It could be the good stuff.
Leaving my engine running, windshield wipers, too—now it was really coming down, I hopped back out of my Jeep and ducked back in to the coffee shop—jingle, jingle. Jan was with another customer, a business guy in a short-sleeve shirt and tan pants, but she waved to me.
“The good stuff?” I shouted. “How do you know when you find it?” I wiped some rain off my forehead. Man, it was pouring. Was this in the weather report?
Sage wandered in from the back where she did the baking with Jan’s daughter Jenna on her hip.
“Oh,” Jan said, looking at them adoringly. “You just know.”
Maybe I couldn’t change the past, but I could definitely change my future.
And like wet Gatsby/Leo standing outside in the garden in that summer thunderstorm Long Island rain, I stood outside my Jeep for a few more seconds and thought about Jan’s words.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Felix
FELIX: Hey
HAZEL: Hi
FELIX: I have a great plan to finish off O.R.
HAZEL: O.R.?
FELIX: I could tell you, but then your phone would implode.
HAZEL: LOL. Okay, what is it?
FELIX: Tell you at school. But you have to promise to be all in. Are you all in Hazel Bazil?
HAZEL: I’m all in.
Everyone at school was abuzz over the upcoming dance. And I was abuzz over that text conversation. Without my giving her even a hint about my nefarious Grand Finale Operation Revenge —and perhaps with not even realizing what O.R. stood for—Hazel committed to All In?
I was impressed.
So school was all pink-hearted and Valentine’s Day Danced out: CUPID AND PSYCHE this and PSYCHE AND CUPID that. The plan was, we’d get Jay so jealous over me asking Hazel to the dance that he’d dump Kimmy and ask Hazel. But we wouldn’t stop there. She’d actually go to the dance with him. Then she’d dump him in front of everyone the way she got dumped.
Payback. Let’s make Jay its bitch.
We schemed about this last night over text message. And today was the perfect time to put the plan in motion. Our school did this old thing of writing invitations to our potential dates, and intercampus mail delivered them to the addressee.
The student body president and other staff members were sitting behind a large folding table with a pink tablecloth. On the wall behind the table hung a poster board with a large reproduction of several pieces of historic art taken from the myth of Cupid and Psyche, but with random Sunny Cove High students faces—they used the president, vice president, treasurer, and secretary as examples—with a sign that read: WHO WILL BE OUR CUPID AND PSYCHE? Buy your tickets to the dance and invite your muse!
My muse.
It had to be Hazel, right? We did conjure up this plan to be crowned Cupid and Psyche.
I took a closer look at the clip art likely ripped off from Wikipedia and asked about it. Sure enough, they were just printed from the website. One of the photos was a group of robed women looking off in the distance. The caption read PSYCHE’S WEDDING (Pre-Raphaelite, 1895 by Edward Burne-Jones). The other one was a painting that looked like a scene from Game of Thrones.
Conjuring.
Like Hazel and I had done conjuring up this plan.
This scheme.
I recalled the breakfast conversation this morning with Kimmy. Was she really on to us, or was she just being a typical pain in my ass? It was hard to tell with her. Sometimes she tossed ideas and insults and theories out just to see if something would stick. It had almost worked. I’d almost blurted it out.
I had to be more careful. I had a plan to carry out. A revenge plan.
I stepped up to the table.
“I’d like one invitation, please, and two tickets to the dance.”
“Pretty sure your potential date will say yes, huh chum?” This guy was such a goofball with his covered from head-to-toe school colors and waving a cupid wand with a red heart at the end.
“Chum? For reals?”
“Why not?”
I shrugged, then nodded. “I like it.”
The student council crowd was entertaining. I couldn’t imagine who in their right mind would spend their time volunteering for this type of junk, so I always appreciated it and thanked them.
“How much for the tickets?”
He held out two tickets. “Ten bucks each.”
“Got it.”
I dug a twenty out of my pocket—Fred paid me last week—and handed it to him.
“Thanks, dude.”
