Left Field Love
: Chapter 20

My 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 replace 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.

A few classmates bring up my speech, but most of the conversations are just idle chitchat. Pleasantries.

Endings have a way of bringing people together, I suppose.

Once we’re in the kitchen, I head for the island covered with almost every drink imaginable. The temperature in the house is about twenty degrees warmer than outside, making me glad I decided against wearing a jacket. Or more like Cassie refused to let me bring one.

I reach for the stack of plastic cups, at the same time as another hand. When our fingers brush, a shock of electricity shoots up my arm.

I freeze; Caleb doesn’t.

He grabs two cups and hands one to me.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“Stay away from the punch. It’s full of all sorts of shit.”

“Cal—” He’s already walking away.

I end up with soda, although I’m definitely tempted by the bottles of alcohol. I could use some liquid courage.

Somehow, an evening I thought would drag starts to fly by. My unprecedented popularity lingers. I talk with people I’ve barely exchanged two words with since elementary school. I dance. I mingle with peers I now consider friends: Shannon, Tina, Eliza, Julie, Joe, Will, and Marcus. Even Andrew, for all our head-butting at the paper.

And I enjoy it all, because I don’t have to worry about it ending and everything returning to what used to be normal.

Everything is ending anyway.

Eventually, the night winds down. The crowd thins and the music stops. I have no idea what time it is, but the exhaustion I’m experiencing assures me it’s a lot later than I usually stay up.

Not that that’s saying much.

Cassie is almost finished with her soda. She’s close to being ready to leave, and that’s terrifying.

Because there’s one thing I need to do. One thing I can’t not do. One thing I’ve put off until the last minute.

Until the last minute became now.

“You about ready to go?” Cassie asks me, yawning.

I’m so, so tempted to just nod. To run out of here. But the only thing that’s scarier than doing this is living with the regret of not doing it.

“Yeah,” I respond. “Just give me one minute.”

I purposefully lost track of him earlier, but it’s not hard to replace him now. A usual crowd is nearby, hovering around the popular crowd like bees buzzing around honey.

Cassie follows my gaze, and hers turns knowing.

I don’t enjoy being the center of attention. And I hate being the center of attention when I’m doing something that could completely backfire.

As I approach Caleb, people are already staring. If it involves Caleb, it attracts attention. And between his dare at the lake and our dance at prom, I’m sure there’s some gossip about us.

But this isn’t about anyone else. Over and over again, Caleb has put himself out there. In response, I’ve mostly been too shocked to really react.

I want him to know those moments mattered to me, though. That he matters to me. Since words seem to fail me around him, I’m relying on actions.

He sees me coming. He’s wearing a baseball cap, with the brim pulled low, and it shields most of his face. But I note how his shoulders tense when I push past Colt and enter their little circle. Probably a bad sign.

His voice is wary when he speaks, expecting I intend to stop and exchange syllables.

“Lenn—”

I don’t give him a chance to finish saying my name.

I knock his cap upwards, and then I kiss him. Really kiss him. The way I would if we were alone, rather than surrounded by a crowd. The way he kissed me next to the campfire. And I pour everything I am into it. My hopes. My fears. My dreams.

Because somehow, when I wasn’t paying attention, while I didn’t know to stop it, Caleb Winters became all those things to me. Someone I hoped to see. Became afraid to lose. Dreamed about. He mixed with everything else that makes me Lennon Matthews, and is now so knotted with the rest of me I don’t know how to untangle him.

I savor the soft friction of his lips against mine until I can’t anymore.

Until the pleasure turns to pain.

Until I start to worry I might do something even stupider than kiss him. Like beg him to stay.

I pull away and look up into those hauntingly blue eyes, filled with heat and confusion.

“Don’t get lost,” I whisper, before I turn to walk away.

He grabs my arm before I take a step, spinning me back around to face him. Thankfully, he doesn’t look mad about the kiss. “I’m coming back, Lennon. This isn’t goodbye.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Caleb.”

“I’m not.” Fierceness fills his expression. “I mean it.”

I nod once, but I don’t let myself believe it. “Goodbye, Winters.”

He knows I don’t believe him. It’s obvious in the long, frustrated breath he blows out before he nods back. “See you, Matthews.”

Cassie doesn’t say much on the drive home. We’re both tired after a long, draining day, and she knows me well enough by now to get that if I wanted to discuss what happened with Caleb, I would bring it up myself.

She parks in front of the farmhouse, and I’m surprised to see the porch light is on. Even more surprising, Gramps is sitting in one of the rocking chairs. He’s usually asleep before me, which makes this about six hours past his usual bedtime. It’s almost three.

I say goodbye to Cassie and climb out of the SUV, back into the humid night.

“You’re up late, old man,” I tease, climbing the rickety front steps and leaning against the porch baluster.

“You’re out late, young lady,” Gramps shoots back with a wink.

“Yeah… I guess so.” I scuff the toe of my sneaker along some of the peeling paint coating the floorboards. “Had more people to say goodbye to than I realized.”

More like it took me four hours to muster the courage to say goodbye to one.

“Ah,” Gramps responds knowingly. He uses the arms of the old rocking chair to push himself upright, and then comes and stands next to me. The comforting weight of his arm settles across my shoulders. “People have a tendency to come back home, Lennie.”

“Like birds?” I quip, trying to lighten the mood and lessen his worries. I know Gramps still feels guilty about college.

“Or baseball players,” Gramps responds. “It’s the whole point of the game, after all.”

An unexpected lump appears in my throat as I look away from the sage, shrewd eyes that are the same hue as mine to survey the farm I’ve grown up on.

“We’ll see,” I reply softly.

“Good night, Lennie.” Gramps hands me a pamphlet. It’s the graduation program from the ceremony. “Thought you might want to take a look at that.”

“I already did.” Long enough to see I’m the only senior staying in Landry, at least.

“You saw where the Winters boy is going to school then?”

Reluctantly, I shake my head. I skipped over his name on purpose. Honestly, I’d rather not know. Then I can’t picture him someplace else.

“You should look,” Gramps tells me.

The door shuts behind him as he heads inside.

I stare out into the darkness for a minute, then sigh and open the program. Caleb’s at the end of the list, since it’s alphabetical.

Caleb Winters. Clarkson University.

I pull in a surprised breath.

Oakmont College is in California.

But Clarkson?

Clarkson is in Kentucky.