Me & Timothy Cooper

by Suzanne D. Williams

  Me & Timothy Cooper

  Suzanne D. Williams

  © 2013 Me & Timothy Cooper by Suzanne D. Williams

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  CHAPTER 1

  Timothy Cooper, with his sandy-colored hair and sparkling blue eyes, was an absolute dream. Too bad he didn’t notice me. Ever. Could be there were lots of prettier girls around. Or could be we were only seventeen and he wasn’t interested in a serious relationship.

  I didn’t think I was ugly. In fact, I’d gotten comments from other boys saying different. I had brown eyes, nothing remarkable about that, but my lashes were long and dark. I also had thick, brunette hair with a natural wave to it. Girls always envied my hair. More than one told me every day was a good hair day where I was concerned.

  But maybe Timothy Cooper wasn’t interested in brunettes. Or maybe he liked girls with stick figures because I didn’t have one of those either. That was embarrassing at times. Mom would take me to the big department store in the middle of town, and we’d have to shop in the women’s department to find clothes. I simply couldn’t wear those skinny, tight things made for girls my age.

  Now, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t fat – overweight. Just curvy. Which seemed like a good thing for the future, but not so much for a girl who was trying to fit in. And I wanted to fit in badly. I wanted the in-crowd to treat me as equals and Timothy Cooper to look my way.

  But fate or the devil or whatever you believe in always conspired against me. Until our teacher, Mrs. Walker, decided to put us in pairs.

  ***

  “Taylor Lawton, you will work with Timothy Cooper …”

  My head shot up from my desk into the eyes of the very boy I spent all my days thinking of, and my gut twisted. Me and Timothy Cooper? Work together? The twist in my gut became a stone.

  Then he smiled, and the room became brighter than the noonday sun. “Guess you’re stuck with me,” he said.

  Heaven help me, being stuck with Timothy Cooper wasn’t such a bad thing.

  The teacher walked between us, her skirt swishing against her panty hose. “Now, this assignment,” she said, “will require you to share a bit about yourselves with each other, so you’ll need to schedule time after school to work together and be sure to take good notes.”

  Time after school together with … with him? The fist curled itself around my insides and yanked.

  Mrs. Walker fixed her gaze on my face, like she could see inside my head. “Pretend you’re writing a novel about the other person. Ask yourself what about their life you would put into the story and also, what you would change.”

  She moved back toward the front of the class. Lisa Maiton threw a wad of paper at her butt, and snickers broke out.

  “Once you’ve compiled all the information,” Mrs. Walker said, oblivious, “write one to two pages, double-spaced. It’s due next Monday. That gives you the weekend to finish. This assignment will teach us about writing and some about our fellow students as well.”

  The class began chattering as she turned away, everyone figuring out how and when to spend time with their partner, yet I sat there my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth, my palms sweating.

  Write about Timothy Cooper. Share my life with Timothy Cooper. I didn’t know which was worse. Or better.

  “So … when you want to get together?” he asked.

  Monday, today was Monday. I gathered my thoughts. And this was the second week in March of 2010. And my name was Taylor Marie Lawton. And–

  “Taylor?”

  I smacked my lips. I could use a glass of water. “Y-yes. Taylor,” I said.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re a funny one.”

  A funny one what? Girl? Human being?

  He opened his book bag and removed his cell phone, poising his finger over the digital keypad. “What’s your number?”

  My number. Give my number to Timothy Cooper. Dear God. I wiped my hands on my blue jeans. This wasn’t happening to me. I rattled off my number.

  His thumb flicked across the keys. “Here, I’ll send you a text, then you’ll have mine.”

  My phone buzzed in my purse, and I bent to remove it. But I immediately faced a huge problem. My shirt.

  See, each day my primary consideration was what to wear for the big moment Timothy Cooper finally spoke to me. Okay, that was silly, but to me it was important. Yet this particular day, standing in my bedroom, looking at the mound of laundry I’d forgotten to do, I decided to wear the last thing in my closet I’d ever want him to see me in.

  The shirt from Grandma.

  I loved Grandma, but she had no idea what size I wore or what style was in. And that, I think, is par for the course in being a grandma. Therefore, this shirt was (a) too big and (b) inclined to gap open.

  I hesitated, my phone buzzing incessantly inches away, and considered my options. I could be quick. Maybe with my hair fallen over me, he wouldn’t notice. Or I could hold the shirt to my chest with one hand, but that would make me look either inept or vain.

  “You going to get that?” he asked.

  I glanced up to see him grinning from ear to ear. Apparently, something about this situation was funny. I only hoped it wasn’t my shirt.

  “How about you look away?” I said.

  At this, his grin spread wider, and for some reason, that made me kind of mad.

  “What if I don’t?” he asked.

  I sat up straighter. My phone had stopped buzzing. “Well, that’s your choice, but I don’t think we know each other well enough for you to see all there is of me.”

  He gave a snort and reclined in his desk, his arm thrown over the seat back. “What if I don’t want to see all there is to see of you?”

  And I don’t know what came over me. This was, after all, Timothy Cooper, my dream guy, but sure as the world, I said the first thing that came to my head.

