CHAPTER 10
1123 Words
"That look you see?" Cooper interrupted. "That look is fear. Just because I think
she's going to tie me to the bed and kill me in my sleep, " he said pointedly, "doesn't
mean I'm obsessed with her or want to have s*x with her or anything even remotely
like that."
Vincent, whose locker was at the other end of the hall, rolled his eyes. "Gimme a
sec."
Cooper took his absence as a chance to take a breath and reorient himself. Leave it
to Vincent to completely misread the situation.
Cooper had just grabbed his camera and closed his locker when Vincent returned,
the look in his eyes measured. Cooper watched him, confused by the sudden
change in demeanor.
"Hey," Vincent started, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "Look, man. I
don't mean to keep brushing off your thing with Calla. Whatever the hell it is, if she
really freaks you out—"
"I'm just being stupid," Cooper interjected, giving a nonchalant shrug of his
shoulders.
He wasn't sure where the words came from. For a moment, he wondered if he
should take them back, to scream yes, yes she freaks me out! But the longer he
stared at Vincent and his friend's skeptical expression, the more convinced he became.
He couldn't tell him about Calla. Couldn't, because he didn't have the words.
His secret to keep.
"You sure?" Vincent asked, sounding very unsure himself.
"Positive." His eyes flickered to his watch. "Isn't algebra way over in the east wing,
dude?"
Vincent checked the time on a nearby clock. His eyes widened and he cursed,
booking it down the hall. He cast a quick wave of thanks over his shoulder and
Cooper shook his head.
You're going to be late to class too, moron.
Cooper contemplated heading back to the library—maybe this time he could ask for
the librarian's help in tracking down the Brothers Grimm and their dark fairytales—
but then thought better of it. His first class of the day was a gimme with Ms. Beltier
in English II, which meant he'd be able to spend his time brainstorming ways to get
a hold of the book. That, and he'd also be able to pluck up the courage to confront
Calla in biology, a prospect that he dreaded.
If anyone knows what happened that night, it's the root of all evil herself.
"So who's next, Daniels?"
Jacob Stein's taunt carried down the hall. And with it came the silence of
spectators; a dozen or so heads turned in his direction, awaiting the bloodbath that
was sure to follow.
A wave of misery broke over Cooper.
He wanted to tell Jacob off. He wanted to stand up for himself. Most importantly,
he wanted to prove his innocence and leave this nightmare in the rearview mirror.
But he couldn't do that. He didn't have any proof.
"You hear me, Daniels? I'm talking to you."
Cooper held his camera to his chest as he watched Jacob draw closer, his stride
confidant. A nasty scowl twisted his features into something close to inhuman.
Cooper swallowed, feeling very much like a red cape in a conquistador's arena.
Before he could so much as blink, Jacob shoved him against his own locker;
Cooper's grip on the camera tightened, the hard plastic digging into his chest, acting
as a barrier between himself and his attacker. He winced.
"You think you're so clever, don't you?" Jacob had absolutely no sense of personal
space. He shoved his nose against Cooper's. "And, what? We're all just the idiots
playing your little game? You think you can just walk around here — "
"I didn't kill her!" Cooper snapped. A crowd had begun to gather. Out of the corner
of his eye, Cooper thought he saw a flash.
The attention spurred Jacob onward. He slammed his fist into Cooper's stomach,
who immediately doubled over.
A mistake.
Jacob placed a well-aimed kick to his mouth, adding insult to literal injury. Cooper
dropped to the ground. He licked his lip, tasting blood.
I didn't kill her. I didn't—
"And just what's going on here?"
One of the bystanders audibly cursed.
From somewhere above him, Jacob blustered. His steel toed boot still hovered alarmingly close to Cooper's face. "Daniels started it."
"Did he now?"
Cooper knew the voice of his savior well. He uncurled from his spot on the floor and
pushed himself to his feet, his face burning from pain and humiliation.
His biology teacher stood a reasonable distance away from the fray. He glared at
the other boy. "Tell me, Mr. Stein. I know this act of yours works well on Coach
Singer. But do you really think you can pull that nonsense on me?"
Jacob looked less certain of himself. He glanced over at Cooper, hatred in his eyes.
"We all know what he did."
"Innocent until proven guilty, Mr. Stein." By now, a few students had vanished,
seemingly into thin air. But many others still lingered, unwilling to go to class. "And
you are very much at fault for attacking this young man."
Cooper swiped at his lip. The movement caught Mr. Baker's eye, who paused. "Mr.
Daniels. Report to the nurse."
"But—"
"Now, Mr. Daniels." His teacher turned back to Jacob, who had lost most of his
bravado.
His tone changed, turning desperate. "We have a game this Friday—"
"A game that you will be absent for, I'm afraid. Come with me, Mr. Stein." He
glanced around the hall. The freshmen scattered. "Everyone else will be going to
class."
* * * * *
Cooper spent the next hour in the nurse's office, an ice pack to his jaw. His
fingertips went numb after the first ten minutes.
After a satisfactory period of time —whatever the hell that meant—the nurse released
him. Heart pounding, he turned one corner and then the next, expecting to see an
angry face around each one. But the halls were empty.
It must be lunch, he realized, sagging with relief. At his locker, he dialed in the
combination and pulled out a handful of items from his bag: a turkey sandwich and
a bag of chips.
Rather than face the crowd of the lunchroom, he slid to the floor and braced himself
against the lockers. His side ached where Jacob had nailed him with his boot.
He unwrapped his sandwich, trying to ignore the pain. He would deal with that later.
He imagined there wasn't much in this world that Tylenol and a good night's sleep
couldn't fix.
"You look like shit."
"Gah!" Cooper dropped his sandwich. It rolled off of his lap and hit the floor.
Naturally.
- Writer
