Left Field Love
: Chapter 3

Dusty could go out with Stormy, but then I’d need to put Commie out solo. Maybe all the mares should…

“Lennon? Lennon!”

“What?” I ask, tapping the pencil against my notepad and trying to act as though my attention only just drifted from the newsroom, when in reality I’ve tuned out most of the school paper’s hour-long meeting.

Our editor, Andrew, is a senior like me. Meaning he views the next five months as his final chance to leave an everlasting mark on Landry High Times.

His “vision” for the next few issues took up the first forty minutes of the meeting.

I zoned out after five to plan the turnout schedule for the next week.

“You’ll be covering the baseball interview, Lennon.”

I sit up straighter. “Baseball interview? What baseball interview?”

“It’s Caleb Winters’s final season. He finally agreed to do an interview with the paper.”

I’ve never seen Andrew look so enthused. He’s practically beaming as he delivers the news that makes every other member of the staff perk up as well.

“How thrilling,” I drone. “I’m not writing it, though.”

“You have to!” Andrew pushes his tortoiseshell-framed glasses back up the bridge of his nose. I recognize it as one of his nervous tells. The two of us have had several creative differences since both joining the school paper freshman year.

“No, I definitely do not,” I inform Andrew. “Me writing an article about Caleb Winters is a terrible idea. You know that we don’t get along. And I don’t know anything about baseball. Simon is the sportswriter!”

Simon startles when I say his name, looking nervous rather than eager.

Despite my personal misgivings, I know Andrew is right to be excited. An interview with Landry’s star pitcher will be huge for the paper.

But Simon still isn’t jumping in and offering to do the interview for me, which is strange. I’ve personally been subjected to hearing him drool over Caleb multiple times.

“Actually, you do,” Andrew states. “Caleb said he’d only do the article if you were the one who interviewed him.”

“He said what?” I blink at Andrew, stunned. “I’m sure he only said that because he knows I won’t agree to it. Or he won’t show up. Or he’ll make up all his answers. This is his way of getting out of it. Using me.”

Andrew doesn’t disagree. “Not a chance we can take,” he replies, then shrugs. “Winters never talks to the press. No one knows where he wants to play next year. What he thinks about his final season. This is our chance to get a serious scoop. There’s not a single person in this town who wouldn’t read an interview with Caleb Winters.”

“I wouldn’t.” My voice is petulant.

“Not sure you’ll have much choice, considering you’ll be the one writing it.”

The school paper has always been a refuge for me. None of the other members of the staff are people I’d consider to be friends, but none of them have ever treated with me with any form of derision. I’ve carved out a grudging respect here. And writing for the town paper,the Landry Gazette, is my sole and best opportunity for employment following graduation.

Not only do I not want to quit the school paper, I can’t.

Despite the many hours we collectively pour into each issue, I’ve never even seen any of my classmates read the school paper. There’s no way I’ll be able to convince Andrew to do anything to endanger this story.

Which means I’ll have to take this up with the instigator of this infuriating predicament.

“Fine,” I state, slumping back in my chair. Andrew eyes me suspiciously, skeptical about my sudden lack of objection. “I’ll give him one chance. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I can send you some questions to ask, Lennon.” Simon finally chimes into the conversation.

I sigh. “Thanks.”

Andrew shoots me another wary glance, but moves on. “Julie, you’ll be covering Mr. Barnett’s retirement. Steve, the plans for the new running track. Good work, everyone! Drafts for the new issue by the end of next week, please.”

The huddle in the middle of the room breaks apart, all of us heading back to our assigned desks.

“I guess the rumors are true,” Julie Larson muses as she takes a seat at her desk, which is adjacent to mine.

“What rumors?” I ask, shoving my notebook inside my backpack.

“That you hate Caleb Winters.”

“We hate each other,” I correct.

“Then why would he have you do his interview?”

“To torture me. He’s a jerk.” I zip my bag up, annoyance reigniting.

“I’ve never talked to him,” Julie states. I glance at her, surprised. That’s something I haven’t managed to do in a small school while actively attempting to avoid him. “But if he is a jerk, he’s a hot one.” Her tone has turned wistful. Admiring. And I can’t summon the amusement that used to appear when I saw girls fawn over him. Instead, I’m picturing blue eyes.

