule out of my backpack. His expression is serene. A warm flush creeps across my skin, accompanied by the sinking suspicion he would only look that confident if he knew the correct answer. Sure enough, my homeroom is listed as 204. The closest classroom has a placard reading 225.

I spin in place and start stalking in the opposite direction, down the hallway that is now empty. Evidently no one else had any issues navigating what I thought was a foolproof system.

Instead of rubbing it in, Caleb remains silent as we walk down the hall past decreasing numbers. 221…214…209…

I hate the quiet. It feels like a physical presence lingering between us.

Over the past few weeks I’ve spent more time thinking about Caleb Winters’s arrival than I’d care to admit. Mostly calculating how much attention it might pull away from me.

Unfortunately, that’s not what I’m considering right now. I’m wondering how he can simultaneously be exactly what I expected and nothing like it.

I thought I came prepared today. Arrived with an impenetrable wall built up. But in a matter of a few minutes, Caleb has managed to throw me off completely.

And he stays silent until we reach the door placard reading 204. I yank at the door handle and another squeaky set of hinges announce our arrival.

I’ve spent many sleepless nights recently imagining how uncomfortable encountering my classmates this August morning might be.

Being entirely ignored was best-case scenario.

Arriving late with Caleb Winters in tow is the total opposite of the incognito entrance I was hoping to make.

“Lennon Matthews, I presume?” My attention is drawn from the sea of familiar faces gawking at me to the middle-aged woman standing at the front of the room. Her lips are pursed. A tight bun and crossed arms exacerbate her stern expression.

My manners kick in automatically. “Yes, ma’am,” I confirm.

There’s a sharp intake of breath behind me. I battle the urge to look over my shoulder and witness the moment Caleb Winters realizes I’m a member of Landry’s most disgraced family.

What little is left of it, anyway.

“And this must be Caleb Winters with you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Caleb steps forward, stopping about five feet to my left. Distancing himself from me. “I’m Caleb Winters.”

Confidence saturates his voice. Attention shifts from me to him. Judgmental murmurs morph into excited whispers. Pitying stares become admiring glances.

It doesn’t surprise me. It doesn’t sting, because pain is easier to ignore when you expect it. But it does piss me off.

“I’m sorry we’re tardy. Caleb thought the room was the other way.”

I regret the hasty, false words as soon as they leave my mouth. I’m not a liar. Or I didn’t use to be. But it’s easy—disarmingly easy—to act poorly if that’s what people expect from you.

Everyone in the room is staring at me. But the gaze of the guy standing next to me feels different. Feels heavier, like a weight I can’t avoid. His attention crawls over my skin as an inescapable itch.

I want to ignore Caleb.

To be unaffected by his attention and presence. But I’m …not.

“I’ll let it slide since it’s the first day,” our teacher announces. “Just make sure it doesn’t become a pattern. Take your seats, please.”

There are exactly two open seats left. One in the second row and one in the very back. I head toward the rear of the room, disparaging stares following my journey from front to rear. A wave of snickers travels through the room when I stumble a foot from the chair.

I drop into the seat, willing the heat in my cheeks to disappear as the classmates around me shift at their desks, like unpopularity is a contagious disease.

I focus on my notebook, ignoring everyone in the room except the teacher.

Especially the guy sitting in the second row.

I stop off at my locker before lunch to dump the three heavy textbooks I’ve already accumulated this morning.

Landry takes its academics very seriously.

My plan is to avoid the cafeteria and eat lunch in the library instead. I’m about to head in that direction when I hear a voice that belongs to someone I’d really rather avoid.

Ryan James is a stereotypical jock. He’s been Landry’s quarterback since whatever age boys start playing football, and the status of that position combined with a seemingly endless supply of self-confidence has granted him some form of popularity.

He spent the first half of the summer directing more concentrated attention my way than I thought him capable of. My best friend—now ex-best friend—Madison was convinced he had a thing for me.

Nothing my dad’s death didn’t take care of.

As I hide behind my locker door, I wonder how Ryan is handling Caleb’s arrival. It’s the first challenge to his alpha male status since kindergarten.

As if I summoned him, I hear another voice I recognize immediately. I shouldn’t know Caleb’s voice well enough to identify it instantly. But I do, it turns out. “Hey. It’s Ryan, right?”

“Right,” Ryan confirms. I smile a bit at the annoyance I can hear in his voice.

“Colt said I should meet him here,” Caleb explains.

“Oh. Cool,” Ryan responds. There’s a little less hostility in his tone. “So, what do you think of Landry so far?”

My initial reason for stalling at my locker was to wait for Ryan to leave and avoid an awkward encounter. But now I’m waiting for another reason. I’m curious what Caleb will say. I want to know if he’ll mention the rude girl who led him the wrong way this morning. If he’ll share anything I don’t already know.

“It’s all right. I already know Landry pretty well from visiting in the summers. Not that much of a change.”

He’s lying. I’m not sure how I know, but I do.

Ryan’s oblivious. “The whole school wants to show you around, man. Just go with it.”

“Won’t be necessary,” Caleb responds. There’s a pause, and then, “You play?”

There must be some football paraphernalia in Ryan’s locker. Probably a framed photo of himself in uniform. “Yeah,” Ryan replies. “Quarterback. You?”

“No. Baseball.”

“Oh, good. You’re here. Was worried you might get turned around.” Colt Adams’s voice joins the conversation. “Must have been Lennon’s fault you got lost earlier.”

Colt laughs. I cringe.

“You know Lennon Matthews?” Ryan asks; to Caleb, I presume. Colt and I have gone to school together since we were five. New students are rare here, which makes Caleb a novelty even if you ignore his last name.

“Not really,” Caleb replies.

“But you heard about her dad, right?” Ryan questions. “Not that much of a surprise, really. I would have overdosed too, if I had to live on an old farm that’s falling apart. Poor dude. And you know her mom was looser than—”

I slam my locker door shut, a brief thrill of satisfaction racing through me as I watch Caleb, Colt, and Ryan jump along with everyone else in the immediate vicinity. The three boys remain silent as I walk toward them, giving up eavesdropping and heading in the direction of the library.

“Don’t stop your conversation on my account, dudes,” I comment as I pass them by, barely registering their expressions. Colt looks concerned; Ryan uncomfortable. I can’t get any read on Caleb. His face is blank.

But as I continue down the hall, he ends up being the first one to say anything.

“The cafeteria’s the other way, Matthews!”

And that’s the moment I decide I hate Caleb Winters.