Me & Timothy Cooper

©
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 arou
nd. Or could be we were only seven
teen 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 an
d dark. I also had thick, brunette
hair with a natural wave to it.
Girls always envied my hair. Mor
e
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
f
at – o
verweight.
Just curvy.
Which
seemed
like a good thing for the future, b
ut 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 h
e 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 b
e sure to t
ake 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
.
“
P
retend you’re writing a novel about the othe
r person. A
sk yourself w
hat 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.

“
O
nce you’
ve compiled all the
information,
” Mrs. Walker said
, oblivious
, “
write
one
to two
page
s
,
double-
spaced. It’s due next Monday. That
gives you
the weekend
to finish. T
his
assignment
will teach us about writing and
some
about our fellow students as well.
”

T
he class began chattering
as she turned away
, everyo
ne 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 fun
ny one what?
Girl?
Human being?

He opened his book bag and remo
ved 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 hug
e
problem.
My shirt.

See,
each day
my primary consideration was
what to
wear
for the big moment
Timothy Cooper
finally
spoke to me. O
kay, that wa
s silly, but
to me
it was important. Yet this
particular
day, s
tanding 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 t
hat, 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 no
tice.
Or
I cou
ld hold the shirt to my chest
with one hand, but that would make me
look
eit
her inept or vain.

“You going to get that?” he
asked.

I glan
ced 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
,
h
is 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
, b
ut 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 tim
e together trading life stories?
When would I have the pleasure of looking into his blue eyes for a few hours of my tim
e?

“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 t
he girl,
Taylor
,
slipping
away.
H
e spent a few moments watching her bottom sway before meeting his friend’s gaze.