On the Corner of Love and Hate

by Nina Bocci

  “You’ve got the talking points memorized, I hope?” I asked, holding up the sheet with the bullet points of Cooper’s key ideas listed. “We don’t know what Kirby said to the teachers, but we can’t worry about that. We just need for you to make him look like an unqualified A-hole and focus on getting your message across loud and clear.”

  “A-hole?” he said, laughing. “Did you really just call him an A-hole?”

  “If the shoe fits. I’m not saying to call him that while you’re onstage, but you’ve got a big brain. Make it work. Relay the message. You can do this.”

  “That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  My face warmed, and an odd sensation filled my chest. “Remind me to burst your bubble tomorrow with something bitchy. Keep the eyes on the prize, Mr. Campbell-Endicott.”

  “Yep,” he said, looking not at the paper but at me. My face, my eyes, the flush on my cheeks.

  “Are you blushing?” he asked, taking a slow step forward.

  His eyes lit up. The right side of his mouth quirked up just before his tongue popped out, wetting his lower lip. Another step.

  Then another.

  Holding up my hand, I stopped him before he took his flirtation any further. “How many times do I have to tell you? Ease up on that swagger, sir. I—I’m not one of your ladies that gets jelly-kneed and swoony over you.”

  “You look awfully swooned to me,” he whispered, and started to reach for my hand.

  I cleared my throat and sidestepped him to walk to the center of the room. There was a tightness in my chest and a flutter in my stomach that wouldn’t calm.

  “I’m serious. Cooper, you’ve got to stick to the topics and commit this to memory. No going off book, we agreed to this,” I said. His staring was making me anxious and fluttery, and I didn’t like the way it made me feel. Or think.

  “Everything is always by your rules,” he huffed.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Do this, do that. Don’t flirt. Keep it in your pants.”

  “You’re not supposed to flirt with everyone and anyone. Not now, and certainly not with me.”

  He stepped forward again, but this time, the lightness and flirty eyes were missing. “You dictate what you want me to say. I agreed to it. Isn’t that enough for you? I’ve done everything you’ve asked and then some! Forgive me for trying to make a joke.”

  I drew back, tucking the papers into the folder. “You asked me for help. I didn’t seek this out. Are you having second thoughts? Is it too hard for you to focus on one thing?” I punctuated each phrase with a jab to his hard biceps, which flexed with each one.

  He turned and paced around the small office angrily. “I thought that since we’ve known each other forever, you’d have—”

  “Have what?” I couldn’t imagine where this was going. We were all over the place and needed to get the train back on the tracks.

  When he faced me again he looked . . . hurt? Perhaps troubled was a more fitting description, what with the dark shadows beneath his tired, slightly bloodshot eyes. Normally he had a light about him. It was something that I believed drew people in—it was part of why he was so well liked.

  “I needed your help,” Cooper said slowly. “But I thought you would have been different about it. Everything I do is wrong or just not up to the Emma Peroni Gold Standard. You’re a lot to live up to. I had thoughts about how to do things, too, but I put them aside because I thought you’d at least ask my opinion. Instead it’s been ‘Do this’ and ‘Do that’ like I’m your dancing monkey. It’s like I have no say in my own campaign anymore.”

  “Cooper,” I breathed, feeling an emotion I couldn’t place. Guilt? Sympathy?

  He held up his hand. “Let me finish, please. I know the past few years have been rough, but I guess I hoped this would have mended some fences. Instead it seems like it’s making the distance between us greater. I’d hoped our working together would have helped.”

  His words delivered a kick to my gut. My mouth opened and closed a few times as I tried to find the right words. Hurting his feelings had never been my intention. At one point in our lives, I had liked everything about him. That wasn’t something that I focused on often. It was just easier that way.

  Without looking up, I fidgeted with my hands. “There are many things about you that I wish other people would see and focus on. You have to trust me that right now, people are focused on the bad. That’s what Kirby is banking on: people’s inability to see past your history to look at all the good you’ve done and will do when you win.”

