Left Field Love
: Chapter 2

The coil of dread tightens in my stomach as soon as I hear his name called. When mine immediately follows, I miss a loop in the elaborate pattern I’m drawing.

I knew it was coming for the last four and a half minutes. Mr. Tanner isn’t known for his innovation. He prides himself on his predictability. One doesn’t have to look any further than the course syllabus I’m currently doodling on. It’s lined with title after title of revered, classic literature, no doubt copied directly from the state curriculum.

As soon as Mr. Tanner announced Ellie Nash would be working with Jillian Baker, I had a sinking suspicion who my partner would be. I didn’t need to spend the past few minutes running through a list of the last names of everyone in this English class to come to the inevitable conclusion Mr. Tanner just announced. But I did so anyway, hoping bad luck and I were finally parting ways.

“Lucky,” Cassie Belmont whispers from her desk next to me.

Since Cassie is the one person I consider to be an actual friend at this school, I don’t correct her assumption.

Good luck, for me, would be never having to see Caleb Winters again.

Being paired with him on an assignment that will determine a quarter of my English grade and require spending more time with him than the past three and a half years combined? The worst start to a new year I can imagine, and we’re only four days in.

It’s a sad testament to my lone friendship that Cassie isn’t aware of how much I hate Caleb, even considering she only started at Landry High last August. This is the only class I share with Landry’s golden boy this year. I’ve barely had to see Caleb, much less talk to him.

That made everything easier.

“I’m reserving the rest of class to begin discussing the project with your partners,” Mr. Tanner announces. “Remember, this is worth twenty-five percent of your final grade in this course. This is a chance to finish strong, not to slack off because it’s your last semester of high school. Please rearrange to sit with your assigned partners.”

Cassie stands and heads to the front of the room. I don’t so much as shift in my chair. Partly because I’m hoping I somehow misheard Mr. Tanner, but mostly because I know I didn’t and I want to force Caleb to come to me. Petty as it is, he has enough handed to him.

The chair next to me scrapes against the floor. I resume my doodling in a hasty attempt to appear nonchalant.

“Happy New Year, Matthews.”

I grunt, focusing on my lopsided loops like they’re a puzzle that needs solving.

The chair squeaks. I stay focused on the paper, refusing to look at him. Mature, I am not.

“I hope you didn’t apply to any art schools.”

Caleb’s voice is closer than I’m expecting. Too close. I drop my pen and glance over at him. He’s leaned across the narrow aisle to study my doodles. And he’s actually looking, scrutinizing the drawing like there’s some hidden logic in the loops.

I flip the paper over and cross my arms, expecting him to move away.

He doesn’t.

Caleb shifts his attention from the paper to me, his blue eyes amused and bright. He’s proud of the dig at my artistic ability, I guess. Maybe it wouldn’t bother me, if I’d applied to any school.

When I say nothing in response, he doesn’t either. We hold a silent stare-off, during which I unfortunately notice he got tan during the baseball team’s trip to Florida. The only school sports team to go anywhere over winter break, and also the only school sports team Caleb Winters plays on. Not much of a mystery how that trip was funded.

“Why don’t you request a change of partners?” I suggest.

“I’m good. At least I know you’ll do your part of the project.”

I scoff. “You mean both parts?”

Something shifts in Caleb’s expression, amusement and aloofness shifting into annoyance. “I mean your part. I do my own work, Matthews.”

“Just like the baseball team funded its own trip to Gainesville?”

Caleb finally leans back, picking up his pen and spinning it around his finger as he studies me with a mixture of irritation and incredulity. “I’m first in our class, Lennon.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

There’s a slow, sinking sensation in my stomach. “Fall grades haven’t even come out yet.”

“They were released last night.”

Absurdly, my eyes start to sting. I bite the inside of my cheek and reach down to pull my water bottle out of my backpack. I haven’t cried since my father’s funeral. I won’t cry now. Here. In front of him.

Unlike most of Landry High’s senior class, I won’t be attending an elite college this fall. I haven’t worked twice as hard as everyone else so I could get into a university with a single digit acceptance rate. The truth is, I probably could. But I already have a full-time job waiting for me after graduation, taking care of Matthews Farm. Looking after my grandfather.

I thought I’d have the satisfaction of everyone knowing I chose that path. Knowing that I had other options. When all of my classmates leave for their shiny futures, I figured I would know I’d beaten them all in one way.

Of course, Caleb Winters would be the one to ruin that, too.

And he realizes it.

“You were first, weren’t you?”

I take a long drink of water, ignoring him.

“That’s the only reason you’d care what my ranking is.”

