under the overhang. Cooper stops too, a few feet away from me. I glare at him, but he ignores me and just sits down at one of the tables outside and watches the people pass by. I look up and down the streets for a policeman. If I see one, I’m totally going to get a restraining order against Cooper. Although. I’m not sure you can get restraining orders just, you know, on the spot like that. But I can definitely get the policeman to tell him to leave me alone, and he can probably give me a restraining order form or something for me to fill out later.
“Derrick is the guy I was dancing with,” Clarice says. “He totally got me into the VIP room, and he invited me over to his place after this.”
“You’re going to his
house
?” Is she crazy? Everyone knows you never, ever go to some strange guy’s house. You inevitably end up maimed, murdered, or raped. At the very least, you end up drunk and making a sex tape that you totally regret once the guy leaks it on his blog.
“Not his house,” she says, and I relax. “His apartment.” Oh, Jesus. In the background, I can hear talking and laughing and the sound of voices and music.
“Um, Clarice? Don’t you think that’s a little dangerous?” I ask delicately. I know Clarice is from the South and all, and she gets totally shocked when people actually (gasp) lock their car doors, but this is taking it a little too far.
“No,” she says. “I mean, it’s not like I’m going alone. Butch and Kim are going to be there too.”
“Who are Butch and Kim?” I ask.
“Derrick’s friends,” she says, sighing. Oh. Right. I guess that does help a little, since I don’t think it would take three people to kill Clarice if that was Derrick’s plan. She’s pretty small. Of course, they could be some kind of murdering cult. And they could definitely try to convince her to be in a foursome sex video. “Do you want me to leave the VIP and come back down?” she asks.
I’m about to tell her yes, that I really want her to come and meet me, but then someone tugs on the back of my hair, and I turn around. Cooper. He is now standing right behind me, crowding my space.
“No,” I say, anger rising up inside of me. “I got it.” I flip my phone shut and whirl around. “What are you doing here?” I ask. Cooper looks taken aback.
“Following you,” he says. “Obviously.”
“Well, yeah,” I say. “I mean,
why
did you follow me?”
“Because I’m supposed to be tailing you and making sure that you do everything we tell you.”
“Why?” I narrow my eyes and hope I look menacing. Of course, it’s very hard to look menacing when I’m completelyscared shitless. And when college kids keep walking between us on their way into the Spotted Frog.
“Look,” Cooper says. He moves closer to me so that people can get by. Which means he’s very, very close. Closer than he’s been since our breakup. I take a deep breath and try to stop myself from freaking out. “I want to help you.”
“You want to help me? Have you completely and totally lost it?”
“Eliza, I know you’re mad, but you don’t get it. I didn’t want to ever hurt you; I’m going to help you. They don’t—”
“Oh, I get it all right,” I say.
I push past him and into the Spotted Frog, then march over to a little table in the corner and sit down. The Frog’s one of those places that’s frequented by hipsters, mostly college kids who have turned their backs on the bar scene in favor of sipping organic teas and planting vegetable gardens and working on reducing their carbon footprints. The drinks are completely overpriced, and the people who work there can be a little annoying, with their whole “I’m so over you and everything else” attitudes, but somehow the vibe in there is warm and inviting.
Well. At least it is when you’re there of your own accord and not because some psycho, dumb, secret, macho club at your school has basically blackmailed you into going there.
Cooper
Learning to Kill: Stories