Right. Because he was a popular quarterback, and I was just a nobody theater kid who—according to him—couldn’t get a part on my own merits.
Perhaps my dad is right about me being impulsive after all. When Cooper finally let go of my wrist, I rinsed the paint out of his hair. But I did it by pouring the rest of my water bottle over his head.
While he sputtered and swore at me, I said, “I was telling the truth about the paint. You and your fangirls can thank me later.”
6
Madeline
I drove to the paint store, noting in my rearview mirror that I had blue smudges across my cheek, chin, and nose. I didn’t try to wipe them off. What was the point? I marched into the store and set the nearly empty can on the counter. “I need another gallon of this.”
An elderly man stood behind the counter, chewing on a toothpick while he finished pounding the lid on a paint can. He set his mallet down, gingerly picked up my still-wet can, and eyed me. The toothpick wagged up and down between his lips. “Having a little trouble with our project, are we?”
I took far too long deciding on an answer. “Nope. Everything’s fine.” I didn’t feel like explaining.
I had to stand there, the center of attention for every gaping shopper in the store, while the man slowly did a color match of the paint, determined what sheen I needed, and then mixed it for a time period only slightly shorter than the Ice Age.
Unsurprisingly, when I returned to the school, Cooper was mad that the errand had taken forever—how was I to know it took so long for paint particles to mix together?—and I had to hear another lecture about how I’d broken my own rule on having enough paint left to finish the job.
We were still working on the paw prints when the sports teams and after-school clubs let out.
We heard all sorts of commentary from them.
“Hey, I think you misunderstood where the paint is supposed to go.”
“Did you guys have an art attack?”
“Looks like you two are feeling a little blue.”
Everyone’s a comedian.
And I hated them all.
The drama club was the worst. Several of them informed me that mimes ought to be painted white and then put on an impromptu show of mimes painting.
Harper and Kinsley, my best friends in drama, watched us for a moment and then clapped. “Performance art at its best,” Kinsley said, still clapping. “Bravo. Five stars.”
“Les Misérables: Teen Detention Edition,” Harper agreed. “I like it.”
I took a mock bow. “Thanks. There will be no encores.”
“Right,” Kinsley said in anI’ll humor youtone.
She and Harper were both pretty in a cool, artsy way that didn’t quite register with the popular crowd. Kinsley’s hair changed color with her mood—thanks to a box of dye and zero impulse control—and Harper’s tight brown curls, like usual, were an untamed thing to behold. She had that effortless theater kid confidence, the type of girl with oversized tote bags, bright clothing, and quirky jewelry straight from someone’s Pinterest board.
Harper whipped out her phone and snapped a picture of Cooper and me. “I’m sure the yearbook will want this.” She was on the yearbook staff, so it wasn’t an idle threat.
“Don’t you dare,” I said.
Cooper snorted at me. “You should know by now, that sentence doesn’t stop anyone.” He pinned Harper with a hard stare. “It would be a shame if your phone mysteriously disappeared at school someday.” He turned back to me. “That’s how you do it.”
Harper giggled, more flattered that Cooper had spoken to her than worried he’d steal her phone. She might have stayed there staring at him if Kinsley hadn’t pulled her away. “C’mon,” she said. “We’re distracting them.” Kinsley had a boyfriend, so she was immune to Cooper’s looks.
When Claire saw us, she gasped and marched up to Cooper. “What happened to you?”
Cooper didn’t take his eyes off the paw print we were working on. “Madeline happened.”
“Cooper happened,” I said, even though she hadn’t asked me. “We’re being punished for his Cooperness.”
