Not Okay, Cupid

by Heidi R. Kling

  “I need to find Jay before class starts.”

  Jay. My boyfriend. My reliable, loyal, good student and prominently athletic boyfriend. The boyfriend who always arrived to school prepared. My boyfriend who always planned our dates impeccably, so I never had to sneak out of his room, slither down his drainpipe, and run home naked, causing old hippie ladies to hypothesize they were having acid flashbacks from their herbal tea.

  I couldn’t wait for Valentine’s Day!

  I wondered what he had planned for me this year. Last year it was a romantic picnic on the harbor with non-alcoholic champagne, Brie cheese (splurge!), and gluten-free bread. He even remembered a knife and a red picnic blanket.

  Jay was nothing if not detailed.

  Bringing up Jay was definitely a smart move. Nothing disarmed another guy like mentioning another. Felix already looked like he was ready to ease off.

  “See ya, Tom Cat,” I said.

  Sure enough, his arm recoiled and he let me go. “Meow,” he said back, pretending his fingertips were claws.

  It was our running gag.

  His mother had a thing for this old black-and-white cartoon, Felix the Cat, and had named him after the black-and-white feline. I’d been calling him Cat since I was like, five, just to piss him off.

  I pantomimed claws scratching him back, and that was that.

  Or so I thought.

  Chapter Two

  Felix

  The youngest and most beautiful was Psyche. Her admirers were far and many, but her heart was set only on one.

  I got to class just a couple of minutes late and sat there distracted, pretending to take notes. Was it just me, or was Basil getting cuter every day?

  Sure, she was probably dressing up for that D-bag boyfriend of hers, but certainly he wasn’t the only one who noticed this Bazition. (Basil transition. Get it?)

  I was afraid she might have lost her virginity to the jerk, hence the teasing about it. I was thrilled to find out she was still…well. I don’t want to say pure or something gross and sexist like that—a woman’s sexuality is a powerful thing—but what I mean is…Hazel is just…special. And I’d hate to see her waste it on that creep, even if she thinks he’s great. And maybe he is. I mean, I’ve never seen him be anything but polite and attentive with her, but…Baze was, like, better than a sister to me. She was never quite as annoying as my own sister (who I deeply loved, naturally, but who could really drive me nuts). Baze was always like…the girl I held above all the rest.

  As a kid, she was always nerdy cute: cat-eyed glasses, tangled hair, red cheeks all excited about whatever plan or game or scheme she was coming up with—usually to torture me. I pretended to hate it, but secretly I loved every second. I’ve been an attention junkie since birth. The more female, the better. It’s possible I wasn’t breastfed long enough? Ew. Yet, I digress. But even way back in the sandbox and tree-house days, her eyes were always bright and shining under those bottle-cap glasses. Mischievous.

  I pretended I couldn’t stand her, sure—that’s the way we played the game—but when she was at our house things were just…better. Brighter. Lighter. She brought a little dose of sunshine with her everywhere she went. And as much as I hated to admit it, seeing her at school now, it was still the same way.

  I could be having the crappiest day ever—another failed exam, another stink-eye from the girl I didn’t call back—and there she’d be, Hazel Basil, ready with a quick remark, those marble eyes of hers shining. Only now that she’d had laser surgery, there was nothing standing between me and those eyes of hers.

  She’d long ago started to comb her hair, which was wavy and hung down her back, sometimes twisted into a loose, casual bun, which always managed to look effortlessly sexy. She was so unlike the girls I dated, girls whose entire life seemed to focus around their looks: waxing this and tanning that. Sometimes I felt like I was making out with one of my sister’s Barbies. Not that I’m complaining—hell, they were still gorgeous, but there was something about Basil…

  “Oh, hello again,” I said, tapping Hazel on the shoulder in the lunch line.

  “I thought I smelled you,” she said, flashing me a perfectly snotty smile.

  “I smell like the sea after a storm.”

  “No misquoting Princess Bride, perv.”

  “My bad.” I waggled my finger in front of her. “Never mess with the reverence of the Great and Powerful Wesley. Oh, my dear Hazel!” I grabbed my throat dramatically. “What have I done?”

  “More like what has she done.” Hazel gestured toward the lunch lady. “Just me or do those chicken nuggets smell worse than usual?”

  I peered through the glass case. “What makes you think those are chicken nuggets?”

  “What else would they be?”

