Left Field Love
: Chapter 19

The bell rings, drawing my attention away from the back of Caleb’s head to the half-scrawled sentence I should have been focused on. Hastily, I finish it, then tuck the sheet with my multiple-choice answers inside the booklet as Mr. Tanner moves down the row, collecting everyone’s exams.

He takes mine, so I lean down to grab my backpack so I can depart. It feels strange leaving school in the morning, but now that we’re in the midst of exams it’s a daily occurrence. I’m back home by eleven.

“Caleb, I’m missing your essay.” Since Mr. Tanner has never been one for subtlety, he announces this in front of the entire class. Classmates who were already headed for the door slow, sucked into the drama like motorists passing a car crash.

“I ran out of time,” Caleb answers.

“You didn’t write the essay? Any of it?” Mr. Tanner is paging through the blank booklet, like maybe Caleb started writing on page ten for some reason.

“No.”

“Not even an outline? I can give you partial credit for that.”

“I ran out of time,” Caleb repeats.

Mr. Tanner shakes his head before moving onto the next desk to retrieve Ellie Nash’s final.

Drama concluded, everyone rushes for the door, eager to leave school and maximize the time before having to return tomorrow for the last day of finals. But no one exits faster than Caleb. He’s out the door before I’ve even risen from my desk.

“I’ll meet you at your car, okay?” I tell Cassie. We made plans to go get coffee and cram for tomorrow’s tests after the English final.

I catch her nod out of the corner of my eye as I head for the door, jostling a few classmates as I hurry toward the front entrance. I spot Caleb as soon as I’m outside. He’s already halfway down the sidewalk.

My strides quicken, giving up on a brisk walk and literally running after him. My heavy backpack bounces against my back with each step and my rubber-soled sneakers slap the cement. People are staring, but I don’t stop until Caleb hears me approach and spins around.

“What the hell did you just do?” I accuse Caleb between pants.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies.

“You ran out of time on a two-hour exam? You chose not to write that paper. It’s twenty percent of our grade! You’ll be lucky to end up with a B. I have no idea why you—”

“You want to be valedictorian, right?” Caleb demands.

Realization trickles in like a melting ice cube, cold and steady. I chased him because I wanted him to convince me he didn’t purposefully bomb the final. Instead, he just confirmed he did.

“Not because you handed it to me. I can earn my own accomplishments, Caleb. I want to earn my own accomplishments. You didn’t do this for me.”

“Then why did I do it, Lennon?”

He spins back around and continues walking in the direction of his truck without giving me a chance to answer, which is good.

I’m not sure what I would say.