“The most dangerous kind,” I warn as I grab the last of my belongings and head toward the door. “See you tomorrow, Julie.”

“Bye, Lennon,” she calls after me. “When you do the interview, ask if he’s single!”

I grimace as I head out the door of the newsroom. Good to know she took my warning seriously.

I told Cassie I’d stop by the boys’ basketball game after the paper meeting, so I head out the front doors and make my way over to the sports complex.

It’s not the route I usually take. And it brings me directly past the baseball field. Despite the chilly temperature and the fact the baseball season doesn’t start until—actually I have no idea when the baseball season starts, but I know it hasn’t—I recognize enough of the navy-clad figures to realize the team is out on the field practicing.

Which means he must be out practicing.

I alter my course slightly, veering to the left of the parking lot and alongside the stretch of metal bleachers.

“Winters!” I disregard the half dozen guys gathered around Caleb and march right up to him. He’s leaning against the chain-link fence, tossing a baseball back and forth between his hands like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Must be nice.

Caleb says nothing in response when I call his name, just cocks a brow maddeningly.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Feel free.”

“Somewhere else?” I ignore the mutters the words prompt among the other baseball players.

Lunch earlier illuminated an alarming level of interest in my interactions with Caleb, and I’d like to avoid feeding further speculation. Caleb either doesn’t know about the gossip, or more likely doesn’t care, because he remains in place.

“I’m in the middle of practice.”

“You’re leaning against a fence.”

He doesn’t move. “You want to talk, talk.”

“Fine. What the hell is your problem?” I hiss.

Caleb doesn’t look nearly as apprehensive as I think he ought to. “You’re mad at me? That’s a nice change.”

I scowl. “If you stopped trying to purposefully piss me off, you wouldn’t have to deal with me being mad at you.”

Caleb merely arches an arrogant brow.

“You told Andrew you wouldn’t do an interview with the paper unless it was with me? Why the hell would you do that? It’s not bad enough we’re partners on that English project? You want to spend more time together?”

There’s a low, husky laugh behind me. I glance over one shoulder at Colt Adams. He turns the sound into a cough as soon as our eyes connect, but I’m not fooled. I narrow my eyes at him, then turn back to Caleb.

“Well?”

He sighs. “After three plus years of being begged to do so, I agreed to do an interview with the school paper that will probably mean more than four people read it. I didn’t realize that was a problem. More like it merited a thank you.”

“Four people? God, you’re such a jerk.” The fact he’s probably not wildly off on his readership count is irrelevant.

“Are you done? We’re still in the middle of practice.” Caleb gestures to the loose grouping of his baseball teammates, none of whom are making any attempt to act like they’re not hanging on to every word. I don’t know why girls are the gender associated with loving gossip.

“I’m not doing the interview with you.” I leave no room for argument in the statement.

But Caleb replaces some. “Then why are you here, yelling at me about it?”

I grind my teeth, probably doing some damage to my molars. “Do the interview with someone else, Caleb.” I speak each word as if it’s a sentence, the final threads of my patience fraying like worn rope.

“You’re the best writer on the paper. It’s you or no one else, Lennon.”

Caleb emphasizes my first name slightly, and I know it’s to let me know he caught that I used his. But I’m more distracted by the fact he just complimented me.

At least, I think he did.

I’m waiting for the punchline.

But it doesn’t come. “I have a busy schedule. You’d have to work around it.”

Caleb doesn’t hide his grin, and I know it’s because he thinks I’m just continuing to be difficult. I keep to myself. Aside from the paper, I’m not involved in any school activities. Honestly, I’m shocked Caleb even knew I’m on the paper.

“You’ve got a busy schedule?” He scoffs. “Okay, fine. When do you want to meet?

“Tomorrow at five thirty,” I reply promptly. Meaning I’ll have to get up at…yeah, not thinking about that.

“In the morning?” Caleb lets out a laugh of disbelief.

“Yes. That’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.” I smirk, certain he’ll leave it.

But I underestimated Caleb’s stubbornness. Or his dedication to torturing me. Or maybe both.

“Fine.”

I study him for a moment, testing his resolve. He doesn’t waver.

“Fine,” I finally retort. “I’ll meet you here.”

“Here?” Caleb glances at the baseball field.