“Drop it, Winters,” I grit out, growing increasingly incensed.

He grins, showing off the star pitcher smile that I’ve seen rob many girls of speech. And their senses. “Well, between the two of us, we should manage to get a decent grade on this.”

“I’ll do the whole project and you can take half the credit. How does that sound?”

“We took the same classes, with the same teachers, and I did better than you did last semester. You’re seriously going to act like I’m going to mess this up for you?” He raises one eyebrow, still spinning the damn pen. I’m tempted to snatch it from him.

Caleb handicapping this project is not what I’m worried about, not that I’d ever admit it to him. Whoever came up with the dumb jock stereotype never met Caleb Winters. I didn’t need to know his class ranking to think he’s smart.

Honestly, he’s the only classmate who’s challenged me in every class we’ve shared. Landry’s wealthy inhabitants ensure it’s consistently considered the best school district in the state. But it churns out perfect test scores and elite college acceptances by ensuring its students are prepared, not by handing out easy A’s.

Not wanting to partner on this project with Caleb has nothing to do his academic ability and everything to do with the way he throws me off-kilter. I replace him interesting, and it irritates me.

“Have you two decided on your book and topics?” Mr. Tanner appears, glancing between me and Caleb.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence we’re the pairing he chose to check in with first.

“We’re still discussing,” Caleb answers.

Mr. Tanner looks between us again, then nods. “All right.”

I blow out a long breath as soon as he moves on, tempted to start doodling again. Anything to help ignore Caleb’s presence. He’s too much. Too close and too attentive. I can smell him, but it’s not the overpowering cologne too many guys wear. It’s something more subtle that makes me want to lean closer.

I resist the urge.

“I fully intend to do half the project, so we’re going to need to agree on a book,” Caleb says.

“Fine.”

“Any ideas?”

“Moby Dick?” I challenge.

Caleb rolls his eyes. “Pass.”

“Great Expectations?”

“You’re joking.”

“Crime and Punishment?”

“Your suggestions are punishment enough,” Caleb drawls.

“I don’t hear you coming up with anything.”

“What about Frankenstein?”

“I don’t like horror.”

“It’s not horror; it’s a classic,” Caleb argues.

“Just because it’s on the reading list?”

The bell rings, shrill and loud.

“Outlines detailing the book you chose and the three literary devices you’ll be analyzing are due next class,” Mr. Tanner calls out. “One outline per group. See you tomorrow.”

The classroom erupts in commotion. Students scramble to return to their belongings.

Only four minutes separate each period, making it impossible to linger without receiving a tardy slip. Not that I need any incentive to get as far away from Caleb Winters as possible. And thanks to the fact I’m one of the few who stayed in their original seat, all I have to do is shove my binder back into my backpack and rush out the door.

My hasty departure is tracked by a few questioning glances, but the only one I acknowledge is Cassie’s.

“See you at lunch,” I tell Cassie as I pass her by on my way out. My next class is Calculus, and the math wing is on the opposite side of the building.

By the time Calculus ends, I’ve almost managed to forget my conversation with Caleb. The first of the new year. And thanks to Mr. Tanner, definitely not the last. For attending a high school as small as Landry High, I’ve managed to do a surprisingly good job of avoiding Caleb for the past three and a half years. Up until now, apparently.

Rather than head straight to the cafeteria when the lunch bell rings, I turn in the direction of the library. I spent every lunch period as a freshman, sophomore, and junior among the stacks of books. It allowed me time to perfect assignments my chores rushed me through, with the added bonus of avoiding sitting alone in the cafeteria.

Cassie asked if she could sit with me at lunch the first day of senior year, her first day at Landry High, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her no. Or admit I’d spent the past three years eating alone in the library.

Starting at a new school is never ideal, but in Landry? Almost everyone can trace their family back for generations.

Newcomers are rare, and they receive a frosty reception. Cassie was the only new student to start here since Caleb arrived freshman year. And she didn’t coast in on the winning combination of ancestry and affluence, the way he did. Cassie’s family is wealthy but doesn’t have any roots in Landry. Money buys some favor—literally—but even after living here for six months she’s mostly treated like an outsider.

Unlike me, Cassie tries to see the best in people. That is the solitary, or at least the main, reason we’re friends. Her unassuming, warm personality has also defrosted a few of our less pretentious peers, expanding our lunch table of two slowly over the first half of senior year.

I’m not retreating back into old habits of eating solo today.

I’m checking Caleb’s claim that he’s the top student in our year.