“Sure thing, chum,” I said with a little wink.
He blinked.
“Too much?” I asked.
“A bit.”
He laughed. I’d known Spencer since kindergarten. Guy was so smart he’d already been able to name all the presidents in order.
“So who do you want to send your invite to, Felix?”
“Hazel McAllister.”
“Hazel? For reals?”
I nodded. That was the plan. “Yeah, why?”
“Isn’t she with Jay?”
“She was. You…haven’t heard what happened?”
He shook his head. “No. But then again, I’m pretty busy with all of this.” He spread his arms over the table and all the dance research. “I’m not that up-to-date with relationship dramas at Sunny Cove High.”
“Yeah. I hear you. I wouldn’t know either, but—”
“Give me two tickets to the ball,” came an annoying voice behind me.
Spencer blinked. “Hello, Jay.”
“Hello, Spencer.”
Like I said, we’d all been in school together since forever.
“I’d like two tickets, and I’d like to send my invite to Hazel—”
“What?” Spencer and I said at the same time.
How could it already be working? He didn’t even know I was asking Hazel to the dance. How could be jealous already? Had Kimmy seen through me this morning after all? Had she talked to Jay, and now they were calling my bluff?
I looked down at the invite in my hand, feeling a little despondent. Moments ago, it had seemed like such a great gesture. The key to everything. And now it seemed small and possibly unnecessary. Perhaps like it could sabotage the whole plan.
“Yes,” Jay nodded. “Kimmy and I discussed it on the way to school, and we both agree it would be the proper thing to do for me to attend the dance with Hazel. As an olive branch of sorts. I feel terrible about what happened and don’t want any hurt feelings. It was always our plan to go to the dance together and be crowed Cupid and Psyche. It’s the very least I could do.”
Well, this was interesting. I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was serious. So even if he did suspect something…pushing on him would still do the trick.
“Why in the world would Hazel want to go to the dance with you after what you did to her?”
“Because she’s still in love with me, idiot.” He looked at me with a confident shrug, like “duh”.
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” I mumbled.
She couldn’t really still be in love with him, right? I mean, sure, he was everything she’d ever dreamed about in a guy, but he was also cheating scum. The guy made me look like a saint in comparison, and that was saying something.
Spencer lifted his pen off the “TO” line on the heart-shaped invitation.
“Now I’m confused. Whom do I write yours out to if he’s already taking Hazel?” Spencer asked me.
“Hazel,” I said, glaring at Jay.
“Dude,” Jay said. “You don’t need to invite her now. I’ll invite her. It’s fine.”
“No. It’s not fine. I’m inviting her. I’m taking her to the dance.”
Fake relationship, fake date be damned. This was all part of the plan. But I couldn’t help it. I wanted to show the guy what Hazel deserved. I wanted to show him the kind of guy she deserved.
Except I wasn’t that guy.
Except I was just the so
rt of friend who, yeah, really did care about her, but the most I could offer her was a little help reminding her that scum like Jay didn’t have any power over her.
My ears heated up as Jay elbowed in next to me and tapped on the second pink heart. “Make mine out to Hazel. And I’d like to pay extra to expedite it.”
“Expedite it? To her homeroom? What do you think Spencer has back there, a secret stash of drones for delivery?”
“Ha flipping ha.”
I tapped on the second invite, and Spencer was turning red. “Make his out to my sister. Kimmy.” Shit was getting real in the main hall of Sunny Cove High.
Jay turned to face me. Sure enough, he was wearing a lavender Polo shirt, white tennis shorts, and bright white Adidas shoes.
The only thing that would improve his look would be a nifty pair of rollerblades.
“Like I said, we already discussed this, Kimmy and I, and she’s fine with me inviting Hazel.”
“Fine? There’s no way she’s fine with that. For some grotesque reason, Kimmy actually likes you. If you hurt her on top of Hazel, man, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
What the hell was wrong with me? I mentally slapped myself. This was all part of the plan, but here I was basically arguing for Jay not to go to the dance with Hazel.
