Cupid's Match

by Lauren Palphreyman

  “I heard he always skips school the day of his parties,” Charlie says at lunch as she takes a bite of her sandwich. “To set up.”

  I try to act nonchalant, but I’m disappointed, frustrated even, that I didn’t get to confront him.

  I gaze across the cafeteria as Charlie reels off the list of people going to Cupid’s party tonight, and I spot Cal sitting in the corner by himself trying to poke a straw into a juice box. He looks miserable and I feel a pang of pity. I catch his eye and gesture that he should come over. He merely shakes his head in response.

  Charlie is throwing out ideas for her next school blog post when a sudden screech sounds from the courtyard. Cal jerks up, his expression alert, as a freshman bursts through the double doors.

  “He’s going to jump!”

  Cal and I lock gazes before he races out of the room. I jump up alongside Charlie and we get swept outside with the mass of students eager to see what is going on. Behind us, a lunch monitor barks at us all to settle down as she tries to figure out what’s going on. No one listens; her voice is drowned by the chaos. When we’re packed together on the dry grass among the picnic tables, Kelly points up at the school roof and screams.

  It’s Jack.

  He’s teetering on the edge.

  “Laura!” he shouts. “Laura, I love you!”

  As I scan the crowd for Cal, Laura gets pushed forward through the group.

  “Jack,” shouts Laura, her voice shaking, “this is insane. Get down. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  “Laura!” he shouts again, grinning too widely. “I love you, Laura!”

  He takes a step closer to the roof’s edge and spreads out his arms. Charlie’s hand grips my arm tightly. My heart is racing.

  “I LOVE YOU, LAURA!”

  He takes another step. Then, closing his eyes, he leans forward. Silence reigns as everyone holds their breath. It seems to happen in slow motion—Jack falling through the sky, his arms outspread like a manic angel. There is a sickening thud.

  And then the screaming starts.

  School closes early. Charlie and I go to her house, which is only a block away. Now, as we lie on her bed, the sound of sirens drifts through her open window. They’re probably putting up police tape now.

  It is rumored that when the ambulance arrived Jack was still breathing. After it happened, the courtyard was so full of screaming panic that I couldn’t see for myself. Nor could I find Cal among the crowd.

  I glance at Charlie. She lies on her stomach staring at the phone on her pillow, waiting for any news about Jack. I stare at the ceiling, where the glow-in-the-dark stars Charlie stuck up there as a kid still interrupt the perfect white.

  I find myself clenching my fists as I think of Cupid holding up the red-tipped arrow at the Love Shack. He did this. He hit Jack with an arrow, and now the poor kid might die.

  Suddenly Charlie’s phone buzzes. She swipes it up and reads, staring intensely at the small screen for a few moments before sighing.

  “Relief sigh?” I ask cautiously.

  She nods. “He’s broken both of his arms and his neck, and his condition isn’t great, but . . . he’s stable.” Charlie smiles. “They think he’s going to make it.”

  I feel the tension inside of me release slightly. Quickly I glance at my own phone. Two missed calls from Dad, an R U OK? from James, and a text from Cal.

  “I don’t know how he survived it,” Charlie says, pushing herself up and leaning back against her pink pillows. “He must have put his hands out at the last minute to cushion the fall. He’s lucky he didn’t hit his head too hard. If the roof had been any higher . . .”

  I read the message from Cal:

  Lila, whatever Cupid is planning will come to a head at the party. If Jack wasn’t the grand finale, then I dread to think what is. May I again remind you: HE IS DANGEROUS. DO NOT ENTERTAIN THE IDEA OF GOING TO HIS PARTY. This is my responsibility. Cal.

  I stuff the phone back into my jeans pocket then sit up. As I shuffle up to the headboard to sit beside Charlie, I take a look at the room I’ve come to know so well: deep-pink walls covered with movie posters, cushioned window seat, and white desk with her laptop open in the center. Scribbled Post-it notes with ideas for the school blog are stuck around the screen. I smile. Charlie will make an excellent journalist. She always knows everything before everyone else.

