I roll my eyes. Fine. I tried.
The afternoon air is scented with petunias and lavender as we pass the florist on our way to the Love Shack. I dare a glance at Cal, who is making no effort to hide his distaste at the flashing pink letters above the door. The sound of nineties pop music drifts toward us as we approach.
Eric, the bouncer and a friend of my father’s, blocks our way.
“All right, Lila!” he says, giving me a quick bear hug. “How’s your dad doing? Any better?”
“Yeah, he’s doing okay,” I lie, sticking my hand out for him to brand me with the under-twenty-one stamp. Eric glances suspiciously at Cal. We don’t get a lot of new people in Forever Falls.
“This is Cal. He just moved here from L.A.”
Eric shrugs then stamps the matchmaking agent, who instantaneously looks horrified at the palm tree now staining his pale skin.
“Third new guy I’ve admitted today,” says Eric. “Well, in you go. Say hey to your dad from me. He’s always got a space on our bowling team if he ever wants to get back into it.”
I tell Eric I’ll pass on his message but silently think it’s unlikely. Bowling was Dad’s thing with Mom, even if she thought it was kind of silly. I try not to think about the video Cal showed me of the ten-pin bowling alley.
There are other things on my mind.
“Third guy?” I whisper to Cal as we walk down the long hallway to the main area of the club. “I guess Cupid was the first, but who is the other?”
Cal is too preoccupied with rubbing at the stamp to pay attention. “I am over twenty-one, you know.”
I open another door and we enter the noisy main room of the Love Shack. It is familiar and homey to me, but I feel a flash of amusement at what Cal may think. It doesn’t seem like his sort of scene. The crowded room is washed in unnatural pink light, straw litters the sticky floor, and high tables sit below worn sunbed umbrellas. Neon signs reading Beach Party hang about the room and the staff all wear brightly colored leis.
“It’s meant to be a luau beach party theme,” I say to Cal.
He surveys the room coldly. “It’s even tackier than I remember.”
“You’ve been here before?” I ask as I see Charlie wave us over. We weave our way through the crowd.
“Not by choice.”
Charlie sits with James at one of the high tables, nursing a lavish pink drink with a paper umbrella. Her face lights up as she realizes I’m not alone. Cal inclines his head in greeting, but his expression is a little hostile.
“Where have you two been?” James asks. As if sensing Cal’s dark mood, his face hardens.
“Lila was just helping me out with some registration tasks,” says Cal.
Charlie gives me a coy look. “Me and James were just discussing Cupid’s party. James thinks the guy is an ass, but I think it’ll be fun. And it’s on Friday, so it’s just logic really . . . I mean, why wouldn’t we go? Right, Lila?”
Cal shoots me a warning glare and I feel the burn of Cupid’s address still folded in the pocket of my jeans. I think of the flutter in my stomach when his fingers brushed mine and those stormy ocean-colored eyes.
“I don’t know,” I say tersely. “I’m not sure about that guy.”
A brief flicker of approval passes over Cal’s face.
“You don’t have to like him. You don’t even have to talk to him,” Charlie says. “It’s a party. Everyone’s going. And I heard he has a pool. James?”
James gives me an apologetic smile. “Well . . . when you put it like that.” He reaches for my hand. “What do you think, Lila?”
I feel my resolve weaken as his warmth encloses my fingers. As long as I go with James and Charlie, there’s no harm in attending. And it could be fun, as long as I avoid Cupid. Plus, he may be a jerk, but he doesn’t exactly seem dangerous.
We chat for an hour or so about school, summer, and how Charlie’s going to write a blog post about Cupid’s party, while Cal, looking increasingly uncomfortable, perches on one of the stools.
“So where are you from, Cal?” asks Charlie in an attempt to rope him into the conversation.
He’s just about to reply when I see him tense up. I look behind me to see that Jason, one of the football players, is holding Jack against the wall by the scruff of his blue hoodie.
