Her Dangerous Revenge

CHAPTER 1

"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.