  “I wonder what possessed him to do it,” she says, looking at me with wide brown eyes. “Before Laura mentioned him on Monday, I never would have guessed he even liked her.”

  I debate whether to tell Charlie what I know—about Cupid and Cal and the arrows and the secret paranormal race of matchmakers. No. She’ll think I’m going crazy.

  “I guess you never know what’s going on inside someone’s mind,” I say instead.

  Charlie shrugs then suddenly beams—transformed back to her old self.

  “Well, it’s good news the party’s still on, at least. I think we need to cut loose after today. I’ll get Marcus to drop us off. What do you think?”

  My memory flashes back to Cupid’s ocean-colored eyes challenging me across the sticky dance floor. I think of Cal’s text, warning me that Cupid is dangerous. Then I think of Jack hurtling through the air, arms outstretched like a falling angel.

  I need to know why he did this.

  If I go, I’m like a lamb walking into a lion’s den. But if I don’t, I know Cupid will find me anyway. So I’m going to make sure it’s on my terms, not his.

  I smile tightly, my brain screaming at me for what I’m about to say.

  “Sure,” I say. “Just let me call my dad to tell him. I’m in.”

  13

  Twilight paints the dusty road as Marcus, Charlie’s older brother, drops us off at the outskirts of Forever Falls. We get out of the car at the foot of Juliet Hill and he leans out of the open window.

  “Be good,” Marcus says, giving us a wink.

  Charlie rolls her eyes as Marcus drives away. We set off along the footpath lined by palm trees and dominated by the scent of dry grass.

  Charlie chatters and stops every few seconds to pull down her short black dress. I look down at my own outfit—Charlie said that I could borrow some of her clothes, but I’d settled on the dark skinny jeans, boots, and black tank top I had worn to school beneath my shirt. Charlie has about a million dresses, but they’re not really my style.

  As we reach the top of the hill, I suppress a grin as Charlie attempts to gracefully navigate over dry twigs in her heels. Her mouth drops open when she reaches the summit. I hurry to see why.

  Below us is a clearing surrounded by blossoming plants and trees, all lit by white fairy lights that wink from the branches. The grounds are already full of people. Many have congregated around the pool to the side of the house, while others sit on decorative garden benches or linger around the stone statues dotting the grounds.

  “Oh my God!” whispers Charlie. “It’s amazing.”

  Silently I agree as I look past the crowds at the large house in the center. It is modern and cube shaped, with a huge glass entrance that offers a glimpse of the party going on inside. It must have cost a fortune.

  So this is where the god of love lives.

  There’s a large second-floor terrace that looks down on the pool. A solitary male figure stands there, leaning against the decorative terrace railings as though surveying the scene below. Even though his face is partly hidden in shadow, I know immediately who it is.

  As I watch, he slowly turns his gaze to the top of the hill and jerks his head backward—it’s subtle, but I know what he is silently communicating.

  He wants me to come to the terrace.

  He wants to speak with me.

  Something clenches in my stomach as Charlie turns to me with a wicked grin. “Well, let’s get going then!”

  My eyes are still fixed
on Cupid as she makes her way down the hill. I’m frozen with indecision. This is a bad idea. I should go back. So why do I want to go forward? I close my eyes, the scent of beer and grilled burgers wafting toward me. Then I start to move.

  “Did you say James was meeting us here?” Charlie calls as I follow her.

  “Yeah. He should be here already. He was heading down with Tom after soccer practice.”

  We stop at an elegant black gate, thrown wide open. Music blares from the poolside speakers and I can see a number of kegs dotting the lawn. Charlie smooths down her dress again. There is a buzz of anticipation in the air. A small town like Forever Falls doesn’t usually have much excitement, and in the space of five days, we’ve had two new guys join the school, a student jump off a roof, and a huge party.