  “Hash browns?”

  “Nah.”

  “Tofu chucks?”

  “Strike two.”

  “Tater tots?”

  “And she hits it out of the park, ladies and gentlemen!”

  I said this so theatrically, people turned to look. I bowed. Hazel blushed.

  I loved making her blush.

  That was the real home run.

  We scooped food onto our trays and then scanned the large seating area for a place to sit. “Is Jay saving a seat for you?”

  “Probably.” She raised her eyebrows. “Oh. That’s weird.”

  “What?”

  “I think I found your sister. There. With my boyfriend.”

  “Well, I’m glad she finally turned up. I need to snag those notes.”

  I started moving toward them, but Hazel grabbed my shoulder, pulling me back. “Wait.”

  Her tone stopped me in my tracks.

  I followed her worried gaze to my sister and Jay.

  Jay was acting way too chummy with Kimmy.

  And Kimmy. Kimmy had on her flirt face.

  The head tilt and the laugh and the hair falling across her eye thing. (I knew this move. I was the one who invented it. Copycat sister of mine.) But she wasn’t supposed to use her flirting skills on her best friend’s guy.

  I watched in horror as Kimmy’s lips grazed Jay’s ear. He leaned back and laughed. What the heck was going on?

  “Oh, God!” Hazel said, grabbing my hand. “Look at her hand.”

  Kimmy’s hand was riding high up Jay’s shorts. High, high. Like top of thigh high. The kind of move that usually let me know a girl was ready to get down to business.

  “Dude,” I said, because what else could I say?

  Hazel swallowed. “Did you know about this?”

  “Me? No way. Hell no. I’ve been looking for her all day, too. Look, Baze, don’t overreact. We don’t know anything. Who knows. He might have…lost a match and she’s…comforting him. Or his turtle died and they’re planning a eulogy together?” I was grasping and we both knew it, but I couldn’t stand to see that pained look on her face. “I once heard the best eulogy for a frog. It was amazing. It was all about the life cycle from tadpole to amphibian to…”

  “Shut up, Felix.”

  “Shutting up.”

  Hazel brushed past me and barreled toward them. It was no turtle eulogy, and I knew it. I mean, I didn’t know I knew it, but I knew the look of two people who were digging on each other, and those two were certainly all about the other one. God, poor Hazel.

  Oh no. There she goes.

  I had to follow her. I had to help.

  “Excuse me,” I said to a group of three ladies in my way. Two of them grinned at me, one glared. The glaring one was a girl I’d forgotten to call back. I ducked, sheepishly, with a little apologetic wave, and came out on the other side.

  I’d never even heard Hazel raise her voice, never mind cry. Never mind cry in public. But I didn’t need to use my astute Sherlock skills to see Hazel was on the verge of doing all three. She stopped close to Jay and Kimmy, like she was verifying what she was seeing was real.

  One more intimate touch from Kimmy on Jay and that was it. Hazel moved in f
or the kill.

  Chapter Three

  Hazel

  Unfortunately, Psyche’s greatest admirer neglected the proper worship of her.

  The thigh touch was one thing, but as I was barreling toward them, about to confront them—something I wouldn’t normally do, mind you— something about the way they were talking stopped me in my tracks.

  Kimmy leaned in to my Jay. Thin shoulders hunched forward, her necklace swaying back and forth. Instead of glancing at her casually while shoving food down his throat—the way he did when we had lunch—he was staring intently at her. He pulled off his yellow tennis headband, which tied his hair back like a girl, and then playfully, albeit gently, placed the band on her head, tugging it so a little poof of her hair stuck up on top. She giggled and blushed.

  I gasped, unable to move. Frozen. Holding my hand to my throat in disbelief, I noted he was wearing a yellow Polo shirt and white shorts. Her hand disappeared under the table. Her hand was…

  No.

  She wouldn’t.

  But she did.

  She rested her hand on his forearm. My forearm. The forearm that I rested my hand on while he drove around town. The forearm that would one day swing around and pull a diamond in a velveteen box out of his pocket and propose marriage to me!

  The headband was a lot to stomach.

  The forearm was too much.

  I swallowed, and this awful, ominous feeling vibrated a warning: something terrible was happening. Something that was going to change everything. Forever. I suppose I could’ve stopped it. Walked up. Interrupted. But that wasn’t my style. I needed to see. I needed the truth.

  I blinked.

