“Spreading rumors about me and you. I didn’t mean to … to …” Be inappropriate.
“You think people believe any of that? They were just having fun.”
I tugged myself upright. “They believe it. They … they think you and I … we … and that’s wrong.”
He tilted his head. “Yes, it is, but we didn’t. My mom can testify to that.”
“So what … we drag her to school and make her tell everyone?”
He smiled. “If you like.”
I gave a huff and tossed myself back against him. I liked it there. Me and Timothy Cooper on the couch.
“I’m not like that. I would never … never …” And I decided to say it up front. I mean, who knew where this was going? “Never sleep with someone outside of marriage.”
His breath blew warm in my ear. “I would never ask you to do that.”
That hit me full force like a semi-trailer. Me and Timothy Cooper sleeping together. We were old enough to know what that meant, but to think it was powerful. And here we were in the same house with an attraction for each other we couldn’t deny.
But I wanted to know. Would he? So I asked.
“Would you … I mean, if not for … rules and such.” Rules being the Bible, and those were pretty strong rules.
He chuckled. “You ask the strangest questions.”
“What’s strange about it?” I asked. “We’re here, me and you, and you’re a guy …” I was going to say, and I’m a girl, but he didn’t give me a chance.
“Point four against guys.”
I laughed. He always made me laugh. “Well, so answer the question.”
“Why do you want to know?”
Ego mostly and that was wrong too.
“Forget it,” I said.
But he tipped my face upward. “No, tell me. Why do you want to know?”
My tongue dried in my mouth. How could I speak with him looking at me like that? “I … We … You …” I stammered.
“Which is it?” he said.
I sighed. “All three. Can’t you just answer me?”
He looked away. “If there were no rules, no boundaries, would I sleep with you? So we’re talking purely physical here.”
“Yes.” I gulped.
“What if instead of answering that, we answer something else?”
He was forever challenging me. I liked that about him.
“Like what?”
“Like what if we were inside the rules, but it was way in the future. What if two years from now I proposed to you and we married?”
I glanced back at his face. He was serious. “You would propose to me?”
“What if I did? Would you say, ‘Yes’?”
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
“Uh huh.”
“And then what? We’d get married and …”
“Sleep together,” I said.
“But it’d be legal and right.”
My head was spinning. Had he just talked to me about proposals and marriage? Timothy Cooper was way more complicated than I thought.
“But what if we couldn’t?”
“Southern.” His voice was stern. I’d never heard him talk like that. Taking hold of my shoulders, he turned me to face him, which was awkward given my ankle. But I managed it. “Why don’t you let this go and let’s start by being friends? Then if things get more serious, we’ll deal with that when it comes.”
“Do you want things to be more serious?” I asked.
And he had a comeback. “Do you ever stop asking questions?”
I smiled. “I guess not.”
CHAPTER 8
She was right about what people believed, only he didn’t want to admit it, especially not to her. Especially not at school.
He first had an inkling of the damage created the previous day when Martin Costas approached him. Martin was an all right guy on any other day. They’d never really had dealings with each other past attending the same school, but the fact he stopped Tim in the hallway to say what he said meant bad things.
Curly black hair sprouted all along Martin’s jaw and over his chin. He jerked his head upward in greeting. “‘Sup.”
Tim halted before him, his weight leaning on one hip.
“Yo, man, heard about you and the Beauty,” Martin said.
The Beauty. The guys called her that sometimes. He’d never minded it before, but now it galled him.
“What of it?”
Martin shifted his feet. “Think you can get me in with her?”
In with her? His face heated. “No.”
Martin never flinched. “So you and her, you’re like … exclusive?”
“Yeah, we’re exclusive.”
“Lucky dog,” Martin said, and he lumbered away.
Tim tried to forget about it. Martin was only one guy in a school full of guys, but a simmering began in his gut and a suspicion that he was wrong. This was proved out at lunch. He seated himself across from Southern and soon found the pair of them seated in the midst of a crowd of guys. She didn’t seem to notice – at first.