  Cooper chuckled, but there was no humor in it at all. It was dark, grumpy. “You missed your calling in politics, Emmanuelle. That was the best nonanswer I’ve ever heard. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Cooper, I—” I began, but he waved me off, opening and closing the doors and leaving me to wonder why my opinion of him mattered so much to him.

  14

  * * *

  The next day, Kirby visited the senior center. Mrs. Mancini reported that he was a grandstander and that his cocky, smarmy attitude would turn people off everywhere—and not just the seniors. He’d bragged about his ideas for putting seniors to work, as he called it. Apparently when he’d been asked to be the bingo caller, he’d scoffed at the idea and said he didn’t have time. To make matters worse, he had promised that he was going to help the seniors move some furniture around the senior center and then left before following through. His appearance had left an awful impression, which I’m not ashamed to say made me feel great.

  My mother always said that the way to win an election was to go straight to the people. Yes, commercials, ads, shirts, and other swag were great, but having Cooper speaking directly to the townspeople was going to be key. They included not only its senior citizens but its young people as well.

  Sophia Peroni had always been a big advocate for young voters and making them feel like their votes were really making a difference. I remembered being knee-high, standing in the voting booth with her and being allowed to push first the buttons and then the touch screens as voting modernized.

  It was with that reasoning that I wanted Cooper to engage a young crop of newly registered voters, and doing so in a debate with Kirby was sure to be an exciting way to draw them into the fun (hectic, stressful) world of politics.

  As the senior class adviser at Hope Lake High, Henry had made it an extra-credit project for the upcoming graduating class to sit and listen to a friendly mayoral debate between the candidates, so strong attendance was guaranteed. We had invited the parents to attend as well, and as a result the room was packed. At the last minute, I’d decided to livestream the event on Facebook so that those who couldn’t squeeze into the auditorium could still watch it. Henry had graciously volunteered to film it himself.

  Debates, on the whole, made me nervous. They were unpredictable, especially when they didn’t have a moderator to wrangle the speakers back onto a subject. Mudslinging was always possible, too, especially with someone like Kirby involved.

  Just before the debate began, Cooper and I were tucked away stage left, quietly searching for something to pass the time until the announcer indicated it was his turn to cross the stage.

  When Cooper had first shown up at the school, I considered it a small victory to see that he wasn’t wearing a suit or a dress shirt and tie but a pair of khaki pants and a pea-green sweater, something that made him appear relaxed and relatable. I was counting on Kirby arriving in his usual too-big suit and sideshow persona. The attendees would see right through that schtick. My hope was that the young adults of Hope Lake would take to Cooper and potentially influence their parents if they were on the fence.

  Now that we were standing together backstage, I could tell he was nervous. The familiar jaw tic was back, and he kept peering around the side of the curtain to gauge the mood of the room. “You got this, Cooper,” I said gently, brushing a piece of fuzz from his shoulder. “Be yourself. The kids will react t
o that, since you have about the same maturity level as they do.”

  “Hardy har har,” he mumbled.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, smiling. “Look, you’ve got this. Just keep it focused on the kids. That’s who we need to come back to Hope Lake. Like we did.”

  He nodded. “Kids, focus, redirect, nothing that will get me into trouble with parents.” He blurted out the last bit, but it wasn’t the usual smart-aleck comment—it was a genuine slip.

  “Cooper, I’m not telling you to be a saint, just be you. They’ll like you if you’re genuine. If Kirby tries baiting you into addressing something about your personal life, don’t engage. Just redirect like we talked about. Keep it on topic. He’s weak on his policies, so make sure to take advantage of those slips.”

  “A saint. I’ve never been accused of being one of those,” he said, laughing at my bewildered expression.

  “That’s not what I meant. I just—”

  “I know what you meant.”

  I cleared my throat, feeling a pang of discomfort. I didn’t want to think about a celibate Cooper. I had kept him in that category for so long that changing it now blurred my opinion of him.

  “He’s here,” I said as Kirby walked onto the stage.

