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“Going to be a long drive back,” Drew says, turning on the car.
We all burst out laughing.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SIX
LENNON
“That’s all for today, folks. Grab an application for the Fulright Fellowship on the way out, if you’re interested. Keep up the caffeine consumption!”
As soon as Professor Glannon stops speaking, the lecture hall erupts in activity. Laptops are closed. Pens clicked. Backpacks unzipped.
“What’s the Fulright Fellowship?” I ask Eric as we pack up our bags.
“It’s a grant for continuing study in the field of journalism,” Eric explains. “It usually involves placement at an elite newspaper and it’s open to every senior journalism major at any school in the country. Clarkson students have won before, but it’s hard to do. Super competitive.”
“How do you apply?”
“There’s an essay prompt. Also, to qualify for consideration, you have to have spent a couple of years working for a newspaper in some capacity.”
“Oh.” I expected the requirements to be something I couldn’t meet. Not being a senior year transfer, for example. But…I could apply, it sounds like. “Are you going to apply?”
Eric laughs. “Yeah, of course. Along with a bunch of other fellowships. Aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. I only just learned about it now.”
“Don’t you want to work for a paper?”
“Of course.”
“Then you should definitely apply. I’ll read your essay for you, if you want. Give you some feedback before you send the application in.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. “What’s the prompt?”
“Can people change?”
“Really? That sounds like a question on a philosophy final, not for a journalism grant.”
Eric shrugs as we walk outside. “They’re looking for good writers. It’s not a research assignment you need sources for or an interview you have to conduct. Just show them you’re capable of writing something compelling. If you can write it about a three-word prompt, you can write it about breaking news.”
I nod. “That makes sense.”
“If you want to talk about it more, we can meet in the library one night this week. I—I’ll see you later, Lennon.” Eric changes whatever he was going to say once he sees what I’ve just spotted.
Caleb is sitting on the bench across from the journalism building, talking on the phone as he waits for me. We’re supposed to go grab lunch off-campus.
“Thanks, Eric. See you next class.”
Eric nods and disappears into the crowd. I met him, Abby, Amanda, and Joe at a local coffee shop last weekend to work on assignments. None of them mentioned Caleb or brought up what happened the last time we all hung out at the pizzeria.
It was nice. It made me feel like I’m finding my own place here, not just fitting into Caleb’s world.
He looks up and smiles as I approach. Caleb is wearing a Jays baseball cap, one Gramps gave him for his birthday last year. Gramps mostly loved Caleb because he knew how much I do. But I know it secretly thrilled him I was datingtheCaleb Winters, baseball star.
And Gramps was obsessed with baseball. He could name every player’s hometown and rattle off years of stats at the drop of a hat.
Once upon a time, at least. There were days he couldn’t remember what year it was, much less the team’s starting line-up.
He’s been gone for three months. In some ways, it feels like far more time has passed. My life today looks so wildly different than I ever imagined it being. I’ve met people and experienced things I never would have in Landry.