“We’ll leave tonight at six,” he said.
She raised her head from contemplation of today’s mystery meat, her fork poised overhead. “Tonight?”
He quirked a smile. “You forgot?”
“I forgot what?”
“Our date.”
Her eyes lit then, and she dropped her fork on the plastic tray with a clatter. “I didn’t figure you wanted to do that. I mean, it was for the project and all, and we’re together all the time anyhow. So …”
“So what? Why does that matter?” he asked.
“Well it doesn’t.” She relaxed in her chair and the slant of her body pulled her shirt taut across her chest. He noticed. And so did every guy at the table.
Why didn’t this bug him before?
“So you don’t want to go or you do? Because I’d like to take you.”
“I’ll take you.”
She flipped her gaze toward the new voice. “Really?”
Trevor Hankin. No way he was taking her anywhere. He had a reputation.
“Sure. Name it.”
Her mouth gapped open. Tim was partially grateful because it meant she wasn’t speaking.
“I’ll take you too.”
She twisted the other direction, her mouth still agape.
Luis Minski. Better than Trevor. But no.
“If you want to go out sometime that is,” he finished.
The simmering in Tim’s gut enflamed. He raised his voice. “No one is taking her anywhere for any reason, but me.”
They stared at him. She stared at him.
Gees, why did she wear that shirt?
He stood to his feet and taking her by the elbow, one crutch in his right hand, removed her, limping, from the table. She followed along behind, hobbling on one leg and glancing back at her untouched food until they moved into the hall and were out of view. He dragged her into the recessed doorway of a nearby custodial closet.
“What was that about?” she asked, having located her tongue.
“Please don’t ask,” he said.
But Southern was all about questions. She’d ask.
“Seriously? Suddenly, I’m popular?” she said.
He sighed. She didn’t get it, and how could he explain?
“You’ve always been popular,” he said, “You just didn’t notice.” If he had stared at her, so had every other male.
“Really?”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, so he pushed her further toward the locked door and waited until the sound receded.
“Tim?” she asked.
He gazed down at her. “You’re going to make me explain. Aren’t you?” It was inevitable and regrettable. He ran a finger down her cheek. “You’re more than a pretty face, Southern. You’re the best girl in this school, and every guy here knows that. But now … after yesterday …” He hesitated. This would hurt her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. “They think you’re easy.
”
Her face turned white, pale white. Even her lips lost their color. And she struggled for air. Leaning on him, she clutched at his shirt. “Eas-easy?” she whispered. “But I’m not … and we talked … and … Easy?” She barked out the last word.
Her color returned in a rush, her cheeks becoming crimson; her eyes flashed. “Easy. Well, you tell me Mr. Cooper. Mr. Timothy Cooper, what are you going to do about it?”
Good question. He’d gotten her into this as much as she had.
She jabbed at his chest. “The whole school thinks we’re sleeping together. Including the faculty.”
She was dramatizing. She couldn’t know that. Well, except for Mrs. Walker who had indicated it.
“And I trusted you.” Jab. Jab. “Trusted you to take care of me.” Jab. Jab. “Walk me to class. Carry my books, you said.” Jab. “And I didn’t argue because I couldn’t do it for myself.”
He grasped hold of her finger. That was starting to hurt.
“Here I was feeling lucky. Lucky because me and Timothy Cooper were an item. Or at least everyone would think so. But now me and Timothy Cooper are only an item until the next guy comes along because God knows I’m easy!”
She was shouting now. Lunch had let out minutes before and a crowd had gathered behind them.
“Southern, stop, you’re making a scene.”
“You’re right I’m making a scene. Because I want this fixed. I want …”
There was only one thing to do. One way to make her shut up. He grabbed hold of her cheeks and kissed her.
Full-on-the-mouth, exploratory, good-heavens-she’s-great, kissed her. What-have-I-started-because-I-can’t-stop kissed her. Whistling-crowd-go-get-‘em, kissed her.
