Her Dangerous Revenge

"She's creepy . Haven't you noticed?" Cooper looked over his shoulder nervously, hitching his backpack higher onto his shoulder. The students of Greenwitch High rushed from their first period class. "Nope." Vincent didn't sound very concerned for his best friend's safety. "Besides," he added, eyeing a particularly pretty freshman girl with his greedy brown eyes. "She's about as big as my pinky finger. I think you could take her." Cooper snapped his fingers in Vincent's face, pulling his focus away from the girl. "Are you kidding? She's as tall as I am." "You're overreacting." "Oh, am I? You didn't see the look on her face when Mr. Baker assigned the final project." "I don't think I've ever seen her look so happy." "So...she's not a total puss, like you?" Cooper swore and lunged, but Vincent was already halfway down the hall. He laughed as he doubled back, his arms spread wide. "Coop! C'mon, dude. Do you even hear yourself right now?" "Whose side are you on?" Cooper complained, his fists tightening around the straps on his backpack. "Look." Vincent slung one huge arm over his shoulders, burying Cooper in a mass of muscle. "It's Halloween. Your nerves are fried. Come to Tracy's party tonight with me and relax for once. I'd bet money your little psychopath doesn't show up, either. She never goes to crap like this. It's a win-win." Cooper shrugged out from underneath his arm. The fact that even Vincent, his best friend since elementary school, wouldn't listen to his theory whimpered. "I didn't get the invite to that stupid party." Vincent flashed his trademark grin—the one that had gotten him both in and out of trouble since the seventh grade. "It's an open party. Everyone's invited, brah." "Don't ever say brah again," he deadpanned, "and I'll consider it." "Shut up." Vincent smacked the back of his head. "You're going." Cooper sighed. He couldn't refuse him. Not unless he wanted to be put in a headlock in the middle of the hall. "Maybe," he hedged instead, knowing fully well how Vincent would react. He didn't disappoint. Vincent lunged for Cooper's backpack, refusing to take maybe for an answer. Cooper sidestepped into Mr. Baker's classroom. A narrow escape. Vincent's eyes narrowed. He made a this-isn't-over gesture before turning and trooping off to his second period math class alone. Cooper doubted he would be alone for long. Vincent always had someone waiting to take his place. Cooper, on the other hand, did not have that luxury. He ducked his head and made a beeline for his seat, ignoring the cursory glances from the trio of cheerleaders at the center of the room. He scanned the room and felt a rush of relief. His lab table was bare. The world fell away as he sat down in his seat and began unpacking his bag. He placed each item in a particular order. Only once he was certain that his bag had been unpacked perfectly did he relax. This is where he found peace. He reached out to straighten his notebook, seeing imperfections where there were none. Someone behind him noticed and snickered. Cooper's peaceful little bubble popped. Jesus, Coop. The voice floated up from the depths of his memories, hitting him over the head like a bag of bricks. What's wrong with you, boy? He flushed and sank down in his seat, glaring down at his notebook, wanting nothing more than to burn it and let his compulsions burn with it. But then she came in, and suddenly the laughter didn't matter. Whatever embarrassment he'd felt, whatever shame—it drained away, along with the blood in his face. Terror made his heart skip a beat. Her curly red hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, as it almost always was. She didn't so much as look at him as she took her seat. As if he were nothing more than a particularly large speck of dust. Cory Michaels, who sat across the aisle, immediately struck up a conversation with her. She smiled as he spoke, but it looked like an empty smile to Cooper. Cooper wanted to tell Cory to turn away. And not just to turn away, but to get up and run. Cooper had been in his shoes once before. He'd considered the girl by his side a friend. Had built pillow forts and made mud pies with her. But that was before the cat. "Alright, alright." Mr. Baker faced the class. The sleeves of his black sweater were rolled up to his elbows. Why he'd decided to wear a black sweater when it was seventy-five degrees outside...Cooper couldn't quite say. "You know the drill. Your final is in six weeks. It's worth fifty percent of your grade. Your lab partner is already sitting next to you, so get comfortable. And if they aren't, you're in the wrong seat. Yes, Jared. I'm talking to you. " Someone at the back of the room let out a weary sigh. Cooper's lab partner shifted and he flinched. He looked at her sideways and found her staring at him with that infuriating, blank look she always wore when looking at him, as if he were a particularly interesting insect caught under her microscope. He looked away. His cheeks no longer burned. In fact, Cooper felt downright cold. He didn't care what anyone said. Calla Parker gave him the creeps. * * * * * "It'll be fun. Do you remember what that word means?" "That's what you said about Stein's party." "That was fun." Vincent leaned back, affronted. The look in his eyes dared Cooper to argue. Cooper did. "You threw up literally everywhere." He scoffed as Cooper killed the engine to his Mustang. Ahead of them, the impressive glow of the Smith house loomed ahead. The party was in full swing. "If you don't throw up, did you even go?" "Healthy mindset, Vincent. I'll keep that in mind." He went to reach for his camera case in the backseat. "Just tryna prep for college. Sue me." Vincent slapped his hand away before he could grab the camera. "Nope. No