“Don’t be late.” I spin around and walk away, silently seething. I thought Caleb would back down after teasing me a little. There’s no way he actually wants me to interview him. It will be torture for the both of us.

My annoyance lasts for the short walk from the baseball field to the gymnasium. The bleachers along the far wall are only half-full when I enter the gym. My ears begin ringing from the sound of rubber soles squeaking against the varnished floor. The pungent, unpleasant scent of sweat burns my nostrils.

Cassie is easy to spot among the couple dozen spectators. She’s the only person not paying any attention to the game. At least until I take a seat on the wooden bleachers beside her. Cassie finally glances up; first at the game, and then over at me.

“Hey,” she greets. “What took you so long? The game’s practically over.”

“I got held up at the paper,” I explain, which is partially true. I don’t elaborate any further than that, although I know Cassie, along with the rest of the school, will eventually hear about my latest assignment. I’m still holding out hope the interview will get derailed. Caleb showing up on time tomorrow morning seems unlikely. “Surprised you noticed I wasn’t here,” I tease. “You looked invested in the game.”

Cassie makes a face. “Basketball was big at my old school,” she tells me. “Not so much here, I guess?” She nods toward the small, unenthusiastic crowd.

“I don’t really follow the sports scene,” I remind her. “But if I had to guess, I’d say your best bet for a big crowd is a baseball game.”

“Yeah, I probably should have figured that out.” Cassie looks at me thoughtfully. “Because of your English partner, right?”

I grimace at the curiosity in her voice. There were times I would go days—weeks, even—without having to think or hear about Caleb Winters. How I’ve suddenly gone from that to frequent reminders he exists is irritating.

“Right,” I confirm. Baseball has always been big in Landry, but Caleb certainly hasn’t impeded its popularity. Far from it. Despite the rock I’ve tried to shove myself under when it comes to him, I know he’s racked up an impressive number of athletic accolades in the sport.

The basketball game ends ten minutes later, with Landry winning handily. Cassie and I filter into the lobby with the few other attendees.

We’re heading toward the front doors of the sports complex when Cassie pauses and nods to our right. “I’m going to run to the restroom. Do you mind waiting?”

“No problem,” I respond, stopping and leaning against the cinderblock wall. “I’ll be here.”

Cassie flashes me a grateful glance before disappearing into the lobby’s bathroom. I’m studying some of the shiny trophies on display when I hear a male voice say my name.

I turn to see Will Masterson, my freshman year lab partner, looking at me with surprise. He’s still wearing his basketball uniform from the game.

“Hi, Will,” I greet. I could count on one hand the number of conversations we’ve had since sharing a blacktop table freshman year. Not for lack of trying on Will’s part. He always says hi to me in the halls or waves from a distance. He’s one of those rare people who is genuinely nice.

Every conversation we have, I feel like I have to carefully consider each word I say, worried some snark or sarcasm will slip through and reveal my cynicism.

As he approaches me with a wide smile, I’m reminded of the other reason I keep our interactions short: I’ve gotten the sense Will’s friendliness might not be entirely platonic. The few other guys who have flirted with me have been easy to dissuade with a few sharp retorts. I feel badly doing that to Will, but I don’t want to give him the wrong idea either.

I return his smile. “Nice game.”

“Thanks, Lennon.” He beams in response to my compliment. “It’s really nice to run into you. I feel like I never see you around.”

“Senior year, you know.” I keep my reply evasive, hoping he’ll fill in the blanks with what I’ve been busy with himself. With normal activities, like college visits and applications, rather than what actually takes up the bulk of my time: running a horse farm.

“I sure do.” Will lets out a low laugh. “Hard to believe it, huh? Seems like not that long ago we were lab partners.”

“It doesn’t feel like that long ago,” I agree. Probably because my life doesn’t look all that different. Gramps is more forgetful and has a harder time getting around. But my mornings still start early and I usually collapse into bed as soon as I finish my homework.

Aside from Cassie’s presence, high school never improved much from the disastrous first day Caleb Winters became my nemesis, and the hours spent in Will’s friendly, upbeat presence were an unexpected bright spot in an otherwise dismal year. Impulsively, I tell him so. “That class was the best part of freshman year for me.”

“Really?” Will asks. He looks shocked by my comment, which is probably warranted. It’s not exactly common for me to be nostalgic.

