Left Field Love
: Chapter 6

He approaches me while I’m switching books out in my locker. Since Landry High assigns lockers alphabetically and we’ve kept the same ones since freshman year, seeing Ryan James isn’t a rarity. Talking to him is. We remain in a comfortable state of not acknowledging the other exists.

Ryan leans against Ellie Nash’s locker, shooting me a cocky grin. The same one that swindled me out of my first kiss, back in eighth grade.

“Wanna hang out tonight?”

I’m shocked. I figured he was coming over here to pile on about my disastrous Friday night. “You feel like slumming?”

Ryan’s grin widens as he shakes his head. “Come on, Lennon. We both know you have more confidence than that. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

“Oh, yeah?” I grab my Calculus textbook and then slam the door shut, satisfied when Ryan flinches at the loud noise. “What else is on the list?”

“What list?”

“Your list of favorite things about me.”

“Oh. Well.” He runs his fingers through his hair, obviously not expecting the question. Most of the girls at this school smile and blush in response to anything he says. Maddeningly, I used to be one of them. “I’ve always thought you were cool. And, well, before everything happened…”

“By everything, you mean my dad dying? That’s when I could have used a hang out, Ryan. You’re about four years too late.”

“It’s only too late if you say it’s too late.”

“That’s literally exactly what I just said.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I heard you. Just think about it, okay?”

Ryan is gone before I can respond, lost in the crowded hallway. The warning bell rings a few seconds later, and I basically have to sprint to get to Oceanography in time for the start of class.

The Oceanography teacher, Ms. Lyons, begins class with the announcement we’ll be spending the class period performing an octopus dissection. She allows everyone to choose their partners, which pleases everyone but me.

Shannon is in my class, so I decide to test Cassie’s claim the girls we sit with at lunch aren’t only there because of her. I don’t fully believe her. I’m guessing it’s Cassie’s way of “helping”—and by helping, I mean forcing—me to better integrate with her friends.

“Do you want to work together?” I ask Shannon, plopping down on the empty stool next to her.

“Sure,” she replies, appearing genuinely enthusiastic, which I take as a promising sign. “I’m not sure I would have taken this class if I’d known we were doing dissections.”

“Hopefully it won’t be too—” I’m cut off when Ms. Lyons sets a metal tray in front of us that’s mostly covered by a slimy, gray lump. It jiggles when the tray hits the table. “Gross,” I finish.

Although it appears gelatinous, the slippery surface of the mollusk proves challenging to pierce. After we’ve pulled on surgical gloves, Shannon attempts to hold the sides of the dead octopus while I try to slit the skin with the scalpel. It’s a difficult, disgusting process.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to eat seafood again,” I comment once we’re finally finished.

“I’m sorry,” Shannon replies.

“I never really liked it all that much, anyway.”

She lets out a little laugh. “No. I’m sorry about the way I—the way so many people—treated you freshman year. That some people still act that way.” I know she’s referring to Friday night. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

“It sucked.”

Shannon nods. “If it makes any difference, I’ve always been impressed by how you handled it. I know I never would have been able to keep my cool the way you did. I don’t think many people could.”

“They probably wouldn’t have to,” I state.

Shannon doesn’t deny it. My father’s fatal overdose the summer before I started high school wasn’t the first scandal Landry ever experienced. The main difference was Gramps and I chose to remain rather than relocate. Gramps’s roots are sunk too deep to ever leave Landry voluntarily. It’s why I won’t allow him to consider selling the farm. It’s part of who he is.

“But thank you,” I add, acknowledging her words. And the courage it took to say them.

Shannon smiles at me, and I feel like my social “line” might have just become a triangle. At the very least, I feel less isolated than usual.

On my way toward English, I run into Andrew. He’s hurrying down the hallway, perpetually in a rush, but stops when he spots me.

“Lennon! Just the person I wanted to see,” he tells me.

That worries me slightly, but I smile anyway. “About what?”

“About the article on Caleb Winters! How is it going?”

“Um…” I haven’t seen Caleb since he walked away Friday night. Somehow I forgot, during that moment that felt like a closing chapter, that we have both a project and an article to get through together. “It’s going.”

“You’ll get me the draft on time?”

“Have I ever turned in a draft late?” I ask.

Simon sent me some professional-sounding questions this weekend, so all I need is an opportunity to ask Caleb them before I have to turn in a draft to Andrew. Which will require…talking to Caleb.

The warning bell rings, indicating there are only two minutes left until the start of third period. Andrew startles. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he tells me, and then sets off at a brisk walk. I’m not surprised. He’s absolutely the type who arrives early to class to get a front-row seat.

The hallways are rapidly emptying. I only pass a couple of other students as I turn into the long hallway that comprises the south wing. There’s another figure just rounding the corner ahead of me.

I recognize the dark hair and broad shoulders instantly.

Might as well get this over with. If I time it right, maybe he won’t have a chance to bring up Friday night before we reach the classroom.

“Caleb!” No reaction. “Caleb!” I try again, a bit louder.

Does he have headphones in?

“Caleb!” Finally, he turns.

“What?” His voice echoes in the empty hallway, loud and annoyed.

I falter, then recover. “Are you deaf? I called your name three times!”

“Yes, Lennon,” he drawls. “I’m deaf.”

“Did I say deaf? I meant an asshole,” I retort.

His expression hardens. “Ever think I just didn’t want to talk to you?”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have made certain I have to! Andrew is breathing down my neck about the article you insisted I write. I could barely come up with more than a paragraph based on last week’s conversation.”

The final bell rings, signaling the start of English.

“Why didn’t you pass it off to the sports guy?”

“What?”

“You heard me. I said I’d do it with him, and you chose to still write it yourself. Why?”

“I—”

“I thought I recognized the voices of two tardy students. Class isn’t being held in the hallway today.” Mr. Tanner appears in the doorway of our English classroom.

“Sorry, Mr. Tanner,” Caleb says, his tone vastly different than the one he just used with me. Instead of angry, he sounds exhausted.

“It won’t happen again,” I add meekly.

He nods, and ducks back inside the classroom, clearly expecting Caleb and me to follow. We do.

“I can meet on Wednesday at the same time as before,” Caleb mutters as we finish our trek to the classroom door.

“Fine.”