“Is that a threat in front of our student body president, Felix?” Jay stepped into my space. I half wanted to learn how to play tennis so I could kick his ass on the court.
“Fine. Go ahead and send it,” I said. “Twenty bucks says she rejects you.”
Oh my God, what was I doing?
The plan was working.
Jay was inviting Hazel to the dance. Hazel would be thrilled. She could accept his invitation and dump him at the dance.
So why was I fighting this so hard?
Did I actually want to go to the dance with Hazel outside of the revenge plan?
Everything hurt.
Everything pounded.
Jay got all up in my face. “Twenty bucks says she agrees and she and I go to the dance together.” The a-hole could be tough when he wanted to be.
“Send them,” I said to Spencer, imagining the two of us in a cowboy duel à la Wyatt Earp’s epic battle at the end of Tombstone. My voice got all husky and serious as I laid it all on the line. “Send them both.”
“Shit just got real,” was Spencer’s wide-eyed reply.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hazel
So there I was sitting in homeroom, staring at the clock ticktocking—would I have time to duck into the bathroom before I went to my locker to switch books for next period? —when a bored-looking office assistant knocked at the door, and after being waved in, entered with a winged box (a shoe box with costume-shop white angel wings attached on each side from the looks of it).
Our homeroom teacher stood up from her desk. She was a midsixties silver fox. Bangles clanged on her wrists when she clapped her hands and announced the office assistant’s delivery, so excited it was as if she’d just won the lottery. “Look at what we have here! The invitations for the Cupid and Psyche Valentine’s Day dance have arrived!”
My stomach leaped into my throat, sending me from Zoneville to Presenttown in a split second.
Had Felix really gone through with it? Was this really an invitation from him? Or had he come to his senses, ready to abandon this whole zany plan in favor of inviting one of his eager dates—like the one I saw him leave campus with the other day? I mean, it was one thing to pretend to be with me when it got him kisses and God knew how much attention from other girls. But actually inviting me to the dance? For the millionth time, I wondered: what was in this for him?
And what would he do if the plan failed? Back out of the invite and leave me high and dry?
I mentally shook myself. I couldn’t afford to think like that. The plan would work. It had to.
I bit my lip, staring at the box my teacher was shuffling through while making various intrigued sounds.
That girl probably wanted to go with Felix anyway. Barbie, I mean. And why shouldn’t she? They’d spent time together before now. Real time together.
Sure, I’d hung out with Felix a lot recently, but it was all fake. Fun, true, but not real. Just pretend. Like acting. A game.
So yes, while I’d really enjoyed this last little while with Felix—I mean, the sight of him waving at me from the top of the cove last night had practically made me trip in the sand—it was just play acting.
In real life, a guy like Felix would never like a girl like me.
In real life, I couldn’t even afford to think about the next guy or whether there would even be a next guy until I knew I was still as independent and capable as I needed to be.
In real life, there was only my revenge.
And when it was over?
Felix would go back to his life, and I would go back to mine.
Eventually, it had to end.
Gig would be up.
Revenge plan = finite.
Our teacher cleared her throat and enthusiastically began to read off names of invitees—none of them me.
My gut clenched, twisted like a rung out a towel. The pain of it all! What would I do if he didn’t invite me? I’d cry. I’d actually burst into tears. Oh, God, no, I couldn’t do that. I didn’t care. I didn’t care at all.
But the truth was…I kind of did.
Stop. Stop. It’s just a Revenge Plan. A fake relationship. And if he takes me to the dance, it will be a fake date. I can’t have real feelings for Felix James.
It was just…impossible. It would never work.
Quick. Dig into the archives of Classic Felix Flaws. Like one of Mom’s movies, I conjured up Felix’s Worst Hits: the saggy pants, the Barbies sneaking out of his room, him pranking Kimmy and me. I tried to see the worst of Felix James. Imagining him with three girls under his arms. Flashed on his Holiday Boxers, starting with Easter and ending with Valentine’s Day, where I imagined the boxers on fire.
