Left Field Love
: Chapter 13

It 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, replaceing 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.”

Neither of us have acknowledged what happened between us on Sunday since then. I wait anxiously to see what Caleb will say in response. It’s underwhelming. He just nods, not providing me any insight into what he’s thinking. And we’ve reached the entrances to the locker rooms, so I have no more time to analyze his expression.

“See you, Lennon,” is all he says before disappearing into the boys’ one.

After I’ve changed back into my usual jeans and sweatshirt, I head to the newsroom for our meeting. I’m anxious about it. This is the first paper meeting since I handed in the draft for my article about Caleb to Andrew. I didn’t want to write it in the first place, but the stakes have risen exponentially since I received the assignment. In a way I definitely didn’t expect.

“Hey,” Julie greets when I take a seat at my desk next to her.

“Hey,” I reply, glancing around the newsroom. “No Andrew yet?”

“Nope,” she replies. “Joe said he was here earlier. Was muttering something about you and then left.”

“Oh. Great.”

My anxiety increases.

I have almost every sentence of the article memorized. I run through the words I spent hours agonizing over, trying to figure out what might have caused Andrew to be late for a meeting for the first time ever.

The newsroom door flies open a couple minutes later, announcing our editor’s presence.

“You’re late,” Joe calls out to Andrew.

“I know,” Andrew replies. He looks almost…giddy. Julie and I exchange a quick glance, trying to figure out what’s going on. She shrugs. Maybe this isn’t about me?

“Well?” Joe prompts.

“I had to talk to the printer,” Andrew says. “And up our order for the next issue to two thousand copies.”

Julie’s mouth literally drops open. That’s a hundred times our normal order. A quarter of Landry’s population. More copies than students who attend Landry High.

“What? Why?” I ask, unable to keep my mouth shut. No one else is saying anything.

Andrew grins. “Funny you should be the one to ask, Lennon. I read your article in study hall earlier. One of the best things I’ve ever read, and I’m not going to be the only one who thinks so. Everyone else, pay close attention to my notes on your articles. This will be the issue people read. Make sure it’s your best work.”

He pulls a packet of papers out from under his arm and starts distributing them around the room. He drops Julie’s article draft down in front of her, dotted with red ink. Mine falls next. Without a single mark. That’s never happened.

Andrew continues moving around the room, dropping off articles and sharing feedback. I remain seated, in a state of shock.

“Can I read your article?” Julie asks.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” I slide the papers over toward her.

My pen taps against the surface of the desk, trying to reconcile the last few minutes with the berating I was bracing for.

Two thousand copies? I should be flattered, and a part of me is. But I also know the more people who read the article, the more attention the student body will pay to me and Caleb. I’ve spent the last three and a half years being defined by my so-called hatred of Caleb Winters. Now I’ll be known as the girl who wrote the article about him. It’s an upgrade from being judged for my parents’ mistakes, but it still has nothing to do with me.

“Wow. This is really good,” Julie comments.

“You sound surprised.”

“No, I’m not,” Julie insists. “I just…based on how you reacted to getting it assigned, I thought…”

She trails off, but she doesn’t need to finish her thought. I already know what she is trying to say.

“Yeah, well, if I decide to do something I don’t see any point in half-assing it,” I respond.

Julie laughs. “Clearly. But I hope you know this is going to seriously boost his reputation.” I must look confused, because she laughs again. “I mean it. I like him more after reading this. The fact that you wrote it? People are going to give it way more credence.”

I replay her words for the rest of the meeting and the walk home. Caleb can already do no wrong in the eyes of Landry. Why would one semi-complementary article change that? That implies people care about what I think or say, which is not an impression I’ve ever gotten.

The paper meeting ran longer than usual, and I have a pile of Calculus problems waiting for me, so I rush through the evening chores.

I hop off Dusty’s back just after dark and lead her back to the barn. Its lights are shining like a beacon, visible for miles. Untacking her only takes a few minutes. After I finish brushing her, I release Dusty into her stall.

When I turn around, Caleb is leaning against the adjoining stall’s door, just inside the barn’s entrance.

My heart stutters, then picks up in double time.

“You said I could come over whenever,” he reminds me.

“I know. I just didn’t think you would.”

“No?” Caleb straightens. Steps closer.

“Did you win?” He’s still wearing his baseball uniform, and I really wish he weren’t. Especially now that I have the memory of all those muscles pressed against me.

“Yeah,” Caleb responds, then smiles.

I tilt my head. “What?”

“I threw a no-hitter.”

There’s a buoyant note to his voice, some barely restrained excitement. “That’s good, right?” I surmise.

His smile grows. “Yeah. It’s good.” He takes a few steps toward me.

I suck in a deep breath. Caleb doesn’t stop until he’s only a few inches from me. I can see the darker flecks of blue in his eyes. The shadows beneath them.

“I’m really good at blocking distractions out,” he tells me.

