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“What are you doing here?”
Both Caleb and Andrew turn at the sound of my voice. Andrew looks relieved; Caleb amused.
“Did you get lost, Lennon?” he asks me, smirking. “Been waiting a while.”
“Gym ended ten minutes ago,” I reply. “You couldn’t have been waiting that long. And I’m guessing you spent most of that time trying tofindthe newsroom.”
Caleb makes a show of glancing around the small, sparsely furnished room. “At least there was a sign on the door. Otherwise, I might have confused this with a janitor’s closet.”
“Feel free to tell the school committee they should reallocate some of the athletic department’s funds, and we’ll redecorate.”
Caleb grins. “Nah, on second thought, I like it. Very minimalistic.”
“You shouldn’t have any trouble finding your way out. The door is two feet from you and markedExit.”
I can tell from the way Andrew opens and closes his mouth twice he would love to rebuke me for directing that comment at the subject of our biggest story.
Caleb appears completely at ease as he strolls toward me. I’m painfully aware every member of the paper is tracking his movements.
There’s a reason we were relegated to a room in the far corner of the school. People who are not on the paper do not just stop by the newsroom.
Especially not popular people.
Especially not Caleb Winters.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss as he leans against my desk and studies the clippings from past articles I have posted. “You can’t just show up in the newsroom!”
“You showed up at my practice.”
“That was different!” I protest.
“How?”
“It…just was!” It’s far from a compelling reason, but it’s all I can come up with.
The corner of Caleb’s mouth curls up. I wait for him to pounce on the inadequacy of my response, but instead he changes the subject. “You’re avoiding me.”
“No, I’m not.” It’s my automatic reaction to disagree with anything he says, but in this case, he’s right. I am avoiding him. The only time we’ve spoken since his grandfather’s funeral was forty minutes ago when he asked me if it was my first time running.
Unfortunately, I think his own pace was fast enough he missed seeing the gesture I responded with.
Caleb is obviously expecting my denial, because he speaks before I’ve stopped. “Yes, you are.” His voice is confident. “Because of what happened at my grandfather’s funeral.”
Julie’s desk is closest to the door—closest to us—and she loses the battle pretending like she’s not listening to our conversation. Her head jerks toward us involuntarily, before she catches herself and quickly looks back at the computer screen.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I hoped—thought, expected—the weird moment we shared on Sunday would be easily forgotten.
“Why haven’t we met about the article?” Caleb crosses his arms over his chest. The move makes his biceps bulge, and I have to swallow twice before I can answer.
“I was giving you some…time,” I reply, in what I hope is a tactful way.
“I don’t need time.” Caleb glances at Julie. “Hey, do you have a pen?” he inquires.
“Uh, yeah…sure…here,” she stutters, handing a blue ballpoint to him.
Caleb smiles at her. “Thanks…”
“Julie,” she supplies.