I shouldn’t even care. What did it matter if Felix didn’t invite me? He could back out now. He could back out whenever he wanted. I’d been selfish, actually. Here Felix was fake dating me, but what did he get out of it exactly? I got my revenge, but who was he mad at? Kimmy? I doubt he’d go to this extreme.
It was terribly sweet of him, the whole thing. And I’d certainly misjudged him.
He might have bad taste in ladies, etc., but he was a hard worker, and he was kind. He had a nice friend named Fred, and he liked to experiment with sauce for fries.
That was it.
So he was more interesting than I once thought.
No big deal.
Sometimes people surprised me. Felix surprised me. Good for him! What I learned here was a valuable lesson: don’t judge a book by his cover. Or a boy whose reputation was the Player of La Playa.
I gulped as the teacher ran off more names. More girls squealed and more lads grinned. Each invitation sent someone marching to the front of the room to pick up their folded hearts.
I’ll admit it, if he didn’t invite me to the dance, I’d be a little disappointed…because of the revenge plan, obviously. That’s the only reason why…
But it would be fine. Felix would go with one of his Barbies, and I’d stay at home and watch Classic Sads with Mom, eat my new favorite salted-caramel ice cream, and order take-out Indian. Not necessarily in that order.
I patted the knees of my dark jeans. Confirmed. Yes. It would be fine.
I would be fine. No matter what happened in class this morning.
When my teacher cleared her throat and announced that we shouldn’t feel bad if we weren’t invited by a Cupid to the dance, and we could be psyches and invite our own Cupid. Or attend with a fellow Psyche. Or a fellow Cupid. Or a group of Psyches and Cupids…
Okay, we get it.
We don’t need a date to go to the dance. We don’t need a date to be happy.
No prob.
Speak for yourself!
She con
tinued running off names: Amelia, Ethan, Emma, Izzy, Finley, Savannah, Jake, Cooper, Caroline. And finally, Hazel.
“Oh!” It came out more as a yelp if I was being perfectly honest. I jumped up happily, startled after my admittedly too long and unsuccessful self-pep talk. I suddenly didn’t care if it was part of the plan. I just wanted to see that invitation from Felix.
I reached out and took the folded pink construction paper heart out of my teacher’s hand and opened it.
“Dear Hazel, would you be Psyche to my heart’s Cupid? Love, Jay.”
I couldn’t believe it. An invitation from Felix to the—
Wait. Hold on. Did it really say—
“Jay!” I yelled unintentionally out loud, in front of the entire class. Then I covered my mouth with my hand.
My teacher looked confused.
“Jay?” I repeated. “Are you sure?” I asked my teacher, as if she knew. I had the invitation in front of me, in my own hands. Plain as day, the note read: Jay.
Love, Jay.
What the stupid Cupid…
What had happened? This wasn’t the plan. Jay was supposed to see Felix had asked me and then he would get jealous and ask me first. Why would Jay ask me to the dance before Felix?
Could the revenge plan already be working this well?
It seemed too…easy.
Unless…
Was it an error? A typo?
Or worse…had he purchased this invitation before we’d broken up?
“This is embarrassing,” I said. “I’m…sorry. Please keep going with the other invitations.” I nodded toward my teacher. Man, my horoscope must read: Will be publicly mortified on several occasions. Tread lightly.
Note to self: read your horoscope more often.
It didn’t matter why Jay had sent me that invitation. All that mattered was that he’d sent it. All that mattered was that he wanted me to go to the dance with him. Which meant the revenge plan was still good to go.
So why was I so disappointed that I hadn’t gotten an invitation from Felix?
An annoying pulse of emotion crawled up my throat and threatened to shape-shift itself into big fat embarrassing tears.
“Can I be excused to the restroom?” I asked the teacher.
“Wait. Not yet, honey,” my teacher said.
Not Okay, Cupid Page 11