  “Oh please,” I rolled my eyes, “You’re male.”

  He burst out laughing.

  Fortunately, this was the diversion I needed, so retrieving my purse from its spot in the floor, I wielded my phone before him as evidence of my success, more than a little relieved. The bell rang then, and we snatched our books and rushed out into the hall. But he pulled me to a stop before I could escape, and I swear my arm burned right where his fingers were.

  “You never said when.”

  When. When would we spend time together trading life stories? When would I have the pleasure of looking into his blue eyes for a few hours of my time?

  “Well, when then?” I asked.

  He hooked his thumbs in his pockets, his book tucked beneath his arm. “You wanna go out?”

  Out? On a date? I blinked back my surprise and swallowed heavily. “Whatever’s good for you.”

  “How about Wednesday? I can pick you up for church. Then after, we can get a burger.” He waited, his blue eyes growing even bluer the longer I stared at them.

  “Wednesday’s good,” I said.

  “Text me your address.”

  I nodded and made to turn, but his last words pulled me short.

  “Maybe don’t wear that shirt.”

  ***

  “Tim!”

  Tim glanced over the heads milling in the hallway to see his best friend, Eric, pushing his way forward and so missed the girl, Taylor, slipping away. He spent a few moments watching her bottom sway before meeting his friend�
��s gaze.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  Eric jerked his head in the direction of Timothy’s former attention. “What are you talking to her for?” he asked.

  “Project.”

  “Class or personal?”

  Tim smiled out of one side of his mouth. That was up for serious debate. “Class.” For now.

  “MmmMmm,” Eric grunted as the last vision of her turned the corner. “I’m betting five bucks you make it personal.”

  Tim laughed and headed for the exit. Eric never had five cents, much less five bucks.

  “Hey, man, can you give me a ride home? My mom took my keys … again.” Eric spun in a circle to avoid colliding with the water fountain.

  Tim raised his eyebrows. “What for this time?” Eric was forever getting in trouble, and his mom always took his keys, though this didn’t seem to stop him from messing up the next time.

  “Grades. I failed my Science test.”

  Science. Figures. Eric hated science.

  “I should make you walk,” Tim said. The clatter of the front doors preceded the rush of afternoon heat in his face. He pulled his t-shirt from his already moist skin.

  “You should, but you won’t.”

  Tim dug his keys from his pocket and unlocked his car. No, he wouldn’t. Not that Eric ever paid for gas. Not that he lived on the way home.

  The purr of the engine brought serious satisfaction to a deep place in Tim’s soul. Running his hands around the steering wheel, he inhaled the scent of warm leather and automobile protectant. This car was special. A 1970 Chevy Chevelle SS big block. As if that didn’t make it unique enough, his father gave him this car before shipping out for Afghanistan on his second tour, and that made it more than the classic it already was. It was a part of his dad, who he rarely got to see.

  The thunk of the passenger-side door brought him awake.

  “So tell me what’s this project that has you all tied up with Southern?” Eric laid an arm on the ledge of the open window.

  “Southern?” Tim frowned as an elderly lady in a battered Corolla cut in front of him. Her head barely cleared the dashboard.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’ve always called her. She’s got that sexy accent which pulls you in.”

  Tim braked as the elderly lady made a sharp right-hand turn. Senior drivers.

  “And she’s all round and curvy,” Eric continued, “about like this car.”

  Tim glanced at him. “You’re comparing her to my car?”

  “Yep. One’s sweet the other is sweeter. But you haven’t answered my question.”

  The light changed from yellow to red, and Tim brought the car to a stop. “We’re supposed to write a paper on each other. Something about what we would change about the other person and what we wouldn’t.”

  “I’d change her into something skimpy.” The smirk on Eric’s face stretched from ear to ear.

  Tim laughed. “If you felt like that, then why haven’t you asked her out?”

  Eric’s smile faded. “Are you kidding? She won’t give me the time of day. Now, you on the other hand …”

  No sooner had the words left Eric’s mouth, than Tim spotted her. Only something was wrong. She was limping. “Check it out,” he said, nodding her direction. He pulled his car over to the curb and leaned across Eric’s bulky form toward the opposite window.

  “Taylor? You okay?” he called.

  And she turned around. Her face was white as a sheet, and her shirt was ripped down the left-hand side.

  CHAPTER 2

  Taylor clutched at her shirt with one hand, her purse and book bag with the other. “I … uhm … tripped,” she said. She turned her left side away from his view.

  “Why don’t you get in?” He jabbed Eric in the side and mumbled, “In the back.” Eric tossed himself over the seat.

  “Oh, I can’t … I shouldn’t.” She took a faltering step forward.

  She’d keep walking?

  He tapped the gas and rolled after her. “C’mon, Southern, get in. You can’t walk with your ankle like that.”

  She screeched to a halt. “What did you call me?”

  Oops. Rule #12. When you’re interested in a girl, never call her a nickname.

  “Southern. What’s wrong with that?”

  She leaned her elbow on the roof of the car, her breath hissing through her teeth. “Depends on if you’re making fun or admiring.”

