“You ate so many you had a stomachache all day.”
“Yeah! And Charlie spilled syrup all down her new top.”
I laugh even though it hurts a little to remember. “Yeah. Charlie was not pleased about that.”
“So, what you been up to?” asks James.
Oh, you know—visited a supernatural dating agency, met the guy who matched my parents, and learned that Cupid is looking for me. My day has been way too weird to talk about so I shrug. “Nothing much.”
The door to the diner opens and a noisy group of sophomores from the debate team come in.
“Jack’s in luurrrrve!” one of them yells, slapping a short guy with black hair on the back as the five of them pile into a booth.
“James?” Martha calls from across the room as she precariously balances a pot of coffee and a pile of plates on her arms.
“On it!” He gets up and gives me an apologetic grin. “Duty calls. Stick around for a while?”
I glance at the security camera again and imagine Cal watching me. “I think I’ll head back,” I say, getting up.
James kisses me again before I go. This time I sink into his body as he wraps his arms around my waist. For a moment I allow myself to bask in his warmth and familiar light cologne, which is somehow only made more comforting by the notes of burger grease and peanut butter.
James is my boyfriend. I’m happy. And I don’t need some weird dating agency to tell me otherwise.
I smile at him when I pull away, and this time it doesn’t feel forced.
“See you at school tomorrow,” I say.
On my way out I glare at the security camera in the corner of the room, imagining Cal watching me on the other side. I don’t care if this mysterious Cupid guy is starting at school tomorrow.
I am not interested.
6
I get up early the next morning, ready for pancakes with Dad, and head downstairs to an empty kitchen. I call him, put the dirty plates littering the counter into the sink, and line up the batter ingredients.
Then I make myself an instant coffee in the chipped You BOWL Me Over mug Mom got Dad, before sitting at the table. As I sip the black liquid my disappointment grows.
Dad’s not coming down. He’s forgotten. Again.
I glance at the time on the microwave.
I consider waking him—there’s still time. But then I exhale, gulp down the rest of my coffee, and get to my feet.
Whatever. It’s no big deal. I wanted to catch up with Charlie before class anyway.
I grab my leather jacket from the coat stand in the hallway then head out to wait for the bus to school.
When I get there, I head straight to the IT classroom that doubles as the school’s online newspaper office. Charlie’s not here yet, and the space is empty except for a petite junior named Laura, who’s huddled with two of her friends around one of the computers.
They’re talking in hushed tones as I wheel a chair to Charlie’s usual spot. It’s facing a window overlooking the school courtyard, which is filled with flowers and picnic benches. She told me once that she can see everything that’s going on from here—who’s getting kissed, who’s getting ignored, and who’s worn the same outfit three days in a row. Her bright-pink notepad and an empty paper cup are already on the table by her keyboard. She must have gone to one of the vending machines.
“He’s hardly even spoken to me before,” Laura says, adjusting her mousey brown ponytail. “Not since he called me a nerd in fourth grade. And now he’s leaving cards, flowers, chocolates . . . it makes no sense.”
“I think it’s sweet!” says her friend Lisa, eyes glinting beneath her dark bangs.
“Creepy, more like . . .” Rachel, her other friend, disagrees as she picks at a loose thread on her sleeve.
I pull out my phone and fiddle with it, realizing I’m oddly nervous at the prospect of Cupid starting at my school, even though I’m still not entirely convinced that this isn’t part of some weird reality show.
I have a boyfriend anyway, I remind myself. So who cares if he does start?
Suddenly, the door bursts open. I turn to see Charlie hurtling past the computers, her jet-black hair flying behind her.
“Hot . . . there’s . . . a . . . hot . . .” She stops to pant, bending over slightly with her hands on her knees as she composes herself. “Hot guy . . . starts today,” she finally gasps before collapsing into the chair beside me. “I saw him . . . in the registration office . . . when I was getting . . . a breakfast bar . . .” She looks exceedingly pleased with herself for passing on this knowledge.
My stomach plummets. Cupid? It must be.
I feign a smile. “And you ran all the way from the vending machine to tell me this?”
She grins while switching on the computer monitor, and the school’s student-run blog materializes. There’s a tapping sound as her fingers dance across the keyboard. The words Hot Guy Starts Today! appear at the top of the blank article.
“To tell everyone about this!” she corrects.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, Mr. Butler’s going to love that . . .”
“Just giving the people what they want, Lila,” she says.
I laugh. “How long do you think before he deletes this one? More or less time than your exposé on the teachers’ night out at the Love Shack?!”
“Hey! He’s just lucky I didn’t write about how I saw him flirting with Ms. Green!” she says.
“Oh yes, you’re very restrained!”
She grins. “Anyway, how was—” She stops talking abruptly, her dark-brown eyes widening on something above the screen. “Make that two new hot guys.”
Frowning, I follow her gaze. My stomach jolts as I catch a flash of pale-blond hair pass by the window in front of us. I only see the back of his head, and he’s traded his white suit for a pair of jeans and a blue and white checkered shirt, but I recognize him instantly.
It’s Cal.
