Chapter 5 #2
“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, “the second 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 long breath. 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.
Bad idea. “Put down your brush,” I said. “We can’t have a paint fight. If we mess up the sidewalk, Mrs. Tsuru will kill us.”
“She told us no more pranks. This isn’t a prank.
It’s us working out our differences in a physical way.
I think it will be more effective than talking.
” He loosened his shoulders with a stretch, the kind of move that made it clear he was built to win things.
“I can see by the logo on your shirt that it’s one of those expensive designer brands.
” He shook his head in mock pity. “That’s too bad. ”
I grabbed the blue paint can and stood up, the paintbrush gripped like a weapon in my hand. “Don’t you dare.”
He dipped his brush into the white paint can a second time. “I dare.”
I noticed, once again, how tall and broad-shouldered Cooper was. I stepped back from him and tried to reason with him. “Your scholarship. Think of football.”
“Oh, I am thinking of it. I know how to take down a guy twice your size. You won’t be any trouble at all.”
This was so not happening. I kept stepping backward. “Dousing me in paint isn’t worth getting kicked off the team.”
“I don’t think they’ll really kick me off.
” He followed after me with slow, casual steps.
Villain steps. “Maybe just suspend me from a game. But if Mrs. Tsuru suspends you from Hello, Dolly!, well, this could be my sister’s big break.
Maybe this is the moment I decide to be a self-sacrificing older brother. ”
Was he serious? I’d taken so many steps backward I was nearly to the end of the sidewalk.
He gestured behind me where a grassy area led to the practice field. “You should probably go onto the grass so we don’t have to scrub paint off the sidewalk.”
My feet stopped moving. “I won’t get in trouble if you’re the only one who throws paint and I’m just the victim.”
He held up his hand to display the blue streak.
“I’ve got proof you were involved. If this is the only paint you get on me, well, it will just look like you’ve got bad aim.
That’s what happens when you never play sports: poor motor skills.
” He smiled condescendingly. “But maybe you’ll be able to think of some cutting dialogue to say while I drench you.
Oh wait, you don’t write the dialogue. You just repeat it loudly onstage. Must be so hard.”
That was too much. I marched onto the grass, turned, and waited for him to join me.
I needed a strategy. Otherwise, this wouldn’t go well for me.
“Okay, we’ll do this as long as you agree to four ground rules.
First, you can’t push, tackle, or in any way hurt me.
That would be using your strength for an unfair advantage and also would legally be considered assault. ”
He strode out onto the grass without a trace of worry. There was an easy power in the way he moved, like he could bulldoze through a defensive line without breaking stride. “Fine, agreed.”
“Second, we have to have enough paint to finish the paw prints.”
He eyed the white paint can. It was nearly full. “Fine. We need a lot less white than blue. Guess I picked the right color.”
“Third, the fight stops when one of us admits defeat.”
“I’m not familiar with that word, but sure.”
“And fourth . . .” While he was waiting for my next stipulation, I swung my can, flinging the contents at him. Blue paint sloshed onto his chest and stomach, covering him.
For a second, he stood there in shock, dripping blue, an inward gasp his only sound. Then he lunged for me. I dropped my can and dodged away. He missed me, and some of the white paint sloshed from his can onto his leg.
“Full-can problems,” I called, heading in the opposite direction. “Looks like you chose the wrong color after all.”
Despite what Cooper thought about people who didn’t play sports, I was pretty fast. I went running with my dad every morning. And carrying a can slowed Cooper down.
I would sprint to the parking lot and put a car between us. Cooper wouldn’t throw paint on someone’s car. Eventually, a teacher would come out and put a stop to this. “Now you really can live the school motto,” I yelled. “You’re painted white and blue, through and through.”
I heard the thunk of Cooper setting his can down and the quick succession of his footsteps coming after me full speed. I wasn’t even off the grass before he caught up. He grabbed my arm to slow me and spun me around.
He was going to drag me back to his paint can. I couldn’t let him. I dug my heels into the ground. “No physical contact,” I chirped. “That’s the fourth rule.”
Instead of dragging me anywhere, he pulled me into a wet, slimy embrace. Paint oozed onto my chest, shoulders, and even managed to get onto my cheek. The smell stung my nose.
“That rule doesn’t count,” he said far too calmly. “Because you didn’t give it before you threw your paint.”
He picked me up and jostled me around to smear even more paint onto me. The guy had cement for abs, and I could hardly breathe.
“It’s still valid,” I insisted, fruitlessly attempting to break his grip. “You agreed to four rules. Put me down.”
He lifted me higher, as though I weighed nothing.
“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 for carrying another 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 stipulated how the 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 to painting. It’s not your fault he didn’t give you better instructions.”