Chapter 11
Madeline
That night at the football game, I’d counted on having Claire to talk to, but our parents sat in the middle of us, and five minutes into the game, one of Claire’s friends showed up. She plopped down next to Claire, and the two of them talked to each other and ignored the rest of us.
I wished I’d convinced Selena to come to the game to keep me company, but one of the reasons we were friends was our mutual dislike of watching sports.
She said she needed to get a start on her homework.
The sad thing about that excuse was that she really would be doing homework on a Friday night.
More than once, I had to pry her away from her books on a weekend to do something fun.
I mean, honestly, the way Selena was pursuing valedictorian, you’d think it came with a large cash prize instead of a speaking assignment at graduation. But heaven help her if Rohan Blake—president of the National Honor Society—got half a point more than her on any assignment.
A few rows up, Harper and Kinsley sat with Kinsley’s boyfriend and a few of his friends. Harper and Kinsley were so engrossed in talking to the guys that they didn’t seem to be aware that a game was even happening on the field. I’d have no luck luring them to sit by me.
So basically, I was bored out of my mind and had to endure listening to my father and Ms. Nash make small talk. I alternated between cheering for Cooper and doing an internet search of football rules so I had an idea of what was happening.
Cooper was sacked once—I didn’t cheer—but when the announcer called out, “Tackled by lions!” I had to laugh because clearly the announcer was making a joke to see if people were paying attention or if everyone was just talking. I was the only one who laughed.
My father sent me a dark look.
I gestured to the field. “I’m pretty sure he was tackled by another player, not by lions.” The other team’s mascot was a bear, so the announcer wasn’t being metaphorical.
“Lyons is the defensive end’s last name,” my father said patiently.
And okay, now that he pointed it out, I did see his last name on his jersey.
“Huh,” I said. “The cheerleaders should be chanting ‘Lyons and tigers and bears, oh my.’”
That’s how bored I was. I was coming up with Wizard of Oz–themed cheerleading jingles for the opposing team. I cleared my throat. “I hope during the next play, Cooper -tackles him back.”
“That’s not how football works,” my father said.
“It should be,” I said.
Claire chose that moment to tune into the conversation and looked at me in amazed disbelief. “You really don’t know anything about football, do you?”
Technically, I watched a bunch of games to make the video of Cooper, but I’d had the sound off and always fast--forwarded to the times he had the ball.
I shrugged. “When I was a kid, I played a few football games at my dad’s company picnic. It wasn’t tackle, though.” The rules had been much simpler.
And come to think of it, maybe those games were the reason I’d never liked football. Well, more specifically, TC Mullins was the reason.
TC was the son of one of Dad’s legal clerks.
He lived on the other side of town, so we’d never gone to the same school even though we were the same age.
He’d always been bigger than me, with meaty hands, a mop of brown hair, and a pug nose.
When we were little and we’d been at the annual company picnic, he liked to push me in the bouncy house.
When we got older, he mostly ignored me—except during the football games, where he taunted me for not being able to throw or catch.
The guy loved football. I stopped joining in any of the competitions because I hated the smug satisfaction he had every time he beat me.
As he got older, he grew into his nose, cut his mop of brown hair short, and his meaty hands looked more normal on a guy who turned out to be six foot four. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he was substantial. A presence. A guy who could easily play the part of a bouncer or a mafia don.
Last summer, he went out of his way to talk to me at the picnic. One could even say he attempted to flirt, but it wasn’t his forte. He told me about his weight-lifting routine and then said, “I could pin you to the ground with one arm. Want to see?”
Uh, no. Hard pass on being attacked, thanks.
He went on to tell me about all the things he could do without even breaking a sweat and also bragged about how college women liked to hit on him.
I said, “Well, if you want them to stop, just tell them that you can pin them to the ground with one arm. That’ll scare them off.”
He laughed and wagged his eyebrows at me. “Do you think I’m scary?”
“No. I’m not afraid of men because my father can sue for sexual harassment without even breaking a sweat.”
Instead of getting the hint, TC told me he thought a lot of sexual harassment suits were trumped-up manhunts by spurned women. We spent the rest of the picnic arguing over the merits of specific cases, which I guess was bound to happen when both of our parents worked at a law firm.
Somewhere in all of that, he got my phone number so he could text me proof, which, now that I thought about it, perhaps meant he wasn’t as bad at flirting as I first supposed. Since then, every once in a while, he’d sent me some meme or opinion that was clearly meant to start an argument.
If Cooper and I were still fake dating at homecoming, I’d see TC play at the game. He went to our rival, Riggs High.
Down on the field, the players got into position. I took out my phone and put it on the video setting. If Cooper was knocked down again, I wanted to send him the video the next time he was obnoxious to me.
Dad snatched my phone out of my hand. “Don’t.”
