Authors: Diana Gardin
Chapter
4
Cooper
The entire weekend is consumed with thinking
about the date. Luka was engaging, considerate, and funny.
He acted like he really wanted to hear
what I had to say.
He wanted to
know more about my dancing, and even asked if he could come see a
performance.
I’d jokingly replied
that he’d fall asleep in the middle, and he’d said he would be too mesmerized
by my talents to even blink his eyes.
When I pick Dara up the following Monday
in my old Corolla, she gets in the passenger seat and slams her door. Then she
turns, aiming the widest of grins my way.
“What?” I asked, curious. As bubbly as
Dara’s personality is, she’s usually at her worst first thing in the morning. I
think her sun rises later than the rest of us. So her sudden burst of
loveliness at this hour is chilling. I’m wondering if she might have had a
little too much coffee this morning.
“I’m just excited is all,” she replies.
“We had such a good time this
weekend.
You and Luka seemed to
really hit it off, huh?” She said Luka’s name like it was a dirty word.
Lewkah
.
I roll my eyes.
“We hung out
one night
, Dara.
I wouldn’t
call that hitting it off
.”
“Yeah, but you gave him your number,
right?”
“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean
anything.
We’ll be friends.”
I steer the car carefully into the
driveway to the school parking lot.
“Okay, Cam. Right. Because you don’t find
Luka’s beautiful brown eyes, sexy-as-hell dreads, and tall gorgeous body
at all
attractive.”
I laugh and punch her hard in the arm. “Shut
up, Dara.”
“Stop it,” she whines. “Or I’ll tell my
boyfriend to kick your ass.”
When I pull into a parking spot, Dara
sweeps out of the car with her usual gusto for an impending Brandon sighting. I
follow, only a little less enthusiastically.
“Oh, there’s Brandon!” she squeals.
And that was my cue to roll my eyes.
As we stroll toward a cluster of benches
nestled outside the school doors where Brandon stands waiting for Dara, a loud
rumble causes me to glance over my shoulder back toward the parking lot. It
reverberates through my bones, making my teeth clench together.
“What’s
that
?” Dara asks.
As my eyes narrow against the jarring sunlight,
a cloud of sandy dust billows behind a sleek, bright orange and black
motorcycle cruising into the lot.
My eyes settle on the rider, who is hunched over the handlebars.
His helmet, which matches his bike,
reflects the bright sunlight with a polished gleam.
He parks two spaces away from my car,
and his bike engine dies.
I notice
that we weren’t the only students who stopped on their trek into the building
to stare.
As he straddles the bike, he reaches up
and pulls off his helmet to reveal dark hair grazing the back of his neck. He rolls
his shoulders, the black leather of his jacket reflecting the sunlight.
He grabs a worn army-green messenger bag
from the storage compartment in the seat of his motorcycle, and places his helmet
under his arm.
As he turns to face
the front doors of the school building where we stand, I quickly turn to my
friends.
“Um…who is that?” I ask.
Brandon shrugs.
“I don’t know.
New dude, I guess.
His ride is hot.
Wish I had one.”
Dara links her arm through
Brandon’s.
“Oh, I think your Jeep
is pretty hot, too.”
He grins at her and kisses the top of her
head as we walk into school.
I part ways with Dara and Brandon and swing
towards the Arts wing of the building.
The Arts hallway is home to the theater
department, the music rooms, and the dance studio.
As a senior member of the Oceanview High
dance department, I am currently working with my dance teacher to choreograph
our school’s fall musical.
This
year we are putting on “Mamma Mia.”
I’ve been working hard at home on choreography for each musical number,
and brought some dance steps to run by Mrs. Bartos this morning before first
period.
“Good morning Camryn!
How is the final section of “Dancing
Queen” coming along?” Mrs. Bartos greets me with her Eastern European accent as
I walk into the dance studio.
“Almost done, Mrs. Bartos.
I just had a question about the line
spacing for ‘SOS.’”
Mrs. Bartos and I put our heads together
over steps until the bell rings, and then she quickly writes me a pass to get
into my first period American Literature class.
As I hurry to class, I have to pass by
the main office. The door swing open as I rush past, and the boy I saw this
morning on the motorcycle exited the glass-enclosed waiting area.
His arms were full of his schedule and
his helmet and our eyes met. I stopped, stunned by the beauty in the green
warmth of his.
Oh, hell. The way my heart picked up was
a sure sign of trouble, and I averted my eyes.
“Hey,” he says, looking directly at me.
“Do you know where D-112 is?
It’s my first day.”
I hesitate, a little floored by the
brightness of his smile I have to look at him now that he’s speaking to me.
“Um, yeah.
That’s actually where I’m headed now,
for Lit.
You must have Taft.”
He looks down at the schedule in his
hand.
“I do indeed,” he replies.
“Lucky I ran into you, huh?”
I’m sure my smile is faint; the flush in
my face definitely not from the dancing I was doing a few minutes earlier. I
heft my backpack higher on my shoulder.
“It’s this way.”
As I lead the way down the hall, I observe
him out of the corner of my eye. He’s glancing at the dance shoes in my hand. I
hadn’t had time to put them away.
He sees me ogling.
