“Fine,” he said. “I’ll hold. You paint. You’re the expert.”
He slapped the stencil on the ground. While I painted, Mascot wandered off in the direction of the parking lot. I wondered if he was hungry and looking for food there. Poor thing. I would bring something extra to feed him tomorrow.
After I finished painting, Cooper lifted the stencil to see how it turned out. A perfect paw print met our eyes. Without another word, he placed the stencil on the next paw print in the line. I ran my brush over that one too. Also perfect. This would work.
Maybe Mrs. Tsuru knew we needed to work together to dothe job right, and this was some sort of object lesson on cooperation.
Cooper moved the stencil to the next spot, and I began painting it. Our heads were close together. I could smell his—was it cologne? Deodorant? Guy-scented shampoo? I didn’t know what boys did in the bathroom.
It had been a while since I’d looked closely at a guy’s hand, but since I was staring at Cooper’s on the stencil, I couldn’t help comparing our fingers. Mine were pale and slender with a manicure that was getting ruined by paint splatters. His hand was huge, tanned, and his fingernails were a little ragged. I wondered if he bit them.
We moved to the next paw print. He still didn’t say anything. He didn’t care about our follow-up meeting with Mrs. Tsuru. I would have to get the ball rolling on my own. “Since we’re supposed to be settling our differences, I think we should start by agreeing on how this began, you know, get to the root of the problem. We could approach this like it was a court case and—”
“It started when you made that video.”
“No, I made the video because you spread rumors about me.”
He blew a curl away from his eyes. “It’s not a rumor if it’s true. Besides, everyone already knows why Mrs. Russel gives you the leads, so I can’t be guilty of telling people that.”
I bristled. “Hearsay. Unsubstantiated and untrue. Without proof—which you don’t have—what you’ve done is slander me. Mrs. Russel will be less likely to cast me as the lead in future plays if she thinks people believe she’s taking bribes.”
“Good. It’s time someone else gets a turn.”
I ran the paintbrush across the back of his hand. “Oops. How clumsy of me.”
He swore and grabbed one of the rags to wipe off the paint. “Don’t do that again.”
“I’ve taken five years of singing lessons.” I pointed the paintbrush at him for emphasis. “I’ve gone to theater camp the last four summers while the rest of you fortunates chilled by the pool. That’s why I get the leads.”
“Fine,” he said, still wiping off paint. “Let’s suppose for a moment that’s true. Isn’t it odd that the drama teacher never wants to give someone else a turn? Do you have to have the lead every single time?”
“Do you have to be the quarterback every single time?”
His head snapped in my direction. “I’m not the quarterback every single time. Haven’t you ever watched a game?”
The answer to that question wouldn’t help my case, but now that he mentioned it, I did remember that players came in strings that the coach moved in and out of the game. I shrugged. “Sorry. Watching people play football is like watching people play fetch with their dogs. I appreciate the skill it takes to throw and catch, but I’ve never cared who has the ball.”
He groaned and turned back to the stencil. “You made a video of me fumbling and getting sacked, and you’ve never actually watched a game?”
“I had to watch a lot of your games to get that footage.” And okay, I admit that most of the time Cooper looked pretty good. He could effortlessly missile the football halfway down the field. He dodged around people as though the rules of momentum didn’t apply to him. I even appreciated how he looked in the shoulder pads and tight pants.
“Anyway,” I said, trying to return to the original point, “thesecond part of your defense is also untrue. No one else has ever accused my dad of bribing Mrs. Russel.”
“That you know of.” Cooper raised his eyebrows to emphasize his point. “I guess I was just the first person to publicly say it.”
Hold up, that wasn’t true, was it? Were my drama friends talking about me behind my back? Had Claire just repeated things to Cooper that they were all saying? Sometimes they teasingly called me the drama queen because I always got lead parts, but I’d thought they meant it as a compliment, not a sneering accusation.
My heart beat faster, notched up with worry. I wouldn’t believe it. Every day, I practiced scales and my songs. I learned my lines before anyone and never missed a cue. Hard work had gotten me where I was. Cooper was not going to make me start doubting myself.
He picked up the stencil and moved it to the next location. I scooted over to it. “So we’re agreed that the trouble started when you publicly said defamatory things about me.”
“That’s not as bad as you making a defamatory video about me.” He held up a finger. “I only tripped once last season. My fumble rate is way below average, and most of the sacks you showed were because the O-line missed their blocks, not because I was holding on to the ball for too long. You’d know that if you’d ever watched a game. But that’s your problem; you don’t know anything.”
I was so done with this guy. I ran the paintbrush across his hand again. “Sorry. I guess I don’t know how to paint either. Just add it to my list of faults.”
He pressed his lips together, shut his eyes, and let out a longbreath. Instead of wiping off his hand, he picked up a fresh paintbrush.
I moved the blue can closer to me. He stood up and opened the white can with a vindictive flourish.