  “Thank you, Emma,” Cooper said quietly, squeezing my hand. “Seriously, thanks. For everything.” He leaned down to me, and I held my breath as he kissed my cheek. It was unexpected, and what was more confusing was that it wasn’t quick but . . . lingering.

  “Wh-what was that for?” I asked bewilderedly, reaching up to touch the warm spot.

  Cooper looked as confused as I was. “I—I don’t know,” he whispered before turning toward the curtains that led onto the stage, where Kirby stood at his podium.

  Behind him, I crossed myself quickly and took a deep breath, praying that my stomach would stop flipping once Cooper went out onstage. It’s the nerves, I rationalized. It’s only your nerves.

  Please, please, let this kick ass. Let him kick Kirby’s ass.

  Cooper walked onto the stage confidently, waving to the clapping crowd. They hadn’t clapped for Kirby—a good sign.

  From my vantage point, hidden behind the curtains at the side of the auditorium, I watched as Cooper stretched his hand out to Kirby. Who ignored it. I could tell the audience was eating up the drama between them already.

  A few mothers elbowed their daughters and mock-fanned themselves as Cooper approached his podium. The students who weren’t there with a parent chatted among themselves, saying things like “I’ll vote for the hottie mayor.” Something told me my dad would have laughed at that.

  Cooper shook hands with Harrison Mercer, Henry’s father and the school’s principal, and the flashes went off. Admittedly, they were both very attractive, and it was clear that the student body thought so. Harrison pulled him into a hug before Cooper took his place at the podium. He didn’t approach Kirby at all, which gave me the pettiest morsel of glee.

  Harrison held a mic. Tapping it once, he spoke clearly. “Since there isn’t a moderator today at the request of the candidates, they will each take turns addressing the audience and will then have a few minutes to respond. We’ll go back and forth for one hour. Cooper, you’re up first.”

  “Simple question first,” Cooper addressed the audience. The clapping stopped abruptly. “How long have you lived in Hope Lake? If it’s all your life or the majority of your life, raise your hand.”

  Still keeping one eye on Cooper, I pulled up the livestream on my iPhone so I could keep track of outside viewership throughout Cooper’s talk. From my hiding place in stage left, I could see that about three-quarters of the room raised their hands.

  “Wonderful, okay. For those of you who raised your hand, do you think that you’d like to continue living here after you graduate from school? If so, keep them raised, or lower them if you can’t wait to get the hell out of here.”

  My stomach pitched when about half of the students lowered their hands. I shouldn’t have been surprised; at one time I think most of us felt that way. Most of the rest of the raised hands were parents’.

  “Understandable. I was like that, too, but I came back after college. My three best friends did, and then the majority of my classmates,” Cooper continued, coming from behind the podium to walk the length of the stage.

  Kirby was stewing. He didn’t look like he was paying attention, and I hoped that meant he would falter on his response to Cooper’s points.

  Cooper looked natural. He was engaging the audience by making eye contact with as many people as he could, motioning with his hands, smiling at everyone. The feedback on the video feed was also coming in strong. Lots of hearts (figures), likes (thank God), a few wows (of course), and thankfully no angry faces. Yet. Those we’d have to deal with later, I was sure, but for now it seemed like all Cooper was getting was support.

  “For those of you who want to leave, can I ask what would make you come back after school?”

  Whispers erupted throughout the audience. Heads turned to their friends to get their reactions. Maybe they were deciding how to answer or how to avoid answering. Many of the parents looked forlorn.

  “Yes, you,” Cooper said, pointing to a young man a few rows from the stage, who had bravely raised his hand to be the first to answer Cooper’s question. “What would make you come back after college?”

  The student stood up, and I recognized him from the hardware store in town. His parents had owned it since his grandfather had passed away a few years ago. “Sorry, Mom, I don’t want to run the store,” he said honestly, looking to his mother for support. His mother took his hand and nodded knowingly. He turned to face Cooper. “I guess if I could get a different job around here, or even in Barreton, I’d come home. I just don’t want to have to take over the family business. I’d like to be an accountant, but I don’t think that’s something that can be done around here.”

