The sun cascading through the thicket of trees bordering the east side of our home would give no indication that hell was approaching. It seemed like any other day. Bright, alive... calm. There was no way for anyone to know that these golden rays would soon be swallowed up by a whirlwind of chaos. And I especially wasn't prepared to be thrown smack dab in the middle of it.

"Take an extra sweater with you today," my mother urges as I hurry to gulp down my orange juice and shrug on my backpack at the same time. I nearly choke as I nod at her, not in the mood to argue. Typically I'd roll my eyes and mutter how pointless it'd be to drag extra clothing to school with me when it's only going to end up in my locker. But today, I simply go with it.

I pull a hoodie off the back of the sofa and sling it over my shoulder as I yell a "goodbye" and shut the door behind me. My car waits for me on the curb and I cringe as I listen to her cold, metallic engine protest as I crank her to life. Seems she's just as reluctant to get the day going as I am.

"Why does it feel like the dead of winter today?" Chloe asks the moment I park and fling my door open. She'd spotted me pull in and made a beeline for me the moment I came to a stop.

"Who knows," I shrug, just as unenthusiastic about the sudden dip in weather. Fall's supposed to last a month at least. It's barely been two weeks.

"You staying after today?" my blonde-headed friend inquires as we slip out of the cold and into the blazing furnace of Chesterfield High.

"Yep," I nod. "Horticulture."

"Oh joy," she says with an eye roll. "Well, in case I'm late for lunch, can you grab something for me... the good stuff? You know, before it's all gone? I've got a debate club meeting and you never know how long those things will last."

"Right," I drawl with a wink, "debate club." I tap my chin, pretending to be deep in thought. "But, I thought his name was Devon Rayfert, not Debat—"

"Shut your pie hole," Chloe groans. "See you at lunch!"

She hurries away before I can throw a sarcastic response at her, and then I spot him. I swear the words don't just die in my throat; they actually retreat back into my lungs to dig their own graves. I can barely breathe at the sight of him and it's so tragically pathetic.

He sees me and offers a head nod and a warm "hey" as he passes, and the entire time, I simply stare. I'm preparing to sigh in relief when suddenly he doubles back and slides his fingers around my upper arm to gain my attention.

"Hey, Everly," he says, not seeming to notice just how rigid my body has gone. "You haven't seen Cooper yet, have you?"

"Um..." I tear my eyes away from his hazel ones to scan the hallway. Chances are, Coop hasn't even arrived yet, but I refrain from informing Bryson of this since I desperately need that split second of zero eye-contact in order to gain my composure. "Nope," I shrug. "Haven't seen him. Maybe he's not here yet. Anything I can help you with?"

Okay, who asks that question? I'm not Cooper's secretary. I don't jot down messages for him or take his calls.

Bryson lifts a single brow before letting a grin sneak across his lips. Then he's shaking his head and dropping his hand away from me.

"Naw... Thanks," he says, suspicion tangling with the amusement in his eyes. "It's nothing important."

"Oh." I nod once. "Okay."

"See you around, Everly."

Again, I just nod and watch as he walks away.

My goodness, that boy has some serious power over me. I feel like a complete imbecile every time he's around and it's not earning me any points. It also appears that even after Cooper's 'not so accidental' slip about Bryson being 'my type', I'm still not on his radar. If only I was brave enough to take a chance and actually try and get to know the guy. He might even like me a little. All I have to do is show him who I am. But, the fact that my brain takes a vacation every. single. time. he's around, makes that a bit tricky.

I'm hopeless.

I sulk for another ten minutes as I pretend to rummage through my locker and scroll through my phone like I'm actually important. Nobody has to know I'm Instagram-stalking the entire school right now. The very thought has me wondering if anyone has purposely Instagram-stalked me before. I thrill shivers through me at the thought. What if Bryson...?

Nope. I'm done with him. For the rest of the day, I'm going to focus on being a good student and a good friend. Everyone else is just a distraction and I'm done with distractions. Especially when said distraction doesn't give a flying fart about me.

I've made up my mind. I'm officially done pining over Bryson Andrews.

———

I spot Cooper the moment I enter class. He's slouched in the furthest corner seat, head buried against his backpack and eyes closed. As I approach I can make out the soft snores rumbling from his chest and wonder just how late he was up last night. I guess there was a party or something, but I can't be sure. Cooper stopped inviting me to those when I threatened to arrive in a chicken costume to the next party he invited me to. And I promised him that I'd only cluck in response to every person who spoke to me as I clung shamelessly to his arm the entire night.