When he pulled away, her mouth was moist and swollen and her eyes were huge. “Wh-wh-what … w-w-was th-that?”
He smiled. “Me solving the problem. Now, are we going out tonight or not?”
“Y-yes.”
“Just you and me. No one else. Ever.” He said this last bit rather loud
“Yes.”
“Okay then. Now …” and he swept her from her feet, hooking her crutches over his arm. “Since you’re my girl, I’ll get you to class.”
And he turned around, the crowd parting for him as he carried her down the hallway.
***
Timothy Cooper kissed me in the school hallway in front of everybody and said it was just the two of us. Period. Me and Timothy Cooper. Dating. Whodathunkit?
I was crazy about him, heart-pounding crazy, crazy-can’t-think crazy.
By the end of the day, the rumors had evaporated, and it was a given school-wide that me and Timothy Cooper were seeing each other. Lisa Maiton asked me what it was like to kiss him, and I obliged her with a description because it was amazing. Amazing.
Mrs. Walker was even nice to us, so I fairly sailed through class and out the door. Nothing could bring me down. Nothing.
I dressed up nice for our date, wearing a knee-length white halter dress with a crochet top and a short denim jacket. Tim said I looked beautiful, which added to that floaty feeling I’d had all afternoon. Then his mom wished us a good evening and we left for church.
But I wasn’t prepared for church. Nor for the downfall of my mental high.
CHAPTER 9
“Pastor Eckles, this is my girlfriend …” Tim paused. He’d called her Southern so long, he’d forgotten her name. “Taylor,” he added.
Pastor Eckles, a thirty-year-old local college graduate with a winning smile and spiked hair, shook Taylor’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Taylor.” He turned to Tim. “Didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Tim.”
Tim draped his arm around Taylor’s shoulders. “I didn’t two days ago.”
“Ah,” he said.
Taylor’s expression said she was thinking the same thing he was. What does ‘ah’ mean?
“Well, welcome, Taylor, we’re glad to have you.”
Someone switched the music on in the loudspeakers cutting off the rest of the conversation, so with a goodbye glance at the youth pastor, Tim propped Taylor up and led her to a seat. She’d insisted on leaving the crutches behind. He spun a chair into a reverse position as a prop for her foot.
“Tim!” Eric’s familiar booming voice called out over the thumping music. Tim rose, and they clasped hands. “Dude, I heard you and Southern hooked up.”
Tim drew a line across his throat. Too late.
And Eric realized his mistake. His face flushed, he stammered his apology. “S-sorry, Tay-taylor, I didn’t see you.”
If looks could kill, Eric would be dead.
“Obviously,” Taylor said. “And I see my nickname has spread as well.”
“I … I … well, you see …” Eric fumbled his words.
She crossed her arms. “Yes? Go ahead.”
Tim reseated himself. “Don’t be sore,” he said, “Eric’s the one who originally called you that.”
She was sore.
“And you just decided to pick it up, huh?”
Ouch. She was really, really sore.
“Now, don’t be that way,” he pleaded, “It was a compliment.”
“Uh huh. Is us ‘hooking up’ a compliment too?”
Eric seated himself to Tim’s left. “Of course, it was,” he said. He was trying to help, but he wasn’t helping. Tim shut him down with a glare and reached for Taylor’s hand, folding their fingers together.
Dating was complicated, and he was beginning to think girls were even more complicated.
“Timothy Cooper?”
Tim glanced up into the eyes of a petite blonde. She looked familiar. Why?
“You don’t remember me?” she asked.
He scrunched up one side of his face, which didn’t help. “No, I’m sorry. Should I?”
The girl looked down at his and Taylor’s fingers, seemingly weighing her options. “We were in elementary school together. Brianne?”
Brianne. No. Not Brianne. If all the blood was draining from his face, he wouldn’t be surprised. Brianne was … was … the first girl he ever kissed. Please don’t say so.
She seated herself in a chair in front of them, turning around backward. “Why don’t you introduce me to your girlfriend?”