The library is empty when I enter it, same as every other time I’ve been in here during lunchtime. Mr. Gibbs, the elderly librarian, looks up and gives me a warm smile as I enter, before promptly turning back to his crossword puzzle.

I walk across the beige carpet toward the computer terminals, inhaling the comforting smell of paper and ink.

Unlike the ancient contraption I use at home, the brand-new computer whirs to life as soon as I move the mouse. It only takes a few seconds for the school’s homepage to load. Once I sign into my account my grades appear instantaneously.

Next to class ranking is the number two.

My fingers form a fist as I scroll down through my past semester’s grades. All A’s and one A- in Biology. He must have gotten all A’s.

I exhale deeply, attempting to let out my anger with the air. I turn off the computer and head back into the hallway. This time, I walk in the direction of the cafeteria.

The noise is startling after the quiet library and empty hallway. A long line of students is still waiting to buy lunch. I have to weave through it to get to my usual table. In a twist on the typical stereotype, Landry High’s cafeteria food is universally considered to be quite good. Not that I would know. Bringing a sandwich from home is cheaper.

I finally reach my usual lunch table and take a seat next to Cassie.

“Hey, what happened to you?” she asks.

“Had to stop at the library,” I explain as I pull my lunch out of my backpack.

“You’re not already working on that English project, are you?”

I’m pretty sure Cassie thinks I’m an insane overachiever, which isn’t entirely inaccurate. But my work ethic at school has a lot more to do with the fact that by the time I finish the chores, homework is the last thing I feel like doing.

“Definitely not,” I respond, before biting into my peanut butter and banana sandwich.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Caleb Winters? Did you guys date?”

A glob of peanut butter gets caught in my throat. That’s about the last question I expected Cassie to ever ask me. “Date?”

“Yeah. People were…talking. Earlier.” Cassie’s expression turns apologetic, like listening to gossip is a betrayal.

Nothing involving me ordinarily interests anyone besides Cassie, but the entire table’s attention is suddenly focused my way. I scoff loudly, eager to dispel any confusion on this topic. “We’ve never dated. Would never date.”

“Everyone knows Caleb and Lennon don’t get along,” Shannon Jones says.

I’m grateful Shannon is agreeing with me, but I also have to suppress a sigh. That’s all I’m known for in Landry: my last name and my contentious interactions with the star pitcher.

Eliza Gray laughs from her spot across from me. “Remember the spelling bee freshman year?”

Tina Smith leans forward to speak past Cassie. “Oh my God, I forgot about the spelling bee. I had culinary with them sophomore year. Caleb swapped out your sugar for salt, right Lennon?”

“Right.” I take another bite of my sandwich, growing increasingly annoyed with the topic of conversation. More of the girls mention encounters between me and Caleb, most of them moments I hadn’t even realized others noticed.

“Don’t forget that debate they had in History last year!” Shannon adds.

“I still say Johnson shouldn’t have been impeached.” A new voice joins our conversation from directly behind me.

A familiar one.

A male one.

The only thing worse than being caught in a conversation about Caleb Winters? Having Caleb Winters overhear it. Knowing he overheard it.

An immediate, total silence falls over the table.

“Eavesdropping, Winters?” I keep my voice as nonchalant as I can manage, glad Caleb can’t see my face.

I have no idea what he’s doing over here. The baseball team rarely strays from its coveted corner table, lording over the rest of the school from its spot at the top of the high school social hierarchy.

“Doubt I missed hearing anything good if you were involved in the discussion, Matthews.”

I glance over one shoulder at Caleb, ignoring the wide eyes of my tablemates. “Did you need something, or did you just come over here to annoy me?”

“What makes you think I came over here to talk to you?” Caleb grins. It’s dimpled. Devilish. I pretend it doesn’t affect me, but there’s an annoying flutter in my stomach. “Maybe I came over here to talk to someone else.”

“Don’t get my hopes up.”

Caleb smiles again, but this time it’s more genuine. It’s wry, not polished or practiced. “We never decided on our project details. Hell, I’m not even sure we settled on a book. And then you ran as soon as the bell rang.”

“I did not run. The bell signals the end of class. And I had to get to the math wing. I’ll do the outline, okay?”

“Without me?”

“I’ll put your name on it, Winters.”

“Do you really want to have this conversation? Again?”

I heave out a long sigh that I fill with as much exasperation as I can muster. Which is a sizable amount. “Why do you have to be so freaking difficult?” I ask Caleb as I stand up and grab the rest of my sandwich.

“I’m the difficult one?”

I scoff before striding over toward a mostly empty table about twenty feet away. Only a few other students, who look to be freshman, are huddled at the opposite end. I drop down on one side, and Caleb takes the seat across from me.