“Really,” I confirm, smiling slightly. “You were always nice to me, and most people…weren’t.”

“Most people are idiots,” Will states, his tone emphatic.

My laugh is wry. “Won’t argue with you there.”

Will leans a little closer and opens his mouth to say something else. I hope it’s unrelated to my pariah status. I hate talking about my parents and I don’t discuss Gramps with anyone.

I’m distracted by a sudden gush of cool wind and the slap of cleats hitting the lobby’s linoleum, but I force my eyes to remain on Will and resist the urge to watch as the baseball team walks by.

Unfortunately, Will doesn’t do the same, turning to face the commotion and taking my excuse to appear oblivious with him.

“Masterson! How’d it go?” Luke Evans pauses next to us.

“I’m insulted you have to ask.” Will grins. “Decimated them.”

“Nice work,” Luke congratulates, and then tucks his baseball glove under one arm so he and Will can do one of those half-hand slap, half-fist bump greetings guys seem to apply to every possible interaction.

“You guys are already practicing?” Will nods to Luke’s dirt-streaked baseball attire.

“Already? We never really stop,” Luke replies. “Fall ball has started running right into the spring season.”

Will whistles. “Wow. That’s a lot of baseball.”

Luke nods. “Sorry I didn’t catch any of the game. Our practice ran long. It got interrupted, so Winters had us stay later than usual.”

I wasn’t sure if Luke was among the guys huddled around Caleb earlier, but now I know for certain. I look at him for the first time since he stopped next to Will and me, and he’s sporting a cheeky grin.

It dims when I glare at him.

“Really? What happened?” Will asks curiously, missing our brief exchange.

“Just some equipment issues,” Luke responds.

I tense.

I haven’t been keeping track of the players walking past us. In fact, I’ve been doing everything I can not to look at them, but somehow I know Caleb has just entered the lobby. Most of the basketball team and other spectators are gone, and Luke was the only baseball player who stopped during the team’s trek to the locker room.

Meaning I can hear every footfall as the spikes of Caleb’s cleats hit the tiled floor.

“Congrats on the win, Will. I’ve gotta get changed.” Luke is suddenly in a rush to depart, and despite the fact I still haven’t looked over, I know that means I’m right. Caleb is in the lobby, and Luke doesn’t want to be seen with me.

It’s too late, though. I can feel the weight of Caleb’s gaze as Luke hurries off. Which is why I turn my undivided attention back to Will. If I have to suffer through a fourth encounter with Caleb today, I’ll likely end up resorting to physical violence.

“Sorry about that,” Will apologizes. “Hadn’t seen Luke since winter break.”

“It’s fine,” I reply, injecting a little extra cheerfulness into my voice as I hear footsteps grow closer.

“We were talking about how much some people suck, right?”

I let out a loud laugh as the footsteps reach their crescendo and then start to fade away, ignoring the puzzled look my unexpected mirth earns me from Will. He misses the irony of the timing. “Yes, we were.”

“Hey…” I let out a sigh of relief when I see Cassie has finally reappeared. She looks surprised to replace me standing with Will rather than waiting alone.

“You know Will, right, Cassie?”

“I think we had gym together last semester,” Will supplies helpfully.

“Yeah, we did.” Cassie smiles. “Nice to see you, Will. Did you have a nice break?”

“Yeah, I did. You?”

“It was good,” Cassie replies simply, and then silence falls over our trio.

“Well, we’d better get going,” I say when it becomes clear neither of them are going to say anything else. “Have a good night, Will.”

“Yeah, you too,” he replies. “And thanks for coming, Lennon. It was really nice to see you.”

I smile at him before I head toward the main doors. Cassie follows me.

“He likes you,” she informs me as soon as we emerge outside. Dusk is just beginning to fall. I watch our shadowy shapes stretch alongside us as we head toward the parking lot.

“Yeah, I know,” I admit.

“Did he ask you out?”

“What? No!”

Cassie deflates. “Bummer.” Seconds later, she perks back up. “He’s definitely interested, though. I bet he will next time you talk.”

I blanch. “I hope not.”

“Why? He’s cute! And he seemed really nice.”

“Maybe you should date him.”

“I wasn’t the one he couldn’t stop staring at.”

