Chapter 15
Cooper
Dahlia smiled a lot while we walked to her first-period class.
She asked me questions, clearly interested in everything I said.
Claire had told me that Dahlia blew off some of the girls in her drama class, but I was only hearing one side of the story.
Dahlia probably had her reasons. Madeline didn’t really know Dahlia and had judged her anyway—the same way she’d judged me.
Homewrecking date. Sheesh. Madeline could wield humor with dangerous ease.
I’d already noticed that about her from her texts. She was flirty and funny, and even though I told her I’d be a man of few words, I wrote as much as she did.
My conversation with Dahlia had paused for too long. I’d been so busy thinking of Madeline, I hadn’t heard what Dahlia was talking about. I struggled to think of something to say and came up blank.
As though Dahlia could read my thoughts, she said, “I saw you and Madeline walking together. I thought you didn’t like her.”
I wasn’t sure why I suddenly felt the need to defend Madeline. “She’s not that bad.”
Dahlia scowled. “Then why did you hide her car under the bleachers?”
That made me smile. “Because I could.” One of the advantages of growing up on the poor side of town was that I’d learned a few things about cars, and one of them was that if you disconnected the shift linkage from the gear selector, you could put a car in neutral and roll it wherever you wanted.
“So what were the two of you talking about?” Dahlia asked. “Do you still have detention stuff to do?”
“No, we were talking about our parents.”
She gave a little groan of commiseration. “Having your parents date has got to be the worst. But what is there to discuss? I mean, they’re adults. What can you do about it if they want to see each other?”
I shouldn’t expect her to understand my hopes for my parents. Madeline hadn’t. Claire didn’t. But I wanted my father back, not somebody else’s. People weren’t interchangeable like that.
This was the perfect opening to explain that Madeline and I were fake dating, except that I’d told Madeline I wouldn’t say anything.
It was more than a little unfair of Madeline to insist that I keep that from Dahlia.
Once I was ungrounded, I would have to sneak around behind my mother’s back to see Dahlia, and if I couldn’t tell Dahlia what I was doing, I’d probably end up making all sorts of lame, suspicious excuses.
Sooner or later, I’d look like I was out of my mind.
“Your mom is so pretty,” Dahlia went on. “When I first saw her, I thought she was your older sister.”
“She’s a fitness instructor. It’s part of her job to be in shape.”
“My mom loves to work out too. I bet she’d like your mother a lot.”
Yeah, no. Dahlia was about to suggest an introduction, and I couldn’t let that happen. “Probably not,” I said.
And my prediction of looking like an idiot had just happened a lot sooner than I’d supposed.
I’d meant to say that an introduction wasn’t a good idea—and had been so busy searching for an excuse to keep them apart that I’d accidentally told Dahlia her mother probably wouldn’t like mine.
Now she was looking at me with her eyebrows pulled into a question.
“I mean,” I said hurriedly, “it’s not a good idea because . . .” Still no good excuse. What possible reason could my mother have for not meeting people? “I just wouldn’t talk to her at the game.”
I was only making this worse. I paused and took a deep breath to stop myself from saying more stupid things.
And this was just one hallway conversation. There was no way Dahlia would make it through the homecoming game, sitting in the stands as my date, without speaking to my mother.
The scene unfolded in my mind—Dahlia walking up to Mom and Mr. Seibold in the stands. “Cooper is playing great. You must be so proud of him. We’ve never met, but I’m his date to the dance . . .”
Or worse, Dahlia would say something vague and complimentary, and my mother would send her a hostile stare and say, “Don’t you think it’s time you stopped chasing Cooper and found someone who’s actually interested in you?”
If their meeting went particularly horribly, Mr. Seibold would slip into lawyer mode, mention stalking laws, and threaten a restraining order.
I had to prevent that trainwreck. Madeline would just have to understand. Well, if I ever decided to tell her what I’d done. “Can I swear you to secrecy about something?” I asked.
A flash of hesitancy went across Dahlia’s face, then concern. “Sure.”
