Cooper isn't nearly as ridiculous of a dancer as Chloe or Devon. Actually, he's pretty decent. He keeps his hands secured at my waist, he makes sure there's a foot of distance between my face and his, and he continually asks if I'm having fun or if I need a break. Frankly, he's been the perfect date: respectful and concerned and, well... boring.

Boring?

This isn't the Cooper I've been friends with for years. This isn't how a friend treats a friend. No, this is a boy who is completely out of his element and fumbling to appear normal. When Cooper's eyes divert from mine every time I catch him watching me, or when he clears his throat every few minutes like he's about to say something but then doesn't, or when he keeps removing a hand from my waist to run it down the leg of his pants, I realize something disturbing:

Cooper Jones is nervous.

Maybe I should be flattered. But I'm not. I can't be. I don't want Cooper to have these feelings because they make everything weird. How am I supposed to hold a normal conversation with someone who's struggling to maintain eye contact? His fidgeting is making me uncomfortable and I start feeling that unease creep into my chest again. It's like a hand constricting around my ribcage and the only way to relieve it is to flee from it.

I want to run.

But then I glance to my right and find Bryson several couples over, his arms draped around Claudia's waist and her head gently rested on his chest. They look nothing like Cooper and me. We're stiff and awkward, like two people forced together against our will. Bryson and Claudia look so natural and, dare I even say, cute.

I pull my eyes from the dancing couple just as I feel Bryson turn his attention toward us. Cooper is staring down at me when I look up and I watch as he glances at Bryson and offers a nod of acknowledgment.

"Sorry," he mumbles, dropping his gaze to my left shoulder before meeting my eyes.

"For what?" I ask dumbly.

I'm not an idiot. I know where this is going, but for some reason—call it the stereotypical girl in me—I feel like playing dumb so he has to spell it out. I refuse to assume what he might be sorry for. I need to know.

"I'm sorry I'm not him."

I turn my head upward, lips puckered as I glare teasingly at him.

"Don't be," I berate. "You'd look ridiculous as a brunette."

Cooper chuckles, dropping his head to laugh into the space between us. I want to laugh too. I want to find humor in the moment, but I don't. Instead, my chest burns. My veins feel like they're nearing explosion. I pinch the bridge of my nose, offering Cooper a quick smile when he sees the action. He doesn't comment on it and doesn't even seem to realize something's off with me.

I fight the need to take another peek in Bryson's direction because I can still see him glance our way every few minutes from the corner of my eye. I'd hate to accidentally catch his attention and have to pretend like I'm okay with the position he's in. I want to be okay with it. I don't want to feel this fuming, achy sensation every time I see the two of them together, but I do. Because I know he likes her and it's only a matter of time before he wins her heart. I don't want to be watching when that moment happens.

"Ready for a break?" I ask Cooper, tilting my head up to look at him.

"Uh," he glances around the dance floor, watching as people show off their less than impressive dance moves for each other, and then shrugs. "Sure."

We push past oscillating dancers, some getting a little too frisky with each other, and I make a beeline for the snack table. I'm thirsty again, probably because the flames licking their way through my body are devouring every drop of liquid. I didn't know I was like this. I'd never had a reason to be blindingly jealous before. For all seventeen years of my life, I thought I was relaxed, easily able to brush off bothersome emotions.

But I can't shake this feeling. It's a feeling stronger than rage but I'm not angry. It's more like a ferocious passion. Dangerous and thoughtless. If I'm not careful, I'll find myself marching my way to Bryson and telling him just how I feel. And then, of course, that will snuff out the fiery swarm of whatever it is that I'm feeling and I'll be left looking like a complete imbecile. I don't want to be that person who ruins everything because my lips are incapable of sealing in the words that they shouldn't utter. So instead, I run. I run away from the situation and choose to bury all my thoughts and inner turmoils with food.

"Oh my goodness," I moan, cookie crumbs littering my lips. "This is the most incredible thing I've ever tasted. Please," I lift the cookie up for Cooper to sample, "try this!"

He lifts a hand to take it from me but I shove it between his lips before he gets a chance. I watch him chew, using the back of his right hand to wipe the crumbs away. One stubborn one remains dangling from his lower lip but I don't dare glance at it.

