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I listen intently along with Shannon, Tina, and Eliza, keenly aware of how they all keep glancing toward the back porch whenever anyone exits the house.
Sick of holding the rapidly warming can of beer and eager for a cold soda, I excuse myself as soon as there’s a lull in the conversation. Being legally able to drink has only further diminished my interest in doing so. There’s not even the allure of the forbidden anymore.
“Hey, Lennon.”
I halt my progress toward the coolers to glance to the left. Andrew is standing next to the collection of trash cans, clutching a bottle of water. Out of everyone at this party, he’s probably the only one who could give me a run for Most Antisocial. I’m shocked he’s here.
“Hi, Andrew.” I give my former editor a friendly smile, feeling a twinge of nostalgia as I watch him shove his glasses up his nose in a familiar motion. There was a time when I didn’t think there was any part of high school I’d miss. Turns out there are lots. “How’s Yale?”
“Good! Good!” Andrew informs me eagerly, launching into a detailed description of the journalism courses he’s taken and the newspaper internships he’s done without any prompting.
Guest lectures from world-famous reporters and visits toThe New York Timesaren’t at all how I’ve spent the past three years, and it elicits a pang of resentment I fight to ignore. That could have been me in another life. I have the writing talent, the drive, the ambition. I just…have had to reallocate them.
“What about you? How is theGazette?” Andrew asks when he finishes his update.
“TheGazetteis good,” I reply.
The truth is, it’s been an endless slew of grunt work with little pay or opportunities to write. But it’s been something. A little piece of my life that’s just for me.
Andrew listens intently as I describe some of the few more exciting tasks I’ve received. I’m touched by the way he acts as though my anecdotes are just as interesting as his. It makes me feel a little bad for all the times I gave him sass in high school.
I’m halfway through describing the paper’s plan to cover the upcoming Landry Cup when I feel the shift. It ripples through the whole backyard.
Caleb Winters is what an unbiased observer would call a ridiculously hot guy. He had girls falling over themselves to talk to him in high school, and the past three years haven’t made him any less appealing. More so, it seems.
His hair is shorter than it’s been in months—an attempt to combat the Georgia heat, I’m guessing—and all it does is show off his symmetrical bone structure.
He must have come straight here from the baseball camp he’s spent the past month at, because he’s got a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. The strap pulls the cotton of his T-shirt taut, revealing how he has the musculature of an elite college athlete to go along with good genes.
I keep talking to Andrew, forcing my attention to remain mostly on him as Caleb stops next to where Colt is standing, saying something to his best friend. I don’t mind Caleb knowing I’m insanely excited to see him, but I’ve never been able to shake the compulsion to act more aloof when we’re in public. I don’t enjoy appearing vulnerable, especially around people who used to taunt me in the halls.
And, it’s only been a month since I saw him. There’s no need to act like a clingy girlfriend. We’ll face stretches longer than this once Caleb returns to Clarkson for his senior year. There may not be as much geographic distance between us then, but we’re both busy enough weekend visits more than every six or eight weeks are impossible.
“You should think about doing a trainer feature, too,” Andrew suggests. I focus back on him and our conversation about theGazette.
“That’s a good idea,” I reply. “They don’t get much coverage. If I had any say—”
“Hey.”
I let my eyes fly to where they want to go, relieved I’m no longer having to fake any indifference.
“Hi,” I breathe.
Caleb stares at me, and I do the same to him. I soak in the satisfying sensation of being in the exact place where I want to be. When Caleb’s in Landry with me, things feel perfect.
Too bad it’s an exceedingly rare occurrence.
“Hey, Andrew,” Caleb greets, looking away from me for the first time since he approached.
“Uh, hi—hi. Caleb.”
I smile as Andrew stutters. I know he cares about baseball about as much as I do, so his obvious nerves are more a testament to Caleb’s universal appeal. Probably also has something to do with the fact most of the backyard is looking at us now. Andrew and I are the two people here least appreciative of attention.
“See you guys,” Andrews blurts, then takes off.
I stare at the spot he was standing for a few seconds, then slowly let my eyes drift over to the guy standing next to me. I allow the joy I’m experiencing to break through as a wide smile when our gazes meet, re-memorizing his features from up close.
The blue eyes I love to get lost in.