I glanced around and lowered my voice. “I don’t want my mom to know about you because I want her to think I like Madeline. That way, my mom will be reluctant to rush into things with Madeline’s father.”
Dahlia frowned like she didn’t quite understand. “Did you actually tell your mother that you liked Madeline?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “So, she thinks you’re like, a couple?”
“Pretty much.”
Dahlia took a slow breath, processing this. “What does Madeline think about that?”
“She’s on board with it.”
“I bet she is.” Dahlia pursed her lips in distaste. “From what I hear, she’s been trying to get your attention for a long time.”
Why did everyone jump to that conclusion? Madeline definitely wasn’t interested in me. “It’s not like that. She was just bemoaning how hard it is to pretend to have a crush on me. It’s given her an existential crisis about her acting skills.”
Dahlia relaxed, all charm and possibilities again. “Then there’s something wrong with her because most girls would find it very easy.” She gave me a playful look. “I know I do.”
“You can’t tell anyone about Madeline and me pretending to date,” I reiterated. “If people know, it could get back to our parents that it’s all fake. I wasn’t even supposed to tell you.”
Dahlia put her hand on my arm, a gesture of confidence. “You can trust me.”
I didn’t flinch at her touch.
That started me thinking about Madeline again and wondering if she was right about my acting skills. I hadn’t really flinched last night when she’d touched me, had I?
I ran the whole scene through my mind. Madeline thanking me for the flowers in a perky voice and hugging me.
Her body had pressed against mine, and I’d wrapped my arms around her.
I’d smelled the scent of her rich-girl shampoo and noted how she felt simultaneously soft and stiff, like someone destined to sweep through a European country in haute couture giving air kisses to people.
The hug had been natural enough on my side. I hadn’t minded it at all.
It wasn’t until Dahlia said goodbye and went into her class that I realized I hadn’t been listening to her again.
Madeline just took center stage wherever she went. Even my thoughts. Her and her expressive blue eyes. I made a concerted effort not to think about her the rest of the day, but that night when I got home from work, a plate of chocolate chip cookies waited in the middle of the table.
Mom sat nearby, paying bills on her laptop. “Tate brought these over. Madeline baked them for you.”
Apology cookies for ignoring my texts. Sweet. I bit into one. It was better than just good. I’d clearly stumbled upon one of Madeline’s hidden talents.
“Eat some dinner first,” Mom said.
I went to the fridge and surveyed what was inside. “Did Madeline come with her father to deliver the cookies?”
“No, Tate wouldn’t let her because she’s grounded. You got to see each other when you delivered flowers. That’s enough contact outside of school for this week.”
“Her dad is still going to let her come to the game, though, right?” Perhaps it was mean to put in a plug for that when I knew Madeline hated football. I said it anyway. The girl needed to work on her spectator sports skills.
“To the game, yes, but not to ice cream afterward. Until you’re finished being grounded, it will just be Tate and me. And Claire, if she wants to come.”
“Okay.” They were trying to keep Madeline and me apart. That was good. I pulled some leftover chicken casserole out of the fridge and stuck it in the microwave.
Mom watched me, studying my reaction.
I realized too late I should’ve acted disappointed about not seeing Madeline Friday night.
I needed to give Mom a reason for not protesting that decision.
“You’re not going to make a family ice cream trip a tradition after every game, are you?
I mean, going out someplace with my girlfriend and our parents feels like you’re chaperoning us. ”
“My rule has always been that family time comes before friends. I’d think you’d be happy that you can do both at the same time.”
I didn’t have to fake my frustration over that statement. “That’s because it’s been too long since you’ve been a teenager.”
She chuckled, allowing my point. “Maybe. But you can put up with your parents for free specialty ice cream, can’t you? You and Madeline can still hang out on Saturdays once you’re ungrounded.”
Was there a bit of a challenge to her words, some doubt that we actually would? She was watching me too closely. Her fingers traced the grain of the wood on the table in a casual gesture. “What plans do you have for your first official date?”