"Hmm," he mumbles, "you're right. Give me another one."

I grab a plate and pile the delicacies on top before motioning to an empty table near the corner of the room furthest from the noise and dancing. And furthest from Bryson and Claudia.

No words are spoken as the two of us focus solely on the dessert before us. The music is quiet enough back here that I can actually hear the two of us chewing. I can also hear the whispers of satisfaction that keep gurgling from my own throat. It's disgusting, but I don't care. I've been disgusting around Cooper since the day I met him and a part of me kind of hopes that if I'm gross enough, he'll give up on this stupid fairytale he has about the two of us.

"Hey, guys!"

I jolt upright, quickly wiping at my mouth before rotating in my seat to find Bryson standing behind me.

"Hey," I croak, wishing I'd grabbed another cup of punch to wash away this odd sandpapery feeling on my tongue.

"What's up, man?" Cooper greets, pushing another cookie into his mouth and smiling at his friend around the lump. "You recording tonight's game?"

"Naw," Bryson waves off Cooper's question. "Just gonna watch the recap later."

"Lame." Cooper shakes his blonde head and swallows. "You should come by tomorrow instead. We can watch it together. I'll invite some of the guys."

"Sounds good." Bryson rounds the table and slides into the seat across from me. "You two are missing out on one of history's most loved dance songs, you know?"

I listen in, recognizing the universally-familiar song as Cooper starts singing along with the lyrics.

"I'm blue, da-ba-dee da-ba-daa, da-ba-dee da-ba-daa, da-ba-dee da-ba-da." He sing-yells, his voice carrying far enough to snag the attention of a few of the dancers in the rink. "I have a blue house with a blue window. Blah blah dee daa daa doo blah blah blah that I wear—"

"You know," I cut in, glancing between the two boys, "I once heard that the lyrics were actually, 'I'm blue, if I were green I would die.' You think it's true?"

Everyone goes silent for a moment as we wait for the chorus to play again.

"I can hear it," Bryson admits, puckering his lips as he considers his own words. "Makes more sense than the jibberish we all sing."

"Yeah," I agree, shrugging. "Where's Claudia, by the way?" I ask, turning to take a quick gander around the room.

"Probably powdering her nose," Cooper answers for him.

Bryson smiles but shakes his head. "No, one of her friends had a 'female' emergency." He uses air quotes around the word and then shrugs as he glances at Cooper. "As if saying the word 'period' is gonna cause me to hurl my dinner or run screaming. Do they really think we don't know what that means?" The question is directed at Cooper but Bryson's looking at me and I can tell by the smirk playing at his lips that he's teasing.

"Uhhh," Cooper hums, tapping his chin, his words sluggish and thick as he tries to sound as stupid as possible. "What does 'female emergency' mean?"

"Well," I begin, clasping my hands together and leveling my gaze at him, "every month, Aunt Flo comes to visit and she's extremely rude... even abusive. She wants all girls in the world to suffer. She wants us to bleed. So, women all across the globe vow to protect each other from the horrid Aunt Flo and her vomit-inducing gut punches by always keeping spare 'bandages' and pain medication in their purses at all times. You know, just in case another poor soul is in need."

"Oh my gosh!" Cooper is laughing hysterically as he drops his head to the table and gently knocks his forehead against the wood repeatedly before lifting amused eyes up to meet mine. "I honestly never got that until now. My mom always blamed the Crimson Tide for her mood swings, and it took me years to catch on."

"That's expected," I say, sorrow filling my voice as I pat his shoulder sympathetically, "you've always been a little slow."

"Aunt Flo..." He mutters, ignoring my jab at his intelligence as he nods his head approvingly. "That's good."

"Oo-oo-oo," Bryson suddenly hoots, standing and reaching for me. "This song is perfect. Come on, Everly, let's dance!"

"Huh?" I quirk a brow. "Why?"

"I promised you some horrendous dancing and now I'm here to fulfill my end of the bargain," he explains, practically dragging me from my seat.

"Nooo," I moan, going limp so it's harder for him to maneuver me out of my chair. "I didn't mean with me." My fingers clamp around the edge of my seat. "I meant with Claudia. I wanted to see you embarrass the crap out of her by dancing like a lunatic."