paparazzi. That's a party foul, dude." "Stephanie will be on my ass Monday if I don't get a few good shots," Cooper argued, indignant. He didn't particularly agree with her methods—it felt invasive, following his classmates around in the hopes that he might catch a worthwhile moment—but he had to give her credit where credit was due. When it came to the yearbook committee, she knew how to run a tight ship. "The only shots you're taking tonight are with me." Vincent shoved Cooper toward the door. "Stephanie will just have to deal. Now out ." Cooper ducked out of the car and slammed the door. Vincent shot him a narrow-eyed look over the hood, which Cooper ignored. He grumbled to himself as he and Vincent followed the sidewalk to Tracy Smith's...house, if it could be called such a thing. In Greenwitch County. "Place has nine bedrooms," Vincent noted as they circumvented an elaborate fountain, poised at the center of a circular driveway large enough to fit eight or nine trucks. "How do you know how many bedrooms this place has?" Cooper muttered, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Actually, you know what? Nevermind." Vincent grinned. This close, they could easily make out the sound of loud music and...terrified screams? Cooper glanced up. Through the third floor windows, he could see the flashing pulse of strobe lights. A haunted hall. As if this party wasn't already overkill. Vincent bounded up the front steps. Cooper awkwardly shambled after him. At the top, Vincent turned to face his best friend. He placed his hands on Cooper's shoulders, his expression serious. "Are you ready?" "This is a party, not a warzone." Vincent turned and rang the doorbell. "Brace yourself." Cooper took a deep breath. He really wished he had his camera. It always felt a bit like a protective barrier when those soft leather straps were around his neck, the camera balanced between his index fingers. It was his golden pass. As long as he showed up as yearbook guy, he could get in anywhere. Otherwise, he was just Cooper Daniels—and Cooper Daniels had absolutely no reason to be on the threshold of Tracy Smith's mansion. The door opened, spilling light onto the lawn behind them and washing the two boys in a wave of loud music. A girl with billowing black hair and heartbreaking eyes stared out at them, one hand on the doorknob and the other on her hip. Behind her, Cooper could vaguely make out vaulted beam ceilings and a sparkling chandelier. When she saw Vincent, she grinned brilliantly. Then she glanced at Cooper. Her grin faded to the kind of forced smile given to estranged relatives. "Hey, Trace." Vincent swooped in and kissed Tracy on the cheek. She shoved him away and made a noise of protest, but she was smiling the same smile most girls wore around him. "Nice costume." "And what are you supposed to be?" Tracy crossed her arms, clearly comfortable with the idea of leaving the two of them out in the cold for at least a while longer. Her revealing ballerina costume couldn't have been warm, but she didn't seem bothered. "Clark Kent, obviously." Vincent and Cooper hadn't discussed costumes even once on the drive here, but as always, he had an answer ready. "I can't be Superman all the time." "Smooth." Tracy glanced Cooper's way. "And...?" "Lab geek." Vincent smirked over at Cooper, who smiled sweetly back and lifted his middle finger. Tracy laughed despite herself and ushered the two of them inside. The music was almost too loud to hear her wish them a happy Halloween, and then she was gone, melting into the thick crowd of people loitering in the living room. Cooper stared after her, and not because he desperately wished she would come back—though that thought certainly crossed his mind. Something else had caught his eye: a flash of red hair. Cooper shifted uncomfortably. He had the sudden, ridiculous urge to leave. He didn't want to be here. "Relax, Coop." Vincent slapped him on the back. He seemed completely at ease. "Let's get something to drink." He dragged Cooper away from the front door and into the mosh pit of students. He grimaced as Vincent shouldered his way through the crowd. Cooper's idea of fun didn't exactly include touching every single person in the room, but Vincent's route to the kitchen seemed to involve just that. Cooper found himself apologizing repeatedly as he stumbled in Vincent's wake. At one point, he face-planted directly into a girl he didn't recognize. His attempt to catch himself failed. Miserably. By the time Vincent managed to drag Cooper away, he could feel his unruly curls sticking up every which way, his cheeks red from both embarrassment and the girl's backhanded slap. He frowned down at his t-shirt, soaked now with a fresh layer of beer. "Fun," Cooper muttered, though he was sure Vincent hadn't heard from over the music. He held in a sigh, content to keep his misery to himself. Vincent had been right to describe the party as a warzone. And so far, Cooper had hit every landmine. "C'mere." Vincent grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him bodily from the crowd. Cooper was too thankful to protest as Vincent led him into the kitchen, which was twice the size of the two-bedroom apartment he shared with his mom. He leaned against the extensive island, exhausted. Vincent handed him a cold beer and he took it without complaint. "Thanks," he murmured, though he didn't drink. He ran his hand through his hair. Vincent noticed Cooper's compulsive tic. "You good?" He mustered a smile, fighting the urge to run his hand through his hair again . Once he did, he would have to complete the cycle— three times, always. "I'm good now." Vincent's eyes locked on something just over Cooper's head. "Good..." "Go." He waved a hand, refusing to hold his friend back from enjoying himself.