I watch as he strides past the picnic benches to the school entrance, a brown leather satchel over his shoulder.
What is he doing here?
“. . . summer? Lila? Helloooooo?” Charlie says, waving her hand in front of my face.
“Huh?”
She raises her eyebrows. “What’s wrong with you this morning? I asked how you managed to pass the dull, Charlie-less hours while I was at journalism camp.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Just give me a second.”
I stand up—ignoring Charlie’s startled look—and make my way to the door. Cal’s about thirty feet down the corridor, opening one of the lockers on the other side of a group of football players in black and pink Forever Falls jerseys. I stride out of the computer room and come to a halt just beside him.
“What are you doing here?” I ask in a low voice.
Cal doesn’t look at me, eyes fixed on the inside of his locker. “It’s best if you’re not seen speaking with me.”
“Yeah, that would be easier if you were back at your dating agency instead of here at my high school!”
Cal turns and looks straight at me. “I’m here to monitor the situation. I told you I would be doing that yesterday.”
“Yes, but I didn’t think you’d be coming to my school!”
Cal pulls up his bag and unpacks what seems to be the entire Back to School section of Walmart into his locker. “When Cupid arrives, you’ll need my help.”
I watch as he neatly arranges a calculator next to a brightly colored Avengers binder. It seems an odd choice for a stern, immortal matchmaker.
“You’re a Marvel fan?” I ask.
He looks at me like I’m speaking another language. “What?”
I shake my head. “Never mind. Look, I’m not going to be interested in this Cupid guy, I’ve told you that!”
Cal looks at me stonily from ben
eath his thick eyelashes. “So you have,” he says dismissively. “But if he finds out you’re his Match, he will be very interested in you, and that’s why I have a plan to keep his attention from you for as long as possible. Part of that involves you not speaking to me.”
I swallow my growing irritation. “Fine. But do you think you might tell me what your plan is, exactly?”
Cal smiles coolly, tilting his head to the side. “I intend to befriend another female student here so that Cupid thinks I have been sent to protect her.”
“Okaaay, but say this incredibly well-thought-out plan does work . . . aren’t you just passing the danger on to one of my classmates?”
An unreadable expression flickers across Cal’s angular features. “That’s not how it works. You are his Match. You, alone, are in danger. No one else.”
The bell rings for first class and more people begin to spill into the corridor. I turn my head, catching sight of Charlie in the doorway. She’s talking to Laura but her eyes are on me.
Cal’s not the only one who doesn’t want to draw attention to this conversation. Charlie’s going to have a million questions.
“Look, fine. But does Cupid even know that you work for the Matchmaking Service?” I hiss. “Because if he doesn’t, this whole charade seems incredibly pointless.”
A dark look crosses Cal’s face. “Oh, me and Cupid go way back.”
Before I can say anything else, he hands me a folded slip of paper, spins around, and shuts his locker.
I glare at the back of his head as he walks down the corridor. Then I quickly flatten out the note and read it, aware that I only have five seconds before Charlie swoops in with questions.
Meet me after school by the gym. If you are to resist his charms, you will need to undergo some serious training in the arts of the cupids. Don’t be late. Cal.
I groan. I just wanted a nice, simple, drama-free semester. Instead, I seem to have acquired an irritating paranormal matchmaking agent, a match, and . . . training in the arts of the cupids?
7
“So,” Charlie says as we head toward history, our first class of the day, “are you going to tell me what that was all about? Do you know that guy?”
I shrug, feeling the cryptic message through my jeans pocket. “Not really.”
I don’t want to tell her about yesterday. Charlie loves relationship drama, and she’ll be unbearable if she thinks there’s even the slightest chance it’s true I’ve been supernaturally matched with someone other than James—especially if that someone else is hot enough for her to sprint across the school to spread news of his arrival.
She just looks at me expectantly.
“Nice dress,” I say, attempting an innocent smile. The dress does look good on her; it’s a flowing pastel-pink number that complements her dark skin.
She rolls her eyes but I can tell she is pleased; I’m sure she bought it especially for first day back at school.
“Don’t change the subject! You haven’t, like, made out with him or something, have you?” she asks sternly, but her eyes are twinkling.
I can’t help but laugh. Make out with Cal? I don’t think so!
“No!” I say. “What were you and Laura talking about, anyway?”
It’s another attempt to change the subject, but this time it works. Her dark eyes brighten the way they always do when she has a bit of gossip.
“Apparently Jack—you know that guy from the debate team?—has been seriously crushing on her for the last few weeks,” she says. “Like, out of nowhere. They’ve never hung out at all. But anyway, about this new mystery guy . . .”
As we approach the history classroom, I spot James through the window. He waves at us from a desk in the middle of the classroom.
“Leave it now,” I say. “I don’t want James getting the wrong idea.”
“Fine,” Charlie says. “But this is not over!”
James gestures at the two spare desks behind him and I smile as we make our way over. He stands up and gives me a light kiss on the lips, wrapping his arms around my waist, before I settle down at the desk.
