Chapter 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 an I’ll humor you tone.
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.”
Claire glanced at her watch. She had Cooper’s curly brown hair, but that’s where their similarities ended.
She was thin and willowy instead of tall and athletic.
Brown eyes instead of blue. Shy instead of flauntingly popular.
On most days, she kept her hair pulled back in a ponytail and wore nondescript clothing, as though she wanted to escape attention.
“You’ve got to go to work soon,” she told Cooper.
Oh, I knew this fact because Cooper reminded me of it at five-minute intervals.
He grunted and checked how many paw prints we had left. Still about another half an hour’s worth. “I can’t go until we’re finished.”
“You’re done now,” I said, because I didn’t want him acting like a martyr anymore. “I can do the rest myself.”
He moved the stencil to a new position, slapping it onto the sidewalk. “You need someone to hold this down.”
Claire dropped her backpack on the ground in resignation. “I’ll do it.”
Cooper shook his head. “I’ll get in trouble if I leave before the job is done. I’ll just have to tell my boss that I was attacked by another student and hope he doesn’t fire me for being late.”
Martyr. “If Security Bill comes by to check on us, I’ll tell him you’re in the bathroom.” I doubted that the man would show up. He hadn’t checked on us yet, and I’d begun to wonder if he’d forgotten about us altogether.
Cooper shook his head again. “If Claire stays, she won’t have a ride home. Davika always drives her home.”
Davika was another junior girl in drama. “I’ll take her,” I said. Silver Creek wasn’t that big of a city. Their house couldn’t be too far away.
“Fine.” He stood up and wiped the dirt off his hands in quick, determined strokes. “If the security guard comes back, I guess I can trust you to pull off a convincing lie. You’re good at that.”
“Finally, a compliment,” I said.
He didn’t respond to that, just picked up his stuff and stalked off in the direction of the parking lot.
“I’m glad we had this chance to work on our relationship!” I called after him.
Still no answer.
That’s what I got for offering to do the rest of the job myself.
Claire sat next to me and took hold of the stencil with both hands like Cooper had done. “I just hold it in place?” she asked.
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
We worked silently for a couple of minutes.
I guess that was one trait she had in common with her brother.
Neither of them wanted to talk to me. In class, I’d always thought Claire’s silence toward me was because she was the quiet type and in the grade below me.
I’d liked her well enough before Cooper became my nemesis, but afterward I’d only spoken to her when I had to.
It hadn’t been much of a noticeable change.
Now I wondered if she went home every day and badmouthed me to Cooper. She’d told him my father bribed Mrs. Russel. Bribed.
How did I broach that subject—or really any subject—when Claire was looking firmly at the pavement and not speaking?
“Donating money is different than bribery,” I finally said. My segues probably needed work.
She looked up warily. “What?”
“My father donated the same amount to the drama club when I was a freshman in Fiddler on the Roof and only had the part of Chava, the sister who hardly says anything, runs off with a Christian, and gets disowned in Act Two. Seriously, should I tell him not to donate anything else? Do you want to have to go door-to-door hawking raffle tickets? Because I can tell you that no one in the drama club will be happy about doing that.”
Then I told her everything I’d just said to Cooper. How hard I worked. Learned my lines as soon as I got them. How I practiced singing scales every day. And how her bad-mouthing me to her brother had led to all of this.
She gulped and bit her lip. “I didn’t tell Cooper to do any of the stuff he’s done.” Her brown eyes were stricken and filling with tears.
I stared at her, stunned. I hadn’t meant to make her cry. Since she was Cooper’s sister, I’d figured she was as hard-hearted and immune to criticism as he was.
I had to fix this. If she hadn’t hated me before, she would now. Also, I was pretty sure Security Bill would choose this moment to pop over and check on the project, and I would have to explain why Cooper’s sister was sitting across from me, weeping.
“I’m sorry!” I blurted out. “Really, I shouldn’t have said all of that to you. I’m mad at your brother, and I took it out on you.”
She stared at the pavement, shoulders rounded in a picture of misery. “Are you going to turn the entire drama club against me?”
“No. Of course not. Everyone loves you. What are you talking about?”
She gulped and blinked her eyes. “They won’t love me if you say it’s my fault your dad won’t donate anymore, and then everybody has to go door-to-door hawking raffle tickets.”
She thought I’d been threatening her. I’d just been trying to defend myself. “I’m not going to do that. I was just offering it as an example of . . .”
Instead of receding, the tears brimmed over her lashes and trailed down her cheeks. This was no good. She hadn’t stopped crying, and presenting my case logically wasn’t helping. I did the only thing I could think of: I reached over and hugged her. “I’m sorry, Claire, really.”
She went silent and stiffened. She probably wasn’t a hugger, and I’d just violated her personal space.
I released her—and noticed a smear of blue paint on her shirt. I’d thought all of the paint on my shirt was dry, but I’d managed to transfer some to Claire.
“Oh no,” I said. “Your shirt. You need to rinse that out so it doesn’t stain.” I grabbed my water bottle, then remembered I’d poured the rest on Cooper’s head. “Do you have water?”
She stared bleakly at the spot on her shirt. “No.”
“Run to the school bathroom,” I said.
She shook her head. “Then I’d have to explain to the front office why I was doing Cooper’s job. I don’t want to get him in trouble.”
I hadn’t felt bad about the way I’d ruined Cooper’s clothes, but I felt awful for getting paint on Claire’s. I’d been trying to comfort her, and I’d made things worse. “I’ll pay for the shirt. How much did it cost?”
She wiped at the spot, smearing it even more. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. I stained it. It’s my responsibility to pay for it.” I pulled out my phone. “I’ll send you some money.”
“You don’t have to,” she repeated.
People always said that, but they didn’t really mean it. I was already opening my wallet app. “Is a hundred dollars enough?”