It worked. He hasn't invited me to anything since.

Dropping into the chair beside him, I pull out my pen and begin doodling on his forearm. He doesn't even flinch as I write embarrassing things all over his skin. By the time the teacher arrives, Cooper has a full sleeve of pen art on his right arm. Not gonna lie; it kinda looks amazing, even if the words 'I sit to pee' happen to be the biggest and boldest. It's obvious that, mentally, I'm a twelve-year-old boy.

"Don't stop," he grumbles as I pull my notebook from my bag and prepare to be a good student.

"Sorry bud," I shrug, even though he can't see me. "I've run out of room."

Popping his head up slowly, he takes a glance down at his newly decorated arm and then locks eyes with me, one brow quirked in annoyance.

"You didn't even sign it, you dingbat," he says, shaking his head. "Now I'm going to claim this masterpiece as my own."

I throw both hands to my mouth, gasping in mock horror. "You wouldn't dare."

Reaching over with my pen, I struggle to scribble my signature somewhere amidst the chaos of awful drawings and childish insults, but Cooper yanks himself from me. I nearly fall out of my seat as I claw for him, but he's too quick and too strong.

"Ms. Walker?" he summons the teacher, raising his hand in the air. "Everly won't stop picking on me."

"What? Are you five!" I hiss under my breath. He smirks evilly from the corner of his mouth as the teacher turns around to assess the situation.

"Then how 'bout you come sit up here with me, Cooper?" Ms. Walker offers, her lips quirking in a sly grin. She pats the desk that's positioned front and center, and then waits patiently for Cooper to drag himself from his chair.

"I hate you," he whispers back at me as I laugh at his failed attempt at getting me in trouble. Ms. Walker has always favored me—though I can't figure out why—and today happens to be one of those days when I absolutely do not regret being the teacher's pet.

When we're dismissed from class forty minutes later, Cooper slings his art-covered arm over my shoulder and tugs me close as we walk down the crowded corridor together.

"I thought you hated me," I tease, wrapping my arm around his slender waist and digging my fingers into his side. He lunges away from me, snagging my wrist in his hand and giving me a warning look as he fights off a smile.

"I could never," he jokes. "You're my most favorite female creature on this earth. How could I hate something as cute and pathetic as you?"

I slap him across the stomach, but he simply tugs me back to his side and wraps his arm around me again.

"Also," he starts to say and I know just by the humor laced in his voice that I'm not going to like what he's about to tell me. "I haven't showered for three days and I forgot deodorant today. And, I think I'm getting some kind of weird rash in my armpit."

I frown up at him, attempting to pull myself away from his hold, but he only rubs his armpit more firmly against my shoulder as he folds me into his side.

"You sicko," I squeal, digging my nails into his stomach in my fight to get away. "Get off me!"

"Hey Coop!" A voice interrupts from the other end of the hallway. Only, it's not just a voice. It's the voice.

My insides quiver at the sound, knowing that he's making his way toward us.

"What's up, dude?" Cooper greats, still not letting me go.

Bryson approaches, letting his gaze swing between the two of us, probably trying to figure out why Cooper's got a goofy grin on his face and mine is lined with repulsive annoyance.

"You got those notes from Calculus?" he finally asks, eyes still lingering on my face for a moment before settling on Cooper.

I drop my attention to my shoes, taking this moment of distraction to extract myself from Cooper's hold. I shake off the stink that I feel must be clinging to me—even though I can't smell anything foul—and then cross my arms over my chest as I wait.

Cooper is digging through his bag, crumpled pieces of paper falling to the floor as he searches for the notes. My eyes snag on my name scrawled onto one of the pages, but before I can see any more details, he's snatching it from the ground and shoving it into his backpack. His eyes flit to mine for just a split second, and I swear I can see dread swirling beneath the sky blue of his gaze. But then he grins, blinks, and turns away.

The moment is forgotten. At least it seems like it is. But after Bryson leaves, something seems off. The typical silly banter that I'm so accustomed to with Cooper is missing. He tries to appear playful but it feels forced—fake.

He's scared.

Whatever was written on that paper, it was something he never wanted me to see.

---

Alright, friends... How do you feel about Cooper? Do you think he's hiding something?