  He chuckled. Spunk. “Admiring. Now, get in, I’ll take you home.”

  Her mind appeared resolved to the issue because she seated herself in the car with a groan.

  “You tripped, huh?” he said.

  She shot him a sharp look. “Over a kid on a bicycle. Stupid moron sent me flying into the gutter. I caught my shirt on the metal grate and twisted my ankle.”

  She fisted her shirt in her hand and reached for her leg, but was unable to make contact with it without releasing her grip and thus displaying herself.

  He eyeballed the problem, and without further thought shucked his shirt and tossed it in her lap. “Here, put this on.”

  Her eyes about bugged out of her head. “But …”

  “But what? It’s only a shirt and seems like you need one.”

  Girls. Sheesh.

  She twisted in the seat, thereby concealing the gap in her clothing, and shook his shirt out in her hands. Slipping it over her head, she worked beneath the cloth to remove the remains of her her own. It fell into her lap within seconds. She then stuck her arms through his t-shirt’s sleeves.

  “That was … talent,” he said.

  She flicked her hair from beneath the collar. “All women can do that.”

  And he seriously decided to let that one go.

  He pulled back out into traffic. “So tell me, Southern, why are you walking today? Doesn’t your mom usually pick you up?”

  Her eyes opened a fraction wider. “You know that?”

  Lord, she has great eyes.

  He smiled. “I know lots of things about you. I know your mom picks you up and dumps you off at home to work her second job. Then you’re alone until your dad gets home around seven.”

  “You’re spying on me?”

  He spun the wheel to enter a residential neighborhood lined with cookie-cutter homes. Brown paint. Brown roofs. Cracked concrete driveways. Halfway down the street, he stopped in front of a house hiding beneath a tattered palm tree. He flung his door open and leaned forward in his seat.

  “See ya, man,” he told Eric.

  Eric shimmied out behind him and poked his head in the window. “You pick me up in the morning?”

  Tim gave a laugh. “Dude, pass your test and get your keys back.”

  Eric slapped the side of the car and took two steps in reverse. Good luck, he mouthed.

  Tim waved him away. “Tomorrow.” He waited until Eric entered his house before continuing to drive.

  “You let him mooch off you,” Taylor said.

  He glanced at her. “Yeah. But Eric is Eric, and he isn’t going to change.” He hit his blinker. “Why don’t you let my mom look at your ankle? She used to be a nurse.”

  “Your mom? As in … at your house?”

  He smirked. “Well, yeah, that’s where she is. You afraid of my mom?”

  “No,” she retorted, and her brown eyes flashed.

  “Besides, like I said, your folks aren’t home. Which reminds me, you never answered my question. Why were you walking today?”

  She laid her head sideways on the seat back, and her hair curled around her throat. He stared a mite too long and a horn blew when he missed the stop sign.

  “You never answered mine,” she said. “How’d you know all that about me?”

  “You first, then I’ll answer.”

  She licked her lips. “My parents are out of town tonight.”

  He drew his brows together. “All night?”

  She nodded.

  “They just left you alone?”

  His mom would never do that. She was al
l about knowing where he was and who he was with. It came from his dad being gone half the time. That and what happened to his brother.

  “Well, they wanted to send me to my grandmother’s, but she lives too far from here and can’t drive. I insisted I’d be fine. Lock the doors and all that.”

  “But you can’t stay alone. I mean, with your ankle that way.”

  She exhaled. “I’ll manage.”

  “No, seriously, why don’t you stay at my place for tonight?”

  He meant the question innocently, but her reaction said she heard different. Her hand trembled, and she curled it into a fist in her lap.

  “Oh no, I don’t think …”

  “Listen, Southern, it was an honest offer. My mom is there, and you can stay in my little brother’s room. No strings. We’ll feed you, and anyhow, I don’t think you can walk at this point.” He nodded towards her ankle, now swollen to twice its normal size.

  Her answer made him laugh.

  “What will people say about me staying at Timothy Cooper’s house?”

  He wiped tears from his eyes. “You crack me up. Do you care what they’ll say? And weren’t we supposed to learn about each other?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Yes, we were, and no, I don’t care. But does this mean our date is cancelled?”

  This time it was his turn to startle. “Our date?”

  “Wednesday, isn’t that a date?”

  “Oh, right, yeah, I guess it was. No, I’ll still pick you up.”

  He entered an upscale neighborhood, passing through an automatic gate and following a street lined with salmon-colored pavers and expensive shrubbery.

  “This is where you live?” she asked. “But I thought …”

  “You have a bad habit of not finishing your sentences, Southern.”

  She smiled. “I know. My mom tells me that a lot. I was gonna say, I thought your dad was in the service.”

  He made a left. “Now, who’s spying on whom?”

  “Which reminds me.” She dragged out the last word. “Your turn.”

  He chuckled. “Let’s just say I’m male, and I needed to know.” He drove up a long driveway and parked in front of a three-car garage. Extracting the keys from the ignition, he glanced at her. She had a peculiar expression on her face. “What? Was it something I said?”