“He’s too nice.”

“You won’t go out with him because he’s too nice?” A mixture of confusion and amusement fills Cassie’s voice.

“Yes,” I reply simply, unwilling to delve into the other reasons.

None of my classmates—the few who might care or the many who wouldn’t—are aware of the fact I’ll be staying in Landry after graduation. Watching everyone else embark on their exciting futures will be difficult enough without getting romantically attached to someone.

I owe it to Cassie to tell her about my lack of college plans. But I definitely won’t ever tell her—or anyone else—the second reason I avoid dating.

My mother had a certain reputation when it came to men, one that is still associated with my last name. Part of the scandal my father heaped onto. People already replace plenty to gossip about. There’s no need to give them more fuel.

“You guys could be perfect together,” Cassie says, oblivious to my inner thoughts. “He could make you a little friendlier, and you could make him a little more…intimidating?”

I shoot her a mock-glare, and she laughs. “I like that he’s nice. I just don’t want to date someone I feel like I can’t be myself with.”

Cassie nods. “That makes sense. But I still think you should give Will a chance. You can just go on one date with him. Maybe he’s not as nice as he seems.”

“I’ll think about it,” I reply as we reach the end of the sidewalk. More to get Cassie off my back than actually meaning the words. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“I can drive you home. It’s almost dark out.”

“I’ll be fine,” I respond. “It’s not far.”

“Okay,” she agrees. I’m sure she’s noticed I’ve never invited her, but she’s never said anything about it. “See you tomorrow!”

Cassie continues into the parking lot and I keep walking. The sun is continuing its rapid descent, showcasing a brilliant spray of color across the darkening sky.

Only a whisper of orange remains by the time I finish my hike across the east pasture.

Gramps is on the phone when I enter the farmhouse. I wave at him before dropping my backpack in the kitchen and heading upstairs to change into my barn clothes and boots. The ancient hinges let out a familiar groan of greeting as I push the door open, revealing the light-yellow walls and white lace curtains of my childhood bedroom. The decor is better suited for a ten-year-old girl than a seventeen-year-old one, but I haven’t had the heart to change any of it.

Redecorating my room so it was suited for a “big girl” was part of my mother’s final attempt to break free of her many vices, before an aneurysm ensured she’d never have the chance to conquer them permanently.

Gramps is still on the phone when I emerge downstairs, so I head straight out to the barn. It’s completely dark out now, much later in the day than I usually start my chores.

Rather than bring the horses in right away I flick on all the lights and start preparing the evening grain and hay allotments, delivering them to each horse’s stall. I mucked out this morning before school, so the stalls are all clean.

The horses are eager to get inside and eat. Dusty was ridden this morning, but Geiger won’t be getting his scheduled exercise tonight. The practice track doesn’t have any lights, and galloping an ornery stallion in the dark is a surefire way for something to go terribly wrong.

It takes me an hour to finish the evening chores. Gramps has already made dinner when I enter the kitchen. It’s tacos, which are a bit adventurous for him. I’m too hungry to care he oversalted the meat and some of the tortillas are still cold.

Dinner is spent discussing one of Gramps’s old trainer buddies, who was on the phone earlier. He was calling from Florida, where he’s training two-year-olds for the upcoming racing season. I nod along as Gramps narrates their conversation about breaking from the gate, but I’m not really listening.

I’m surprised and relieved he remembers as many training techniques as he apparently does. It eases some of the worry that appears every time he can’t replace his keys or leaves the oven on.

After we finish dinner, I help Gramps clean up the kitchen and then say good night. I shower off the barn grime and put on my favorite pair of striped flannel pajamas before settling in the rickety wooden chair to complete my assignments for tomorrow.

The English outline only takes me ten minutes, but the study guide for my Oceanography class takes a lot longer to complete. I quit when the words start swimming across the page in a black-and-white river.

I should have time to go over it again in the morning. Even if—and that’s a big if—Caleb actually shows.

I pack up my bag for tomorrow, get ready for bed, and then slide between the soft sheets, letting out a deep sigh. I love this moment. Nothing that needs my attention. There’s no looming task or assignment. Just silence and my warm, cozy bed. I try to savor it, relish the tranquility.

But I drift toward unconsciousness as soon as my head hits the pillow.