“Are you a dancer?”
“I am,” I reply.
“I was just working with my teacher this
morning on some choreography for our fall musical.”
“That’s cool. Smart, beautiful,
and
talented. I must have won a lottery
in a past life that I didn’t know about.” He smiles at me, looking into my eyes.
His smile is genuine and heart-stopping. At least for me and my heart.
I look away, speechless.
This guy is absolutely beautiful; I can’t
deny it.
I have never met anyone
quite like him at school. Meaning anyone who makes me feel like a reptile in
comparison and act like a complete idiot. And the fact that he pulled up to
school this morning looking like some kind of action hero didn’t hurt, either.
But I can’t be his type.
He’s obviously flirt or a player. He’s too
good at it not to be. I straighten my shoulders and turn into the stairwell. I haven’t
made it through twelve years of school without getting flipped on my back by a
pretty face just to drop my panties in front of one now.
“Hey, you’re acting as my tour guide this
morning, and I don’t even know your name,” he remarks.
“Sorry.
I’m Cam,” I say, meeting his stunning
green eyes for the second time.
“Cam?
Short for…?”
“Short for Camryn.”
“It’s nice to meet you Cam Short For
Camryn.
I’m Cooper Goode.
Don’t let the last name fool you.”
His wink leaves me slightly dizzy.
Has anyone winked since 1956?
Seriously?
Why does he look so delicious doing it?
“Does Cam come with a last name, or do
you one-name it like Rhianna?”
I giggle.
Giggle
.
God, I need to get a hold of myself. This is getting embarrassing.
“Grimes.
Camryn Grimes.
I’ll be your tour guide for the next
thirty seconds. On your right, you’ll see the species we like to call lazy
high-
schoolers
. Don’t feed them, whatever you do.
Where’d you transfer from?”
“I just moved here from Maryland.
Moved in with my aunt last week.
My mom is still back in Maryland.
Long story,” he explains, smiling at my
humor. Which is my only defense against his ridiculous charms.
We arrive at our Literature class.
Cooper opens the door, and gestures for
me to enter first.
I do, noticing
twenty-three pairs of eyes rivet toward us as we enter.
I walk up to Mr. Taft’s desk and hand my
pass to the short, chubby teacher.
He nods.
“Take a seat,
Camryn.
Ah!
Mr. Goode.
It’s nice to have a new face in the room.
I’ve been expecting you.
Why don’t you take the seat behind
Camryn, since you two are already acquainted?
She’ll be a good advisor for the new
material. One of the best literature analysts in the class.”
Cooper raises an eyebrow at me, and I
shake my head to firmly deny Mr. Taft’s claim. He walks down the aisle and takes
the seat behind me.
I also notice
about twelve sets of eyes still glued to his six-foot-one frame as he folds himself
into a seat.
My Lord.
Every girl in the classroom is up in
arms about Cooper Goode.
And I can’t really blame them.
“Remember, don’t feed them,” I whisper,
leaning back in my seat. I hear him snort, and it turns me into a sizzling pat
of butter.
I hear a giggle, and turn to see the
redhead sitting across the aisle from him smile and wave.
As he returns her smile, I feel a pang
of annoyance stab my chest.
Well, that’s ridiculous.
Why should I care who Cooper Goode smiles
at?
I don’t even know the boy.
I turn around to concentrate on Mr.
Taft’s lecture about romance in the eighteenth century, frowning at the irony.
***
At lunchtime, I walk into the cafeteria
absently, swaying to the beat that always plays in my head.
As I head toward my usual table where I will
see Dara, Brandon, and whatever athletes from the basketball team decide to
join us today, I feel someone fall into step beside me.
“Hey, beautiful,” Luka says.
“Having a good day?”
I smile at him.
It’s good to see Luka after having such
a great time with him over the weekend.
And having someone open a conversation by referring to your state of
beauty is always good for the ego.
“Hey, stranger.
Haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays,”
I reply, using the southern slogan my mother spouts way too often.
His laugh booms through the cafeteria.
“I had fun Thursday night,
princess.
I thought I might hear
from you this weekend.
I waited by
my phone.”
“Luka!
You did not.
I gave you my number.
I figured you’d give me a call if you
wanted to hear my boring old voice.
And yes, I’m having a great day.”
“Princess, I’m hurt.
I couldn’t scare you away by calling you
the next day after our date.” Luka’s eyes meet mine as he says the D word.
I feel my face grow warm under his direct
gaze.
“Oh, was that a date? I
remember being under the impression that we were just hanging out with our
friends on a group outing.”
He pulls out my chair and I sit
down.
He takes the chair next to me
and leans in to speak into my ear.
“I guess I have to ask you out for a real
date, then.
Can I call you tonight
to make it official?”
I pull back and stare at him.
Luka is asking me out.
I take in the serious expression on his
beautiful chocolate face.
A future
as his girlfriend flashes in front of me.
Holding hands in the hallway, sitting next to him at lunch every day.
Sitting shotgun in his car in the parking lot for all to observe. It’s a pretty
picture. With it will bring acceptance from two different worlds at my
school.
The black girls would let
up on me for acting white.
The
white girls would accept that I had a black boyfriend that looked great on my
arm.