Page 116 of Until Next Summer

It’s been almost a week since the disastrous dinner with the Valentines, and Cooper and I have barely exchanged a dozen words since. He’s kept to himself, hiding away in the kitchen or his room. This, from the man who went on and on about how nothing is more important than honesty. We agreed at the beginning of our fling that it could end at any time, whenever one of us wanted out. So there’s no reason for him to leave me in limbo. It’s cruel.

As if my thoughts summoned him, the kitchen door swings open and Cooper walks out, wearing an apron that looks like a tuxedo. My breath catches; he’s still very deserving of the “hottest chef in Boston” title. For a second, I almost forget how much his sudden and unexplained distance has hurt me.

Cooper’s eyes meet mine, and I stop breathing, waiting to see what he does next. If he smiles, I’ll smile back. If he looks away, I’ll—

I’m not sure what I’ll do. I’m mad at him, I miss him, and I hate that he’s the one I want to talk to about how frustrated I am with him.

He’s still staring at me, his expression blank. I’m about to turn, to be the one to walk away, when his lips curve ever so slightly, growing into a warm smile.

I start breathing again and match his smile with one of my own.

We stand there, smiling at each other from a distance, until Cooper walks toward me and says, “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“Listen…”

“Everybody to the dance floor!” the DJ shouts, so loud I have to stop myself from covering my ears. “It’s time for the Electric Slide!”

Campers rush past us, swarming the dance floor and lining up in rows to grapevine to the left, then the right.

“Did you want to dance?” Cooper asks.

I shake my head. Even if I did, I wouldn’t want to interrupt this conversation.

“Me neither,” Cooper says, although I can’t tell from his tone of voice if he means it.

We stand, side by side, close enough to touch, yet a whole world apart. Once the dancing campers have made a full rotation and are starting on the next one, Cooper says, “Do you want to go look at the stars with me?”

Goose bumps run up and down my arms. That’s what he asked the summer we were fourteen.

“You can ask Jessie to join us if you want,” he says, sheepishly.

“She’s busy.” I look up to see Jessie attempting to teach Mr. Billy the Electric Slide. Almost everyone is on the dance floor—even the Valentines. “But I could go.”

Cooper looks relieved, and I warn my heart not to get its hopes up.

“Are you done with this?” he asks, motioning toward my plate.

I am, so he hands it off to a member of his staff, then returns to my side. My fingers reflexively reach for his until I remember what’s happened between us and curl my hand into a fist.

Four or five campers are coming in from the patio aswe’re heading out, and I choke on the remnants of their nicotine cloud. So much for getting fresh air.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Cooper says, when we’re alone.Mission accomplished. “I haven’t seen your hair like that before.”

I bring a hand up to my hair, running my fingers through the smooth strands. I straightened it because I wanted to look good. And because, growing up, I felt like my curls were synonymous with messy. Unkempt. My dad was always telling me to brush my hair, to pull it back. So I learned to tame it, getting keratin treatments and buying expensive flat irons. For so many years, even my hair has been checking items off someone else’s list.

If I could go back, I would have worn it in curls tonight.

We’re quiet for an uncomfortable moment, until I tilt my head back and look up, letting out a sad laugh.

“Can’t really see the stars from here,” I say, straining to see beyond the canopy of trees.

“It was just an excuse to get you alone,” Cooper says. The butterflies in my stomach flutter, but I can’t tell if it’s friendly or ominous. “But we should be able to see them over there.”

I follow Cooper to the far side of the patio, where we lean against the railing. Sure enough, the stars are shining above, twinkling like they’re putting on a show just for us. It’s crazy to think this is the same sky I stared up at all those months ago in Chicago. It’s so much more vivid out here. More alive. Kind of like me.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Cooper says.

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