3. Cooper
3
Cooper
L eah’s decided to tell our friends what a jerk I am. And honestly—I want to hear her version of this story. I’ve been waiting eight years to hear her side.
Here we go.
“Have you heard of the dance floor confession?” Leah says, her arms in a tight fold, her words clipped, and her eyes on Mitch and Andrea.
The pair look at one another. Mitch shakes his head while Andrea’s brows lift. “Nope,” she says.
“Do you want to tell them what it is?” Leah’s gaze glides over to me. The girl doesn’t blink. As if it’s a sign of weakness, she refuses to shut her eyes while looking at me. A chill runs over my skin, but I don’t break contact.
I muster my confidence—because that’s what people like most about me, so it can’t be completely dead. I won’t allow it. “Sure.” I give a small nod and lean back in my chair. She wants my version? Maybe it would help to give it. I’m not as terrible as she thinks I am. I never meant to ruin Leah’s prom night.
If I’m being honest, until that night, I didn’t really know her. She was a grade below me. We hung out in different crowds. Why would I want to ruin her prom?
I clear my throat and zone in on a sombrero on the wall, just between Mitch’s and Andrea’s heads. “It’s an old Coeur d’Alene tradition. I’m not sure they do it anywhere else.” I slide my gaze to Leah—as if we’re telling this story together and maybe she’ll fill in my blank.
Her smile is tight, forced, and dangerous. “I doubt it. It’s estupido .” Her eyes crease, studying me. “Do you know that word?”
“Yep. I think I got that one.” Just like now, I couldn’t escape Leah after prom. Everyone I saw at school was more than happy to tell me how I’d destroyed Leah Bradford’s prom, maybe even her life. Some laughed as they told me, a handful glared, but most just looked at me in awe.
I heard story after story after that night. I heard Leah couldn’t go back to school the following year because I had humiliated her. I heard she’d hired a hitman to find me and “take care of me.” On the other end, I heard she planned to seduce me and had hypnotized me into action that night.
I heard it all. But never from Leah.
I didn’t believe the rumors. At least, I didn’t believe most of the rumors. I knew Leah hadn’t hypnotized me. I didn’t believe I had a hitman after me.
Maybe everyone at Coeur d’Alene High needed to relax. Maybe they were bored and made up crazy rumors as entertainment for themselves. Maybe ...
But I can’t deny that I’d seen her crying the following Monday.
How was I supposed to know what she was crying about? It was two days after prom—she could have been crying about something completely unrelated .
Only she wasn’t.
I knew it then, and I know it now.
I’d made Leah cry. Some of the rumors—the ones that said Leah’s date dumped her that night—might have been true. Okay, that one was true.
But the worst part is, I was too afraid to ask her. I was too proud to apologize for embarrassing her. I wasn’t the one who had broken up with her in front of our peers. Was I really in the wrong?
That’s the question I asked myself to help me fall asleep at night—for a while. Years went by, and the memory of Leah crying, the idea that I’d actually hurt her, faded.
Leah eyes me, waiting for me to continue with my explanation.
I swallow and sit a little taller. Come on, confidence—don’t fail me now. “So anyway, it’s a group of guys?—”
“Not organized.” Leah shakes her head. “They aren’t voted in, there’s no audition. It’s just a bunch of stupid boys who think they need attention.”
“It’s supposed to be fun,” I say, sweat pooling at my neck.
She scoffs. “It’s dumb. Not fun. Big time dumb.”
“Do you want to tell the story? I wouldn’t mind.” If not for the many rumors and Leah’s tears as confirmation, I would have thought that night a good time for all, even for Leah. It should have been flattering.
“Oh no, let’s keep the spotlight on you.” Each word is a bullet fired at my chest.
Andrea’s eyes grow wider with our squabble. She waits with her mouth half open. “And?”
“The night of prom, my friends and I?—”
“The dance floor confession club?” Mitch says, breathless mocking in his tone—all at my expense.
“We were kids,” I remind him .
“Really dumb kids,” Leah adds.
“Right.” I drum my fingers on the table. “We’d planned to serenade some girls at prom. We talked to the DJ and even had a crew to run the lights. We each planned to spotlight a certain girl and sing to her.”
“Bro, that’s hilarious,” Mitch says. “I’m learning so much about you.”
“Yeah, well, I was seventeen.” I send a quick blinking glance Leah’s way. Her arms are still in their tight fold, her lips forming a permanent frown.
One brow hikes up on her forehead, and I take that as my cue to keep going. I suppose this is my punishment after years of staying silent… confessing all my dumb high school antics to my new friends.
“Halfway through the night?—”
“An hour in,” Leah interrupts, jabbing a finger to the tabletop. “One hour. Not halfway.” Clearly, this fact is important. I don’t remember the exact time the whole thing went down, so I don’t argue. I could. I’m pretty decent at arguing. I am a lawyer, after all. But I give her this. Her tone tells me I owe her this… and possibly my first-born child.
“And then we sang?—”
“No. No,” Andrea says, waving a hand at me. “Details! I need details.”
“Yep,” Leah says, popping that “p” sound with her pretty red lips. “ Details , Cooper Bailey.”
“Sure. Okay.”
“And from the beginning.” Andrea nods at me, enjoying this way too much. Does she not feel the discomfort at this table? Does she not see that I am about to be flayed and fried right before her eyes?
One bead of sweat slips from my neck, down my back, and to my waistline, but I ignore it. “We had the DJ ask for an open dance floor, which made everyone sit down or back up against the walls, and then he started our song.”
Andrea giggles. “No skipping! What did you sing? Tell me it was Taylor Swift. Come on, Coop.” She holds up both hands, fingers crossed, her eyes begging me to offer up a Swift song. “Please. Please let it be Taylor.”
“It wasn’t Taylor,” Leah says, grinding her teeth. She looks a little scary. Don't get me wrong, Leah is beautiful, even red-faced and clenching.
“No, not Taylor.” I swallow, my pulse thrumming in my wrists. Another bead of sweat skates down my back. “Huh. What was that song?” My eyes drag upward as if I’m thinking.
I’m not. I remember. I’m guessing by Leah’s seething that she remembers too. But I’m not about to say it out loud, and maybe she’ll be quiet on the subject too. Just because we know doesn’t mean Mitch and Andrea need to. It’s a little embarrassing—for both of us.
I shrug and sigh like the answer just won’t come. “It’s been too long.”
Leah’s pretty face contorts into a smile that says, you’re going down Cooper Bailey . Okay, so maybe she won’t stay quiet. That face says she’ll belt the song over my very fresh grave.
Leah’s answer comes quick. “He sang ‘Do You Think I’m Sexy?’”
Wow, she didn’t even consider keeping it quiet. With each one of her words, another trickle of sweat runs down my back.
“I can’t believe we’re friends.” Mitch slumps in his seat, chuckling quietly.
Andrea’s brows pull together. “I don’t know that song.”
“Count yourself lucky,” Leah says .
“It’s a ’70s classic.” I’m not sure why I’m defending the song. It wasn’t our best choice, and yet, as seventeen- and eighteen-year-old boys, we thought we were crazy clever.
Andrea waves a hand at the two of us. “Go on.”
“That’s it,” I say, because I’d really like to end this story here and now.
But that’s when Leah Bradford turns in her chair, slow and scary, like we’re in an exorcist movie. My time is up. It’s come. Leah’s going to kill me right here, right now, no hitman needed, with sweet Betsy watching just yards away.