I know, I know.
I kissed him.
I fully ignored his very clearno. And did it anyway.
I don’t know what my rebellious body was thinking. Maybe that he just needed a little help over the hump? That once it was happening, he’d change his mind? Decide he liked it? Bring his arms around and clasp me tight as we gave in to the bliss of shifting from friendship to love?
Yeah. Well. That’s not what happened.
What did happen… was something Cooper and I had never talked about again—not once—since the actual moment.
It was all over in an instant: I grabbed him by the collar, planted a kiss on him, released him, saw the shock on his face…
And then I watched him throw up corn dog all over the kissing booth.
No need to quantify: It wasa lotof corn dog. They had to call out the hazmat team and shut down the booth for the rest of the carnival. Come to think of it, I don’t think the school ever attempted a kissing booth again.
I was mortified then, and I was still mortified now—and I had no doubt I’d continue to be mortified well into the afterlife.
Of course we never talked about it. What would there even be to say? The next time I saw Cooper, we just pretended nothing happened. Other people talked about it, of course. I became the girl who had kissed Cooper and made him throw up. Cooper, to at least a few delightful people, became Corn Dog Guy. The school newspaper even featured it as a bullet point under the main headlineTHE KISS-OFFin their reportage on the carnival.
So, yeah. That settled any questions I might’ve had about whether Cooper found me attractive. I don’t think you can get more rejected than that.
Right? Case closed.
Here on the dock, all these years later, I wasn’t sure how Cooper could even imagine being a candidate for Operation Conquest. If kissing a guymakes him throw up, he’s not going to top your list of potential true loves.
Apparently, though, Cooper had not intuited this. “‘Of course not’?” he asked. “Why ‘of course’?”
I would not be rehashing any of this with him today. “Because you’reCooper.”
“That’s your whole reason?”
“That’s the only reason I need.”
“Who is it, then?”
Now we were back on track. But I suddenly felt weird about saying it. “It’s someone else,” I answered.
“Who?”
“Just—someone.”
“Am I supposed to guess?” Cooper asked. Then, lowering his voice like it might be a secret: “Is it the captain of the ship?”
“Cut it out, Cooper. This is serious.”
“I’m being serious,” he said—unseriously.
“It’s someone viable. It’s someone who might be able to break this curse I’ve been living under my entire dumb life.”
Cooper shook his head. “What curse is that?”
I looked him dead in the eye. Then I said, “Only loving men who don’t love me back.”
Once again, Cooper’s reaction was no reaction.
Was he holding his breath?