He sucked in a lungful of throbbing air. “This is Taylor. Taylor, Brianne.”
Taylor was staring at him, studying his reaction. She was nothing if not perceptive. She’d know something was up. She’d …
“You kissed her. Didn’t you?”
Ask. He gulped. “It … it was a long time ago, fourth grade.”
“Tell me,” Taylor said, her gaze on his face. “Was he as charming then?” She turned toward Brianne.
Brianne smiled. “Of course, and the cutest boy in the class.”
They both grinned like Cheshire cats. He fastened an artificial smile on his face. Nothing worse than two females in league.
Brianne brushed a lock of silky hair from her shoulders. Her next question sent him reeling. “So, Tim, How’s Justin? I’ll bet I won’t recognize him now.”
Justin. His heart stopped beating. She didn’t know; the pain of her words cut through him, and it all came tumbling back. Justin dead on the ball field. Justin being given CPR. Justin gone. He leaned over, hanging his face between his knees, his stomach shoving upwards.
“Tim? Is something wrong?” Brianne asked.
Taylor wrapped her arms about his shoulders, her gentle voice speaking softly in his ear. “Justin’s dead.”
***
I knew he was dead, but I didn’t know how. At that moment, it didn’t matter because Tim was about to collapse. Brianne must have felt awful. It was a serious gaffe on her part, but not preventable. If she hadn’t seen Tim since fourth grade, then she would have no idea Justin was gone.
Unfortunately, at that moment the worship team climbed on the platform, and there was no time to say anything more to Brianne. The drummer, a fifteen-something kid, twirled his drumsticks in his fingers as he c
limbed behind a three-piece Pearl set. The bass player and guitarist were twins. Literally. Tall, thin weed-shaped guys about our age.
Tim descended into a funk, and I didn’t blame him. All through the sermon, which was something about witnessing at school, he stared at the floor or his shoes or something down there. It was after the altar call that he got up and left. Eric stared at me. Brianne stared at me. And I stared at Tim’s back as he exited the room.
I couldn’t go after him, obviously. Brianne shouldn’t go after him. I was, after all, his girlfriend so how would that look? And Eric didn’t attempt to go after him. So we sat there as the youth pastor dismissed and kids filed out. When Tim returned, he seemed better, resolved.
“Let’s go,” he said to me. He made no attempt to explain anything to Brianne, which made me feel kinda bad, but probably he didn’t want to talk about it. He helped me to my feet, and we headed for his car.
The moon was at about half-mast, enough to make the world dark yet provide a breath of light. It cast strange shapes on the hood of his car. He wasn’t speaking, so I wasn’t either. Until we got to the park and he shut the car off.
“I need to tell you,” he said.
Tell me about Justin. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it. It would be awful no matter how he phrased it. I kept my mouth shut.
“He was ten. Loved to play baseball. Was good at it actually. Mom signed him up for Little League, and we’d go to every game. They were playing the Miners, a team from across town, and the Miners had a fierce reputation.” He rubbed his arm absentmindedly.
“Justin had gone on all day about how this year they’d finally beat them. ‘We’ll show them,’ and all that, so he was pretty pumped when we got there. I don’t know, but I’ve always wondered if that made him careless. If … if it could have been prevented.”
I reached across and took his hand in mine. He looked at me, his eyes so sad, and my heart broke in two.
“It was the middle of the inning, and he went up to bat. Mom was cheering. I was cheering. He batted left-handed, so he was standing opposite the others and couldn’t see us. But I’m sure he could hear. We were so loud. The pitcher, a fellow twice Justin’s size, wound up the pitch, and I could see it in his eye. He was going to make this a good one, really sling it over the plate and try to get him out. He pulled back his arm and tossed the ball. No one knows how it happened. All Justin did was swing, but as he did, his helmet popped off. Flew right up in the air and distracted him. So much so, he stepped forward, right into the path of the ball.”
Me & Timothy Cooper Page 4