  And they don’t even know about the paranormal race of cupids.

  We walk toward the glass front of the house. The path is lined with marble statues that remind me of the one I saw back at the Cupids Matchmaking Service. The one Cal seemed to want to avoid.

  “Bit extravagant,” I say, staring up at a stone woman with snakes for hair.

  Charlie laughs. “His parents must be loaded.”

  I recall Cupid’s strange comment about his mother being out of town and wonder if it is just a cover story. Even if cupids have mothers, one clearly doesn’t live here. This is Cupid’s house, no question.

  As we reach the crowd by the barbecue, a couple of girls from the party planning committee catch sight of Charlie and wave us over—probably to talk more about next Friday’s dance.

  “You go ahead. I’m going to go find James,” I say, unsure whether I mean it. James is waiting for me. But so is Cupid. He is on the terrace. He is waiting too.

  “Okay,” says Charlie. “I’ll come find you both in a bit—but first stop, burgerville.” She grins and bounds off to her friends, grabbing a cheeseburger en route.

  I take another deep breath and head into the house, weaving through the crowds milling about the large granite island in the open-plan kitchen. It has fancy undercupboard lighting and large glass windows that let in the light shining from the pool area outside.

  I say hi to a couple of girls from the cheerleading squad as I pass by, but my thoughts are elsewhere. I recall the storm behind Cupid’s eyes when our fingers touched and his words: It’s you I want to get to know better, Lila Black. And I think of Cal’s terrible plan to lead him away from me.

  He knows. I’m sure of it. Cupid knows.

  I keep an eye out for James and Cal as I edge into a white-tiled hallway leading off from the kitchen, peeking in doorways as I make my way to the winding black staircase at its end. As I place my foot on the first step, I tell myself that James is upstairs and that’s why I’m heading in this direction, but part of me knows who I am really looking for. The terrace has to be up here somewhere too.

  At the top of the stairs I find myself in another hallway from which a number of open archways lead into other rooms. Modern prints hang on the walls between them. I take a closer look at one; in it a man with the head of a bull stands in front of hundreds of colorful intersecting lines that make my eyes feel funny. It’s silent up here, the noise of the party seeming far away.

  At the end of the hallway is a large glass door that leads to a dark terrace; that leads out to Cupid. I halt, my breath catching in my throat.

  What am I doing here? He’s dangerous. He’s come here for me. And I am walking straight into his trap.

  Then suddenly, the sound of angry voices coming from one of the rooms breaks me out of my daze.

  “Yes, well, your assignment directly conflicts with mine.”

  It’s Cal. I frown and creep to the doorway to listen.

  “I’m just doing my job,” comes the irritated female reply. “I have a match to make and I’m going to make it.” The voice is familiar.

  “Like you did your job looking after Jack?”

  There is an angry splutter. “That assignment was to make sure no harm came to the girl,” says the female, “and last time I checked, Laura was absolutely fine.”

  “Try telling the poor soul who jumped off the roof.”

  I’m just about to peer inside when someone grabs my shoulders. “Hey!” a voice says from behind. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  It’s James. The two figures arguing in the room spin around toward us. Cal’s angular face is etched with rage. I see immediately who the female figure is. Beautiful, blond, and immaculate in a glittering blue evening dress, it’s Crystal, the receptionist from the Cupids Matchmaking Service.

  She looks straight past me to my boyfriend standing behind me.

  “Hi, James,” she says, smiling sweetly.

  “Hey, Crystal,” he says.

  14

  How could James have met the Cupids Matchmaking Service’s receptionist?

  An unreadable expression passes over Cal’s stony face, but he merely stands by the elegant four-poster bed that dominates the room. My eyes are drawn to its carved oak posts and red and gold bedspread. This is Cupid’s bedroom.

  James takes a step closer and wraps an arm around my waist.

  “This is Crystal,” he says. “She got a part time job at Romeo’s at the start of summer.”