If I was really as eager to go out with Madeline as I professed, I’d have an answer to this question. “We’re still discussing it.”
“Tate said you and Madeline were going to the Fire Grill.”
I gritted my teeth and bit back my reaction.
Why had Madeline given her father that information?
I hadn’t taken my last prom date to such an expensive place.
Now my mother was suspicious—or about to lecture me about the way I was burning through money.
“We talked about it,” I said, “but we’re still deciding. ”
“You need to make reservations ahead of time for nice restaurants.” Mom smiled, oh so helpful. “I can do that for you if you want.”
Yep, she was suspicious. She knew there was no way I’d drop that much cash on a girl I just started dating.
“That’s okay. If we decide to go there, I’ll do it.”
“If you go to such an expensive place for your first date, it will set a bad precedent. You already went overboard on the flowers. If Madeline likes you, she has to like you for you, not for someone you’re pretending to be.”
Mom emphasized the word pretending. Did she mean I shouldn’t pretend to have money or did she think I was pretending about more? “I know,” I said.
Note to self: Tell Madeline that the Fire Grill was out as a first-date restaurant. Otherwise, my mother would think I blew off her advice.
I needed to change the subject. I gestured to the plate of cookies. “If Madeline made those for me, I get to eat them all, right?”
Mom finally returned her attention to her computer screen. “I’m sure she meant for you to share them with the family.”
I nearly said, “Probably not. She didn’t ignore your texts.”
I refrained and stole another cookie. Mom swatted my hand and started a lecture on insulin resistance and how people shouldn’t eat sugar on an empty stomach.
Crisis temporarily averted.
Insulin aside, the cookies tasted great on an empty stomach. I took out my phone and texted Madeline, I only have tastebuds for you. When I told you I could think of better things for our lips to do, eating cookies was what I had in mind.
After a moment, Madeline texted back.
Madeline: I’m only replying so you can’t claim I ignored your text again.
Me: And you accused me of not being romantic.
Madeline: I’ve accused you of many things. Not being romantic doesn’t even make the top ten.
A second later she added, Because, of course, the top ten is filled with all of your stellar qualities.
Nice catch for our parents’ sake. Also, I was calling her bluff on that one.
Me: List them for me. What do you think are my best qualities?
The dots moved up and down as she typed her reply. I wondered how long it would take her to come up with ten believable good qualities about me. Really, I ought to make her say more nice stuff about me in these texts. Perhaps daily. It was all part of our pretense, after all.
I glanced at my mom and saw her watching me again. “The microwave dinged,” she said. “Aren’t you going to get your food out?”
“Oh, right.” I opened the door and pulled my plate out. “I was thanking Madeline for the cookies.”
The fact that I’d been smiling and absorbed in texting her ought to do something to convince my mother that my interest was legit. The odd thing was, I hadn’t been pretending. I hadn’t heard the microwave ding.
While I ate, I checked my phone again. Madeline’s list was there. I knew it would be total BS because she didn’t know me at all.
Madeline: How do I admire thee? Let me count the ways. You’re . . .
1. Hot—as previously stated
2. Generous with flowers
3. Funny, although you don’t always show it
4. Loyal to your sister, although you show it too much
5. Loyal to your father (ditto)
6. A hard worker
7. Organized
8. You take responsibility
9. You’re inventive. I’ve got to hand it to you—the glitter bomb was impressive
10. Which means you’re also smart.
I stared at my phone. Besides number two, the list hadn’t been BS qualities at all. How had she known I was hardworking, organized, or responsible? What had my mother told her about me when they’d talked at the last game?
The item Madeline left off the list also struck me: Talented.
People always told me how talented I was at football.
If I’d asked anyone else at school to make a list of my good qualities, talented would’ve been the first thing on most people’s lists.
The oversight probably hadn’t meant anything on Madeline’s part except that she didn’t think about sports unless she had to.
But I wasn’t insulted that talent hadn’t crossed Madeline’s mind; I was relieved.
It was a reminder that there was more to me than just football. And I was glad that she saw that.