“What’s he doing to Jack?” Charlie asks over the music.
“You stay away from Laura!” Jason shouts.
Jack struggles against him, his eyes wide as he jerks his head back and forth. Jason is raising his fist to punch him in the face when suddenly Cupid appears out of nowhere. He is no longer wearing his leather jacket, and his arm muscles bulge through his gray T-shirt. He intercepts the blow, grabbing the jock’s fist and pushing him backward. The two square up for a moment before Jason is pulled away by two other guys from the football team.
Cupid turns back to Jack, who is looking stricken, still flattened against the wall.
I’m about to spin back toward my group when Cupid makes a swift movement toward Jack. When he pulls his arm away, he is holding something sickeningly familiar.
A gold arrow, tipped with dark red.
As I watch, it crumbles into ash.
Cupid looks right at me and smiles.
11
Did Cupid just use the Ardor arrow on Jack?
Cal’s words from earlier creep back into my mind. The Ardor is much more severe than the Capax. It consumes a person—some will stalk people they believe to be their match, others will die of longing.
I think of Jack’s friends teasing him at Romeo’s last night about his crush. I think of Laura’s statement that he’d been leaving her gifts. And I think of Charlie’s surprise at this development, considering Jack didn’t used to like Laura at all.
Had Cupid been shooting Jack with Ardor arrows during the summer?
Across the crowded dance floor, Cupid dusts his hands together as though brushing ash from his fingers. He doesn’t take his eyes off me; they glitter pink under the Love Shack’s neon lights.
For a moment, I feel like we’re the only two people in the room. His expression taunts me, draws me in. There is a dangerous
curl in his lip, and as he arches one of his thick, fair eyebrows, I know he’s daring me to confront him, to tell him that I saw what he just did. No one else seems to have noticed the arrow or its disappearing act.
I tear my gaze away, spinning back around on my stool to talk to Cal. He is no longer beside me. He’s powering through our classmates toward the exit.
“Oh. My. God,” says Charlie, her eyes bright with excitement. “Can you believe it? Jason and Jack? I’m definitely writing about this in the school blog. And did you see Cupid?”
“What about him?” For a moment, I’m hoping that she saw the arrow too.
Charlie’s eyes widen. “What about him?! He’s been here for one day and he just squared off with the quarterback of the football team . . . and Jason backed down! That was so hot!”
I roll my eyes as an odd expression flashes across James’s face—his jaw clenching—before the smile is back. He has no way of knowing what’s really going on with Cal and Cupid, but maybe he feels subconsciously threatened.
“What’s up with Cal?” asks Charlie. “Where did he go? And where’s Cupid gone?”
I do a quick sweep of the room. Neither of them are here. And Jack has disappeared too. I wonder if I should catch up with Cal—if Jack has been hit by another arrow, we should be keeping an eye on him.
Anger spreads through my body as I think of Cupid. I’m angry at Cal, too, for leaving me here.
“Listen,” I say, rising from the tall stool, “I think I’m going to head out. I’ll think about the party. Okay?”
James begins to stand. “Want me to walk you out?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. You stay, kee
p Charlie company.” I force a smile then make my way across the sticky floor and out of the club.
I step into the alley, the cobbled stones tainted pink by the buzzing Love Shack sign behind me. Ahead, the late-afternoon sunlight shines over the square. I head toward it, keen to get out of the shadows after what I’ve just seen. Suddenly, my phone buzzes.
It’s a text from an unknown number.
Meet me in the square. I’ll drive you home. It’s not safe. Cal.
The town square is deserted when I reach it. I head to the middle and perch on the edge of the tired-looking fountain, listening to the water dribbling into the basin. A few minutes later, Cal pulls up in his red Lamborghini and opens the passenger door.
“Where did you go?!” I ask as I fasten my seat belt.
Cal smoothly turns the car around and drives out of the small square. “I had to check something out.”
“Because Jack was hit by the Ardor?”