  Cooper nodded, looking sympathetic as the student sat back down. “Okay, thank you for sharing. I get it. I really do. By the way, I could use a good accountant, so see me after this.” He laughed with the audience. “In all seriousness, though, this is something that, as mayor, is one of my top priorities. Mayor Peroni and the town council have done an incredible service to the town by bringing back jobs to the area with new businesses, and I want to capitalize on that momentum and keep everything going in the right direction. Who’s to say that we couldn’t have a kick-ass—er, I mean kick-butt—accounting firm here?” The kids laughed as Cooper sheepishly ran his fingers through his hair. He’d managed to correct himself quickly, but I didn’t mind—his slip humanized him.

  “Anyway, I want to build jobs right here, in Hope Lake. And that includes accounting firms. Maybe businesses in Philly will send you their work in a couple years once I’ve had a few years in office. My team at the CDO has been earmarking new ventures every day, and we plan to bring in more each and every year with the full support of the mayor’s office. Progress is a one-way street. We can only move forward. And I plan to dedicate myself to that cause.”

  Cooper continued on like that for another half hour, answering more questions and hitting all of the talking points that we’d discussed. He was poised and articulate, and the audience was eating it up because he kept the conversation focused on their worries and needs. They didn’t waver in their support. There were cheers and applause as he went over his plans, the loudest cheer erupting after he explained his plans for the town’s two hundred fiftieth–anniversary celebration next year.

  “Imagine our Sestercentennial next summer! It’s going to be incredible, what with the ideas I and the CDO have come up with. All in time, all in time,” he called out when they asked for specifics. “But, my God, we need to think of a better name for that. I’ll talk to Emma Peroni about that. She’s the genius behind everything.”

  He shot a glance to where I was hidden behind the curtains. The word genius ignited a burning sense of pride inside me. I could feel my face erupt into a blush
. My lips flattened from trying in vain not to smile at either him on-screen or the live/in-person version. Both of whom had just dropped my name into a ring I was so desperately trying to keep it out of.

  As Cooper walked back to his podium, finished with his first talking point, Kirby came out from behind his. Unlike Cooper, he didn’t look comfortable at all. Instead, he was stiff, unrelenting, and awkward.

  “You, the one who wants to leave,” he called out to the young man Cooper had spoken to. “What if instead of your small family-owned store, you could manage something like an Ace Hardware or a Lowe’s? A big, beautiful box store like the ones in Barreton? No college needed, no loans accrued, just a chance at bossing a huge team of people around instead of your family. That sounds better than a little hardware store, right?”

  A silence had fallen over the crowd the second Kirby started talking. I wasn’t sure everyone was even breathing. It was eerie and awkward. “Right? Anyone? Think about it. Big-box stores with hundreds of jobs, benefits, and cheap—well, cheap whatever they’re selling. It’s the future. That’s what Hope Lake needs. More jobs, more opportunities that come from something like a national chain.”

  He continued on like that for a couple minutes, insisting that this was the right vision for the town. No one muttered, whispered, or spoke a word. There were a lot of sideways glances, head shaking, and elbows being knocked into neighbors as if to say, Get a load of this guy.

  If I hadn’t disliked him as much as I did, I would have felt bad for him.

  He finished to no applause. Any one of his talking points could have been what had turned the audience off. But what was odd was that he didn’t seem to care that no one was in agreement with his narrow-mindedness. He marched back to the podium and gave a big wave to the silent crowd.

  The debate roared on. Cooper would deliver a solid, no-nonsense opinion, and Kirby would follow up with something priggish and clumsy.

  When the time was up, Harrison strolled back onto the stage. “Thank you, gentlemen, for that . . . enlightening chat. Ladies and gentlemen, students and parents, I hope you all have gotten a better impression of who you’d like to lead Hope Lake. Our candidates will now have an opportunity to make a closing statement,” he concluded, but only Cooper remained onstage. Kirby had walked off just as Harrison was stepping onto it.