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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 certainI have to! Andrew is breathing down my neck about the articleyouinsisted 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?”