“What?” I asked, scrambling for a believable excuse. “I want footage of Cooper being awesome so I can compile another video that makes up for the last one.”
That earned me a smile from Ms. Nash. “That’s a nice idea.” She at least believed me. “I can give you some clips. One of the parents films the games. I always send a copy to Cooper’s father.”
Dad still surveyed me with narrow eyes and a warning look. “Why don’t you just watch the game and enjoy it.” He set my phone on his lap.
The next play started. Cooper threw the ball downfield. It arced high and long, and the audience collectively held their breath—right up until the moment our guy didn’t catch the ball. A murmur of disappointment swept through the stands.
The other team got the ball, and a bunch of the players switched out.
“At least he gets to rest now,” I said.
Ms. Nash looked at me with polite interest. “Since you’re not a football fan, what do you and Cooper have in common?”
Nothing that I could think of offhand. The impulsive part of my brain wanted to say “searing chemistry,” but that’s also the part of my brain that gets me into trouble.
I’d waited too long to come up with a response, so I just said, “Opposites attract.” I gestured in my father’s direction.
“I mean, look at you two. What do you have in common?”
“We’re both single parents,” Dad said.
“With ex-spouses who aren’t around,” Ms. Nash agreed.
“We’ve got children who are the same age,” he said.
“And daughters who like acting,” she added.
Dad sent me a pointed look. “And we both have children who’ve given us trouble lately with their pranks.”
I didn’t like where this was going. It was about to evolve into a litany of my flaws and offenses.
I cut into their list. “You should tell me some stories about Cooper. Help me learn more about him.” Parents loved to talk about their children. She wouldn’t be able to resist.
She looked upward, thinking. “Stories about Cooper . . .”
Claire leaned over, proving that she was occasionally listening to our conversation. “Don’t tell the one about the shoes.”
“What’s that one?” I asked.
Ms. Nash brought her gaze back to me. “I can tell you why he’s so good at running.”
Besides the fact that he was tall, strong, and worked out all the time? Was she about to announce that he’d been bullied as a child and had to outrun his tormentors? Somehow, I couldn’t imagine Cooper ever running from anyone.
Ms. Nash put her hands in her lap, settling into storytelling mode.
“Since I work, Cooper was always in charge of walking Claire home from school. When he was in middle school and Claire was in elementary, the buildings were about a mile apart, but I didn’t want Claire going home by herself.
She felt anxious lingering around the school for a long time, so every day, Cooper ran to the elementary school to pick her up.
After that, I think running just became a habit for him.
He’s good because he’s been doing it for so long. ”
This had not been the sort of story I’d expected to hear about Cooper; a story where he was taking care of his little sister.
I’m pretty sure if Peyton had been in charge of picking me up from elementary school and I’d felt anxious about waiting, she would’ve told me to buck up, find a place to sit, and do my homework until she got there.
“That’s sweet,” I said.
Claire puffed out a breath. “It became less sweet when I started middle school and Cooper was so used to jogging a mile every day, he wanted to run home because he had better things to do than meander down the sidewalk like a normal person. As soon as we got away from the school, our walk turned into a forced race, and if I didn’t move fast enough, he threatened to beat me home, lock me out, and go through all the stuff in my room. ”
That probably explained the time Claire locked him outside in his underwear. It was revenge.
“He shouldn’t have made you run so much,” Ms. Nash said like it was a subject they’d gone over before, then added under her breath, “But exercise is healthy for you.”
Claire scowled. “I didn’t get to wear cute shoes until Cooper went to high school. I had to wear my tennis shoes every day or risk falling behind and having my dresser drawers violated.”
“Tennis shoes are better for your feet,” Ms. Nash said. “High heels cripple women.”
“Is that the shoe story?” I asked, unsure why Claire was telling it to me now when she was the one who’d told her mom not to mention it.
“No,” Claire said. “But the story of my forced run pretty much tells you everything you need to know about Cooper.”
“He’s determined and a hard worker,” his mother said.
“And he doesn’t listen to anyone else,” Claire said, “even if you tell him you’re about to throw up in the neighbor’s bushes.”
“Madeline and I go running,” my dad said. “We’ll have to ask Cooper to join us sometime.”
“Yeah,” I said, already knowing that Cooper would be busy that day.
The conversation changed after that, mostly because Claire wanted to go to the refreshment shack with her friend to buy soda.
Ms. Nash quickly vetoed the idea because soda had no nutritional value and drinking it was bad for every part of your body—I lost track of her list after the liver and kidneys.
My dad nodded in agreement pretty quickly for a guy who’d moved several sleeves of Diet Coke to the closet.
What was he thinking by dating a fitness instructor?
My dad gave Claire some money for popcorn, and she and her friend left for a suspiciously long time. Ten to one, they got soda and just drank it where our parents couldn’t see them.
I never did get to find out what the shoe story was about.