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“You could sell the farm. That land is worth millions.”
He says it like it’s easy. Like it’s nothing. Spoken like someone with no attachment to this town.
“Matthews Farm has been in my family for generations. Gramps has lived there his whole life. So have I. I’ve known this is what would happen ever since—ever since my dad died. Gramps can’t manage things by himself. I’m all he has left. He’s all I have left.”
“You’ve known since freshman year.” The words sound flat. Delivered more like he’s talking to himself than to me.
“I didn’t think it…mattered.”
Caleb shakes his head. “Great. That’s just…great.”
“I don’t get why you’re mad,” I say. “Surprised, yeah. But why do you care if I’m here? You’ll be gone.”
“Did you listen to a damn word I said at the field that day, Lennon?”
“Caleb…we both knew this was temporary. I mean, you’re…you. I figured this would have ended a while ago.” I pause. “I’m glad it didn’t. Hasn’t. But I know it will.”
Caleb laughs, but it sounds totally different than before. It’s a hollow, sad sound. “I don’t know where you got the idea this was temporary from, but it wasn’t from me. It’s good to know that’s whatyouthink, though.”
Unease trickles through me, paired with the sinking suspicion I just messed up. “What did you think this was, then?”
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t keep doing this.”
“Keep doing what? I thought we were just, you know, having fun. Messing around.”
“Having fun and messing around,” Caleb repeats.
“I mean…I enjoyed it.” I squeeze the excess water out of the hem of my shirt, wayward drips falling on my legs and the bottom of the canoe. “I know you’re more experienced.”
When I gather the courage to glance up, Caleb is rubbing a palm across his face. The canoe isn’t that big. When his hand lowers, I can see the freckles on his nose and the droplets clinging to his eyelashes. “You think this is about sex for me?”
“I’ve heard the stories. I saw you kissing Madison.”
Caleb’s jaw tenses. “Have you been kissing other guys?”
I laugh; I can’t help it. “Of course not.” Aside from Noah, a sandy-haired surfer who spent a couple of weeks in Landry visiting family the summer after my sophomore year, Caleb is the only guy I’ve kissed since Ryan James in middle school. The suggestion I’m juggling multiple boys is honestly funny.
Caleb’s expression only darkens. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t act like it’s ridiculous.”
“Well, it is. You know how people act around me.”
Now, Caleb laughs. But it’s not really an amused sound. “I know Masterson sat next to you on the bus yesterday. And last night, I learned James is planning to ask you to prom.”
“I…what? Where did you hear that?”
“Where do you think? James had a lot to say about you during cards, actually. Heard all about eighth grade and the conversations you have at your locker.”
“Conversations? It wasoneconversation, maybe two. He asked me to hang out, and I said no. The end.”
The canoe hits the shore, lurching me forward. Caleb climbs out immediately and I clamber to follow him. He pulls the canoe all the way onto shore, stashing it in the same spot among the ferns.
Then, he keeps walking.
It takes me a second to register he’s really just walking away. And not at a slow pace, either. I have to literally run to catch up with him. “Caleb!”