“So…how often do you spend lunch gossiping about me?”

I should have known he wouldn’t let that drop so easily. “First and last time,” I inform him.

He smirks. “Yeah, right.”

I sigh. “It can’t be news people gossip about you.”

“No. It’s not.”

There’s a dissatisfied edge lurking beneath the words. One I’m surprised to hear and too uncomfortable to acknowledge.

“We can do Frankenstein,” I blurt.

Ending this conversation as soon as possible suddenly feels like a top priority. Something about sitting here, with him, all alone is creeping under my skin and taking hold.

Caleb studies me with a strange, speculative look for a minute. “What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” Caleb gives his head a small shake. “Okay, so we’ve settled on a book.”

“Miraculous,” I mutter dryly.

“So, you have any favorite literary devices?” Caleb asks.

“Please tell me that’s not one of your pickup lines,” I can’t help but quip.

Caleb gives me another one of his rare, genuine grins. I take a bite of sandwich. “I’ve got better game than that, Matthews.”

“I don’t see why you’d need to. Perk of being the hottest guy in school, and all that.” The words slip out past the piece of banana I’ve just swallowed. Unthinkingly. And I regret them as soon as they leave my mouth.

“You think I’m the hottest guy in school?” Caleb asks, a wicked, speculative gleam appearing in his eyes.

Shit. “That wasn’t a personal opinion,” I hurry to say. “I just meant, that’s what people say, is all.” I’m flustered, and I’m pretty sure Caleb can tell. Mostly because I do think he’s the hottest guy in school, and that’s something I never wanted him to know.

Uncharacteristically, he doesn’t press the topic. “Foreshadowing?”

I breathe a subtle sigh of relief. “I’d hope so, considering the subject.”

“Two to go, then.”

“Imagery?” I offer.

“Isn’t that a given in every book?” Caleb contends.

“Did you notice how I didn’t criticize your suggestion?” I retort.

“Fine. Personification?”

“Done,” I state, eager to be finished with this discussion. “Do you trust me to write the outline now?”

“Yes,” Caleb replies simply.

“Good.” I ball up the plastic baggie I transported my sandwich in, expecting that to be the end of our conversation. But Caleb doesn’t move, so I feel obligated to stay seated too.

We stare at each other in silence. It’s a stark contrast to the din of voices surrounding us.

“How was your break?” Caleb finally asks.

I don’t answer at first, too taken aback by his unexpected question. We don’t exchange pleasantries. We bicker and argue.

I feel like it’s a test, and so I don’t bother with the glossy answer I offered to Cassie and the one other person who bothered to ask. “It…wasn’t great,” I admit. Maybe honesty will fracture this bizarre moment. “Yours?”

If Caleb’s surprised by my answer, he doesn’t show it. “Not great, either.”

His answer isn’t what I expect. I spent most of break arguing with Gramps, who is still insisting he could handle the farm if I went off to college in the fall, despite the fact he struggles to walk to the barn some days. I know that’s not how Caleb spent his. Maybe he feels obligated to mirror my melancholy answer, but I don’t see why he would. I’m well aware of how charmed his life is. Everyone is aware.

“Great,” I finally say, because something needs to be said. I can’t sit in more silence.

A smile tugs at the corners of Caleb’s mouth in response to my obvious sarcasm.

“Well…I’m going to go.”

I stand. Caleb says nothing, eventually giving me a small nod. His sudden muteness is unnerving. I hesitate for a second, then turn to walk back toward my table. I should have just told him what I narrated to Cassie in homeroom earlier. The last thing I want from Caleb is pity.

“Matthews!” I spin back around.

Caleb is standing now. “You’ve got some peanut butter on your nose,” he informs me.

Heat flushes my body. I swipe at the center of my face repeatedly while glaring at him. “This whole time? And you’re just telling me now?”

Caleb shrugs, giving me a lazy smirk. “You called me hot, so I decided to be nice and let you know.”

“I did not call you hot.” I snarl the words before stalking the remaining distance to my table.

“How did it go?” Cassie asks me tentatively as I plop back down beside her.

“Great,” I growl.

“That’s…good,” she replies, her voice suggesting she doesn’t believe me.

I sigh and fish around my lunchbox for a granola bar. “Do I have any food on my face?” I ask.

Cassie studies my face. “Uh…yeah. There’s some peanut butter right there.” She points to my nose.

I grab a napkin and scrub it over my whole face. “Gone?”

Cassie nods.

I toss the napkin. “Could this day get any worse?” I mutter.

After seventeen years, I really should know better than to tempt the universe.