His warm, hard body is pressing against mine now, but I don’t feel trapped. I feel protected. Shielded. Safe.

“But do you know what I keep thinking about, Lennon?”

Caleb’s hand coasts down my side, landing on my waist.

“This.”

He kisses me first. But I’m expecting it. There’s no surprise or uncertainty. Shivers race up and down my spine as tentative touches turn hungry. Fierce. Ravenous.

I learn that when I suck on his lower lip, he groans.

We don’t pull apart until “Lennie!” echoes across the front yard. Caleb and I survey each other for a minute, both out of breath.

“Be right there,” I shout back.

“This mean anything to you, Matthews?”

“I don’t go around kissing random people, Caleb.”

He realizes what I’m referring to immediately. “I wouldn’t have touched her, if I’d known you were coming that night. If I’d known you’d care, Lennon.”

“I never said I cared.”

“Right.” He glances down, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll see you later.”

Caleb is halfway down the barn aisle before I speak. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

He slows. Stops. Turns.

“Okay.”

And that’s how I end up entering the kitchen with Caleb right behind me. Gramps gets over his shock quickly and starts gushing over Caleb.

Apparently, the fact he pitched an entire game without allowing the other team to hit the ball is kind of a big deal. Which explains some of Caleb’s amusement in the barn. My grandfather is more up-to-date on town news than I am.

Thankfully, dinner is one of Gramps’s better creations. He and Caleb talk easily, while I mostly observe. It’s not as strange as I expected it to be, having a third person sitting at the rickety kitchen table. Having Caleb sit at the rickety kitchen table.

And that’s sort of terrifying.

He wasn’t supposed to fit.

The next two weeks fly by. Caleb’s schedule grows more hectic thanks to baseball, and mine was already packed.

But he continues coming over to the farm, mostly at night, but sometimes in the morning, and we talk. About everything and nothing. The only thing we never discuss is the future.

I’m guessing Caleb never brings it up because he knows the entire school is eagerly trying to figure out which elite Division I university he’ll be pitching at next spring. And I have my own reasons for avoiding the subject.

“Caleb’s been spending a lot of time over here lately,” Gramps comments one evening at dinner, right after Caleb left.

“I guess,” I reply, thrown by his cautious tone.

“Just be careful,” Gramps warns. “The Winters, they…well, Elaine—”

A shockwave rolls through me at the sound of my mother’s name. “What about Mom?”

“The Winters family has been worshipped here for a long time,” Gramps says. “Caleb’s father, Austin—well, people treated him the same way they treat Caleb now. I’m glad you’re having some fun, but I don’t want you to get hurt, Lennie.”

Gramps reaches under the kitchen table and pulls a blue bundle of fabric out. He hands the roll to me.

“What’s this?”

“A sleeping bag,” Gramps replies. “Figured you could use it on the senior trip. It gets cold up in the mountains at night.”

“I’m not going on the senior trip, Gramps. I—”

“Yes, you are going.” There’s an undercurrent of authority I rarely hear from him. “I let college drop—for now.” He gives me a stern look. “Because you’re partially right. I don’t have any good options for taking care of things around here myself for that long. But three nights I can handle. And, before you ask, I have friends coming to help out. Go be a kid for a bit, darling. I know you had to grow up fast, and I’m sorry you did. But life is short. You already know that. You’ll regret not going one day.”

I want to argue, but studying his weathered, wrinkled face, I realize this is for him as much as for me. He wants to do this.

“Okay.” I blow out a breath. “I’ll go.”

I stand to clear our empty plates, and then circle the table so I can wrap my arms around him, chair and all. It reminds me of the days I used to spend traveling around the farm on his shoulders.

“I love you, Gramps.”

He pats my arm affectionately. “Love you too, Lennie. Just no shenanigans with the Winters boy on the trip, all right?”

“Gramps!” I exclaim. My cheeks are burning, making me glad he can’t see my face right now.

He laughs and stands. “What sort of guardian would I be if I sent you off on an overnight trip without mentioning it? I was a young man once myself.”

“Stop talking! I’m going out for the night check now,” I inform him, still blushing.

Gramps’s chuckles follow me out of the house. The mare barn is still and quiet when I enter it, but the horses hear the door creak open and start rustling around. I head inside the tack room to grab the hay bags I already prepared earlier.

I divvy them out among the five mares the same way I do every night, and then feed the stallions.

It’s a clear, starry night. I stand in the doorway for a few minutes, looking out at the pasture and contemplating the end of another day. They all blur together, sometimes.

Senior year is speeding by, the end of high school drawing closer and closer. The only thing that’s been different lately has been Caleb. And now I have Gramps’s warning echoing right along with my own caution.

I thought this thing between us would fizzle out on its own. But it hasn’t. Now it feels like the longer it lasts, the harder it will be to end.

With a sigh, I head back toward the farmhouse.