"Guess you should have clarified then, huh?" He taunts, prying my fingers open and pulling me to him. "Because now I get to embarrass the crap out of you. You best prepare yourself," he tells me. "This is happening. Hope you don't mind, Coop!"

Oh, Bryson, you are so not ready for this.

Though I grumble the entire way to the dance floor, the jittery sensation traveling around my stomach and the explosion of joy-confetti in my chest betrays my attempts to stop him. I want this too much to put up much of a fight. Just to share a second of laughter and fun with him is all I want tonight.

Lady Gaga's 'Just Dance' plays around us as Bryson and I jump and wiggle like complete idiots. It's fantastic. Most of the memories I have with Bryson are dark and hopeless. We need this moment. Maybe with enough of them we'll be able to overshadow the fear we'd both experienced those few days in that old dilapidated house. Maybe we can create something new and fresh and clean between us. Not a desperate attempt to make passion and pleasure materialize out of a tragic experience, but a mutual need to water our friendship and see where it takes us.

We make it through two songs before Claudia slips into the crowd in search of her date. She smiles at me and promises me a dance the next time an upbeat song comes on, and then the two of them are disappearing from the dance floor. I plaster on a smile, doing my best to coax my heart into a steady tempo, but the interruption has put a damper on the evening.

Turning, I decide to head back to the table and slam directly into Cooper's chest.

"Careful there," he laughs, holding my shoulders securely. "It's a slow one. Thought we could dance."

"Right." I nod once, stretching my lips into a smile. "Sure."

We're mostly quiet as we sway and I know Cooper's struggling to string together something to talk about, but he eventually gives up. The music is too loud and I'm not much in the mood for conversation. We dance for three songs before I notice Bryson and Claudia returning to the rink. I watch him pull her to him as he slides his hands around her waist. He hadn't even touched me when we'd danced. We'd both just free-styled, occasionally bumping hands but nothing more.

I sigh, closing my eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. All of this feels overwhelming. I need a vacation from boys... maybe forever. Who needs romance anyway? I'd be fine on my own. I really would. I just need to forget Bryson first.

"I really am sorry, Ev," Cooper mumbles, the music gentle around us as people sway together. "I can see it. You try to brush it off, but I know who you'd rather be here with. I know I'm just filling his place for the time being. But thanks for saying yes even if I'm not the one you wanted."

The words leaving his lips are sweet. He feels bad. He understands. Yadda yadda yadda. I can't even think straight right now and he's mumbling apologies that I don't care to hear. I don't care to hear them because he's apologizing for the wrong thing. He wishes he was the right guy. He wishes my feelings were directed at him. He wishes we were together. So really, he's only sorry that he's not the right match rather than being sorry for the damage he's done to me all these years.

He'd thrown a casual apology my way when I'd first confronted him about how he'd hurt me with the rumors, but he's yet to give me something genuine and heartfelt. Because he's not sorry. He still has an agenda: to make me change my mind. To make me forget Bryson.

My fingers squeeze at each other where I have them draped behind his neck. I nod like I'm listening but my head has gone muffled. I'm fuzzy, every cell vibrating beneath my skin until they can't take the pressure. That's when I break. I do the most epically stupid thing one could do in a situation like this.

I kiss Cooper Jones.

Two birds with one stone. Maybe that's what I'm thinking as my lips slide against his. Jealousy and betrayal: the two feelings that Bryson and Cooper have made me feel. And with this one action I've gotten them both back for hurting me. The thing is, it doesn't seem like I'm thinking at all. Just feeling.

I pull away from Cooper, my eyes flashing toward Bryson just long enough to know he'd seen everything, and then I take a step back. Cooper looks completely blown away, but I sense the dopey grin that's seconds from making a breakthrough.

"There," I say, wiping a finger along my bottom lip, "Now we both have something to be sorry for."

Then I swivel as gracefully as I can in five-inch heels and push my way out of the crowd.

---

Um... can I get a "yikes"? :/

Whose got a prediction for what's to come? (no guessing allowed if you've already read ahead on Inkitt. haha!)