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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 didnotcall 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 rightthere.” 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.
CHAPTERTHREE
LENNON
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 onLandry 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.”
