“Up is the wrong way,” I said. “I know that you jocks get confused about a lot of things. Down means my feet touch the ground.”
He flung me over his shoulder. The breath whooshed from my lungs, and my hair fell in front of my face. One section was blue. Great. If paint dried in my hair, it would take forever to get out. I thumped him on the back, each thump adding spots to the back of his shirt. “This is assault. You’re breaking the first rule.”
He headed back toward his paint can. “I’m carrying you. That doesn’t count as assault. No one has ever gone to jail forcarryinganother person.”
“You’re carrying me with ill intent. It totally counts.”
“Speaking of breaking rules, your second one was that we had to have enough paint left to finish the project. You threw an entire can on me. That’s cheating.”
The blood was rushing to my head, and his shoulder dug into my stomach. “It’s not cheating because I can drive to the store and buy more. I never stipulatedhowthe paint was obtained.”
“You are such a lawyer.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment, Madeline.”
It was weird to hear Cooper say my name like it was any other word, like we were on a first-name basis.
“You can’t leave the job,” he said. “While you’re off buying more paint, Security Bill will return to check on us. The paw prints are only half done, and I’ll be sitting around by myself, covered in paint. How will that look?”
“You did tell him you were a beginner when it came topainting. It’s not your fault he didn’t give you better instructions.”
Cooper laughed and the motion sent jiggles through his shoulder and into my stomach. He had a nice laugh, deep and vibrant. I’d heard it before when he’d talked with his friends, but this was the first time he’d laughed at anything I’d said.
I twisted, trying to see better. We had to be getting close to the white paint can. “You can’t get any more paint on me, or I won’t be able to touch my car, which means we won’t be able to buy more blue paint to finish the job.”
“Are you claiming defeat?”
There was nothing else to do. “Fine. You win. Put me down.”
He kept walking.
I tapped his back. “Why aren’t you putting me down?”
“If you can ignore rules, so can I. The white paint will dry on you eventually, and then you’ll be able to go to the store.”
I smacked his back harder.
“Hitting me counts as assault.” He didn’t hide the amusement in his voice. “Isn’t that against the—”
He stopped suddenly. I lifted my head to see Chanda Patel, one of the varsity cheerleaders, strolling across the parking lot toward us. She had long, dark hair that was so thick it almost didn’t look real, tanned, flawless skin, and lashes that didn’t need mascara to be luscious. I knew this because she was always posting makeup-less selfies where she still looked gorgeous.
It was enough to make me curse my Finnish ancestors and their pale eyelashes.
Chanda’s pace slowed. Her gaze went over us, and she cocked her head. “Hi, Cooper.”
Cooper, who still had a vice grip on my legs, gave her a half wave. “Hey.”
It didn’t escape me that Chanda didn’t say hi tome. Her gaze still kept going over us—us meaning him. “What are you doing?”
“Painting,” he said.
She giggled in that airy way cheerleaders managed so naturally. “What are you painting?”
I plucked at Cooper’s shirt. “Mostly each other.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Any particular reason why?”