“Hey, I’ve been thinking,” he says. “It’s been almost a year since we started dating. We should do something. Remember that time we went surfing at Venice Beach?”
Cal’s words suddenly wash over me again. Your boyfriend is not your match. I shake it off. “Yeah. Sounds fun—even though you’re terrible at it.”
“Pfft. I only fell off because I didn’t want to show you up with my mad skills.”
“Fell off? Funny, I don’t seem to remember you actually managing to get on the board!” I tease.
“You’ll see! I’ll make you eat your words, Lila Black!”
He grins then turns back to continue a conversation with one of his friends. Charlie leans toward me and gestures at Cal.
“Your lover boy is all over Chloe.”
“Shh!” I hiss, but I follow her gaze. Cal is talking animatedly to one of the girls from the hockey team. This must be step one of his ingenious plan to distract Cupid.
I feel an unbidden stab of annoyance when I recall Cal’s surprise that I could possibly be the match for the original cupid. Cal’s been nothing but rude to me, but apparently Chloe’s believable match material.
I’m uncertain why Cal’s actions have bothered me. I don’t want to be thought of as Cupid’s Match—not by Cupid, not by Cal, not by anyone. Get a grip, Lila, I think, tearing my gaze away just in time to see the classroom door open.
My breath catches in my throat. The whole room goes quiet.
He’s wearing a black leather jacket over a gray cotton T-shirt that clings to his hard stomach. He has an arm slung around Kelly, one of Charlie’s friends from the party-planning committee, and she’s laughing hysterically at something he’s said. He is tall and broad, with dark-blond just-got-out-of-bed hair. His eyes glint with mischief.
The black-and-white photograph didn’t even come close to capturing his beauty.
His gaze falls on me. A dangerous half smile curls onto his face and my stomach clenches. But then his gaze slides to Cal. An immediate flicker of recognition sparks in his eyes, but not surprise.
Cal’s shoulders have tensed, his posture even more rigid now than it was when I first met him. They tense farther when Cupid’s eyes move to Chloe.
Cupid grins wickedly, and I exhale, not even aware that I’d been holding my breath. Has Cal’s plan worked? Does he think she’s his Match?
Charlie leans over to my desk. “Told you he was hot! I heard he was expelled from his old school. Moved to Forever Falls halfway through summer and he’s already dated half of our year.”
“Sounds like an ass.”
“A hot ass,” she agrees seriously.
Cupid throws himself into a seat near the front and Kelly skips off to sit with her friends. I have to fight to keep from staring—my eyes feel helplessly drawn to him.
You’re just curious because of what Cal’s told you. You have a boyfriend, I remind myself. And Cupid’s not your match, because there’s no such thing as matching. The whole thing is ludicrous.
I pull out a notebook as Ms. Green walks into the room, high heels clicking against the linoleum.
“Welcome, class. Hope you all had a good summer and are ready to study this year.” Her tone is pointed as she meets my eyes over her thick-rimmed spectacles. She had me for geography last year and became increasingly frustrated that I wasn’t reaching my potential in what was once my favorite subject.
As she smooths her short, graying hair and sits behind her desk, Cupid glances over his shoulder to see who she looked at. The corner of his lip tugs up. I look resolutely down at my notebook as Ms. Green calls roll. She arches an eyebrow when she reaches Cal’s name.
“Cal Smith. You’re new?” she says.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She inclines her head and looks back at her screen, continuing to reel off names in a monotone. Both her eyebrows lift above her spectacles when she calls Cupid’s.
“Cupid? Cupid Bellator?”
“Here,” he says, giving her a half wave before leaning back in his seat and stretching his legs out in front of him.
A number of people laugh, while James leans over and murmurs, “Is this guy for real?”
Unfortunately.
Ms. Green looks momentarily confused. “Very well . . . um, Cupid,” she says. “Two new students joining us this year. How exciting. Well, class, I hope you will make them both feel very welcome.”
When she’s done, she smooths her pencil skirt and approaches the blackboard to write Classics and Ancient History across it.
“This semester we will be exploring the ancient world—the gods and goddesses, the wars, the art, and the people. To start, let’s get inspired by our friend Cupid, here.” She beams at him. “Can anyone tell me the name of the ancient Roman goddess of love?”
Charlie leans over to my desk again. “She’s totally crushing on him.”
I roll my eyes. “Gross.”
“I’ve heard he’s called Cupid because of his reputation with the ladies.”
If only she knew the truth—well, the truth according to Cal, anyway.
“You said he got expelled from his old school?” I ask, wondering whether that was just a cover story. It must be; it seems unlikely that an age-old paranormal being would attend high school under normal circumstances. Charlie is about to respond when Ms. Green makes her standard “I’m annoyed at being interrupted” throat-clearing sound.
“I was going to ask for volunteers to act as mentors for our new students, to make sure they know where everything is,” she says, staring at us. “But as you two are already such chatterboxes today, I don’t need to. Charlie, you will look after Cal,” she says, then turns to me.
Cupid swivels around to look me in the eye once more, clearly amused. I breathe in sharply. I already know what Ms. Green is going to say.
Cupid's Match Page 3