Cal looks uncharacteristically surprised. “Humans don’t usually notice,” he says, his eyes focused on the road.
“So what do we do? The Ardor is serious, right? Jack could be in danger.”
“There’s no we,” he says, “this is Matchmaking Service business. But yes, Jack is in danger. At least he was hit in the leg, which is not as severe as being hit in the heart. Getting hit in the heart can be deadly, but this will wear off within a couple of days.” He pauses. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t cause any trouble, especially for that girl they were fighting over. I’ll get someone from the Matchmaking Service to make sure she’s safe.”
“I’ve been hearing things all day about Jack and Laura. People are saying Jack’s been practically stalking her,” I say as we pull up outside my house. I don’t even bother asking how Cal knows where I live—or how he got my phone number.
“That is to be expected with the Ardor,” he says.
I shake my head. “No, you don’t understand. They said that before what happened at the Love Shack. Apparently, he’s been leaving gifts for her for a week at least.”
Cal’s fair eyebrows dip as he turns his head to look at me. “Oh,” he responds darkly. “In that case, we could be in more trouble than I thought.”
He ushers me out of the car—barking that he has work to do—and I walk up the driveway to my house. As I’m fumbling for my keys, I turn to wave good-bye to Cal. He has already driven off.
That guy has the social skills of a potato.
I open the door and go inside. It’s quiet in the hallway; I hear only the ticking of the antique wall clock and gentle snores coming from the living room. Gently, I close the door behind me and head toward the flickering light.
In the living room, the curtains are drawn and a muted home video of our last trip to the beach plays on the screen. Dad is asleep on the battered leather sofa. I look down at him. Graying stubble on his jaw, black hair unkempt, drawn face—he’s a different person than the bright-eyed figure on the screen lifting my mom in his arms.
I sniff. There’s no glass, but the scent of bourbon hangs heavy in the air, weighing down the memories. What is the point in love when all it does is break you?
I switch off the TV.
I cover him up with the patchwork quilt hung over mom’s old armchair, head into the kitchen, and stick a ready meal into the microwave. I take it up to my room to eat, and push my clothes off the white wooden chair so I can sit at my dresser.
I glance at the large map tacked to the wall as I fork spaghetti into my mouth. It’s covered in black and pink pins marking the places I’ve been and the places I told Mom I wanted to visit someday.
Mom always wanted to travel but she married my dad straight after high school. She never got around to doing it. Now she never will.
I wonder if love is to blame for that as well.
I spend the rest of the evening trying to distract myself from strange thoughts about cupids by texting Charlie, who keeps me updated on the goings on at the Love Shack, and watching travel vlogs on YouTube.
Later, though, as I slip between the sheets and turn off the lamp, the darkness provokes unbidden thoughts of Cupid, the supposed god of love, with his broad shoulders and wicked grin. I feel a surge of rage mixed with something else as I recall his wild, challenging eyes.
I clench my sheets and force him away. I shouldn’t be thinking of him. Especially after what he did. And then my thoughts are brought to Jack. What will happen to him? Why would Cupid have used the arrow on him? It doesn’t make any sense.
My phone buzzes on the bedside table. It’s Cal.
I’ve been thinking. If Cupid has been dosing your classmate with the Ardor, then he’s got something planned. Something bad. You should NOT attend the party on Friday.
I sigh and put the phone back on my bedside table. Two days of knowing him, and I’m already fed up with Cal telling me what to do. He’s right, though. I know that I shouldn’t go to the party.
But I think of the way Cupid’s lip curled when he saw me watching him in the Love Shack. I think of the thick arch of his eyebrow as the arrow’s ash fell from his fingers.
He knows I saw him hit Jack with the Ardor. I think he wanted me to see.
And I want to know why.
12
All anyone can talk about at school during the next few days is Cupid’s party, Jack’s weird crush on Laura, and Cupid squaring up to Jason in the Love Shack.