  My forehead crumples. Why would Crystal, a matchmaking cupid receptionist, be working at the diner? Cal gives nothing away; he only casts a frosty look in Crystal’s direction. I think back to my time at the Matchmaking Service and recall the video image of Cal in a bowling attendant’s uniform, matching my parents.

  Sometimes manual interference is required.

  A fire flares up inside me as I recall the conversation we just interrupted.

  Is she trying to match my boyfriend?!

  I’m suddenly furious; with her, with Cal, and, somewhat irrationally, with James too. Crystal ignores the sudden tension in the room and takes a step forward, engulfing me in a cloud of cotton candy–scented perfume.

  “You must be Lila,” she chimes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Her blue eyes glitter, and I know she is daring me to tell James who she really is.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Cal and I were just heading downstairs for a drink,” she says. “Care to join us?”

  James looks at me and raises an eyebrow in question.

  “You go on without me,” I say, forcing my voice to sound even. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

  Every fiber of my being says I should follow them downstairs, but I’m shaking with anger. I can’t be around them right now. They’re trying to match my boyfriend.

  Cal doesn’t look happy but says nothing. The three of them head out of the room. As the matchmaking agent passes me, he shoots me a warning look.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Lila. I’m going to go find him once I’ve sorted things out with Crystal,” he says, face contorted as though tasting something sour. “Something weird is going on. I’ll check on you later.”

  Cal doesn’t know that Cupid is on the terrace, I realize in relief.

  The thought that I’ve been left alone in Cupid’s bedroom makes me slightly exhilarated. This is his personal space; it’s private, not meant for my eyes. I move toward the large, four-poster bed—the place where he sleeps, where he dreams. Tentatively, I sit down on the mattress, taking a deep breath to steady the emotions bubbling inside of me. The sheets are silky beneath my fingers and I can smell the faint lingering scent of summer, sweat, and cologne.

  Don’t go to the terrace, I tell myself. Don’t do it.

  I peer around, trying to distract myself. On Cupid’s bedside table rests a pile of well-thumbed books. I trace my finger along their battered spines, picking out Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, and Pride and Prejudice among many others. I’m surprised. The dangerous, banished Cupid—the g
uy who made a young guy hurl himself off a rooftop this very afternoon—likes to read romance novels?

  My curiosity deepens. It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. There has to be a reason for what Cupid did. There has to be a reason he is my match.

  I have to confront him. I have to know why he did it.

  I head out to the hallway and move toward the terrace entrance, taking a deep breath before I open the door and step out onto the large balcony. Cupid’s silhouette is backlit against the dusky sky by the pool lights below.

  “Cupid,” I say softly.

  Slowly, he turns. His eyes lock on mine.

  For a moment he looks almost surprised. “Lila,” he says, “you came.”

  My heartbeat accelerates as he takes a step toward me. He is wearing a long-sleeved light-blue shirt over dark jeans. His feet are bare, and his dirty blond hair is mussed, as though he just got out of bed. His expression looks softer than when I saw him at school—more vulnerable.

  He could pass for an angel in the faint light of the moon.

  But he’s no angel, I remind myself.

  “I know it’s you,” we both say at the same time.

  A flicker of amusement crosses his face. Then he’s serious once more, half hidden in shadow.

  “I know what you did,” I say.

  “You’re my Match,” he says. “You’re the one I came here to find.”

  He takes another step forward. I can smell his scent; it is no longer soft like summer, but intoxicating, like the edge of a storm. I should move back. I should turn away from him, but I don’t.

  “You saw the Ardor,” he says. “The only way a human can see the arrows is if another cupid has shown them what they are. Cal?”

  He stares at me, his expression open, beckoning; the green flecks in his eyes seem to dance against the dark blue, reminding me of sea waves splashing against the rocks. Our bodies are so close they are almost touching. I can feel energy racing between us, like warm crackles of electricity, pulling us closer.

  What am I doing here? What about James?