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“Like birds?” I quip, trying to lighten the mood and lessen his worries. I know Gramps still feels guilty about college.
“Or baseball players,” Gramps responds. “It’s the whole point of the game, after all.”
An unexpected lump appears in my throat as I look away from the sage, shrewd eyes that are the same hue as mine to survey the farm I’ve grown up on.
“We’ll see,” I reply softly.
“Good night, Lennie.” Gramps hands me a pamphlet. It’s the graduation program from the ceremony. “Thought you might want to take a look at that.”
“I already did.” Long enough to see I’m the only senior staying in Landry, at least.
“You saw where the Winters boy is going to school then?”
Reluctantly, I shake my head. I skipped over his name on purpose. Honestly, I’d rather not know. Then I can’t picture him someplace else.
“You should look,” Gramps tells me.
The door shuts behind him as he heads inside.
I stare out into the darkness for a minute, then sigh and open the program. Caleb’s at the end of the list, since it’s alphabetical.
Caleb Winters. Clarkson University.
I pull in a surprised breath.
Oakmont College is in California.
But Clarkson?
Clarkson is in Kentucky.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
CALEB
The familiar green sign flashes neon in the light cast by the car’s headlights. I’m surprised by the nostalgia the sight of it sparks.
Crossing into Landry, Kentucky at the start of the summer used to be an event I dreaded. Time spent away from my friends and baseball camp that would instead be filled with stuffy parties or at the racetrack.
I threw one hell of a fit when I found out we were moving here in time for me to start school at Landry High. But my father couldn’t ignore my grandfather’s health issues, and I didn’t exactly have the option to stay behind alone at age fourteen.
Landry looks exactly the same.
There was a time when that would have bothered me; the way this tiny town in the middle of nowhere stands like a time capsule. So certain every other place on earth is envious of its timelessness. Its pedigree.
I used to think it was ridiculous. Who measures a state’s importance by one tiny postage stamp in the heart of it? Turns out a lot of people do.
I lost track pretty quickly of the number of people at Clarkson who would ask eager questions after learning Landry is my adopted hometown, wondering what it was like to live in such a hallowed place.
I was half-tempted to tell them the truth: that Landry is small, and conceited, and doesn’t live it up to the hype.
But something stopped me.Shestopped me.
Because anywhere Lennon Matthews lives can’t be any of those things.
I climb out of the car to type in the code at the front gate of my family’s estate. The imposing metal doors open slowly, revealing the long, curving drive that winds through the property.
The house is dark and quiet when I park in front. My father’s gone, like usual. My mother won’t be back for a couple more days. I might have told her my exams ended two days later than they actually did.