It means Cupid is constantly surrounded by people. Girls, mostly. And he basks in the attention. He struts around the school, his dark blond hair messy like someone’s just run their fingers through it, his jeans, rolled-up shirt sleeves, and black leather jacket looking professionally rumpled. Yet every time he sees me—passing through the corridor or hanging with Charlie and James by the picnic benches between class—his blue-green eyes lock onto mine. And every time they do, the force of his gaze knocks something loose in my stomach and heats the blood in my veins.
It’s anger, I tell myself. Anger that he’s been dosing Jack with Ardor arrows. Anger that even though Cal is ignoring me and following Chloe around like an irritating shadow, he’s really at school to babysit me. Anger that I’ve been unable to confront Cupid about what he did.
What am I supposed to do? March up to him in the middle of his new entourage and start yelling about cupid arrows and love gods? Everyone’ll think I’ve gone mad. Plus, with Cal hanging around it’s clearly a terrible idea.
So why do I want to do it so much?
On Thursday, the day before Cupid’s party, I catch sight of him in the corridor as I prepare to help Charlie put up more flyers for the Forever Falls dance. I grit my teeth. He’s chatting with Chloe, and they seem to be getting along well, which will probably please Cal. He says something and she throws her head back in laughter, red hair shimmering down her back. His eyes slide past her and meet mine, though, the corner of his lip quirking.
I fold my arms across my chest.
“Flyer,” Charlie says.
“Huh?”
“Pass me a flyer!”
“Oh . . . right. Sorry.”
She gives me a hard look as I hand her a slip of pink paper.
“What’s up with you?” she says. She looks over her shoulder. “Oh. I see.” She wiggles her eyebrow. “I don’t blame you, girl. He is pretty fine.”
“Charlie!” I hiss, my eyes darting to where James is counting coins by the vending machine.
She shrugs and turns to pin the flyer to the notice board. “You’re allowed to look, Lila,” she says, lowering her voice. “You’re allowed some element of excitement in your love life from time to time.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
Before she can answer a shadow washes over us.
“Aren’t you supposed to be my mentor, Lila?”
Slowly I turn and find myself facing Cupid’s chest. Hear
t thudding against my rib cage, my gaze travels up his denim shirt to meet his eyes.
“Is there something you need help with?” I ask, tone even. Because I can’t say what I want to say—not with Charlie here. I can’t mention the obsession arrow or what I saw him do to Jack.
He runs a hand across his mouth. “I saw you at the Love Shack the other night,” he says.
My eyes hold his. “I saw you too.”
A smile spreads slowly across his face, as though I have confirmed something he already knew. Charlie looks between us, confused.
James approaches, Coke in hand. “Hey, dude,” he says. “Everything okay?” His tone is light but there’s a hint of something harder behind it.
“This your boyfriend?” asks Cupid without looking at him.
“Yes.”
His gaze slides lazily to James, then Charlie, then back again, and the smile on his face broadens, like he knows the punch line to a joke yet to be told. Raising his eyebrows, he starts to back away.
“I’ll see you at my party tomorrow,” he says. “I’ve a feeling something pretty legendary is going to happen. You won’t want to miss it, Lila.”
He turns and heads down the corridor.
For the rest of the day I try not to think about him. I fail miserably. He knows I saw what he did to Jack, and he knew that I wouldn’t say anything in front of James and Charlie about it. I should have said something.
It makes my blood boil that he thinks he can antagonize me; that he assumes I’ll let him get away with manipulating my classmates. And it sets my mind reeling as to why he’d do something like that in the first place.
If soul mates are real and I’m matched with someone callous and cold and reckless, what does that say about my soul?
By the next morning I’m so worked up that I decide to play my mentor card and speak to him properly, even if it is dangerous, or irrational, or totally going against Cal’s wishes. I need answers. And I need to wipe that smug, irritating smile off his face.
My plan is thwarted when he doesn’t show up for history class.
Cupid's Match Page 5