  Then I blinked again, wishing this scene away.

  But it was still unfolding in front of me. A train wreck I couldn’t stop.

  I watched in horror as he gently moved a swatch of her flat-ironed, long brown hair away from her ear, clearing the way for the stupid headband. He leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, her face flushed.

  What did he say to make her blush like that?

  Then he curved his hand and lifted the stone of her necklace, cocked his head, and looked at it like it was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

  No.

  They wouldn’t be this obvious. Not in public. Not where anyone—including me—could see. Even if they were…something.

  Or. Or. Maybe they were in a play together?

  Practicing a one-act? That’s it. That had to be it.

  Reeling, I scrolled back through our weeks. I’d been so busy with exams…

  Then she tipped her head back and laughed. No way was this scripted. I’d seen that laugh before. That was the classic Come Hither Kimmy. Her patent-pending way of getting a guy to go crazy wanting her.

  She was after my man. Scratch that. Not only was she after him, but it also looked like she’d caught him: hook, line, sinker.

  Kimmy’s crush-flush turned crimson as she faced her tray, examining the turkey burger and fries like they were a crystal ball advising her what to do next.

  “What the hell, guys?” I managed to gulp out, angry tears threatening to streak down my cheeks, but I managed to keep my cool. I had to give them a chance to explain. Jay would never cheat. Kimmy would never betray me.

  My best friend stood there like a recently brained zombie, but Jay spoke up.

  I braced myself for his response. Sometimes you just know that as much as you want an explanation, no explanation will ever be good enough.

  “We’re working together,” he said. “We’re lab partners. Co-captains of the Eco Club. I thought I told you.”

  Smiling through my clenched jaw, I waited for the sensible explanation.

  “Well, we meant to tell you. We’ve been meaning to…” He ran his hands through the long, fluffy hair he usually tied back with a leather band for tennis practice, which was now hanging loosely around his shoulders. He stared down at his two hundred dollar, sparkling-white tennis shoes.

  Wait. What?

  “Meaning to tell me…you’re working together as cocaptains of the Eco Club?”

  I looked from Jay to Kimmy back to Jay.

  Kimmy’s ears were bright red, like they always were when she was guilty.

  That was when I knew.

  There was no club.

  My first terrible, horrible, nightmare-inducing instincts were right.

  They were cheating.

  Both of them.

  On me.

  “You’ve been meaning to tell me you’re with my best friend?” Tears flopped down my face. I swished them away. “And you? You’re with Jay? Why? Why would you do this to me?”

  “It just…happened.”

  “Happened?”

  “Like things happen. It just happened.”

  “How long has this been going on?” I demanded. The tables around us hushed instantly. My years of drama class had taught me diction, projection, and stage presence. When I wanted to be heard, I was heard.

  And suddenly I wanted to be heard.

  When they refused to answer, I repeated my question louder.

  “Sorry, Hazel,” he said sheepishly. “It wasn’t something we planned.”

  At least Jay had the decency not to lie. He knew I knew. There was no denying it.

  “We? Now you’re the royal ‘we’? We—that’s you and me—we’re supposed to be the royal ‘we’ Jay. Not you and her.” Growling my reply, I turned to Kimmy. “And you? My best friend? I thought you hated Jay!”

  That got Jay’s attention. He had the nerve to look offended. “You told Hazel you hated me?”

  “Well, in the beginning,” Kimmy said, looking guiltily at him. “I didn’t know you that well.”

  “Still.” He looked pained, but I saw right through it.

  Kimmy didn’t, though. She looked ready to sacrifice her firstborn if it’d get Jay to forgive her.

  Oh. My. God.

  “So sorry to cause a problem for you two…lovebirds,” I spat.

  “Hazel. Come on. You’re making a scene.”

  “A scene! You guys are canoodling in the caf and I’m making a scene? Everyone knows we’re together, Jay! Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That no one would tell me? I mean, come on. You aren’t that dumb.”

  “See, Hazel. It’s stuff like this…”

  He could barely keep the C average he needed to stay on varsity tennis. Without me tutoring him in Chem and Calc, he’d be off the varsity tennis team. Was that why he’d stayed with me so long? He needed my brain? Oh, he was going down.

  “Oh. Stuff like me calling you out? That’s why you started sneaking around with my best friend behind my back. You don’t get to blame this on me to try to make yourself feel better.”

  I’d never been so mad in all my life. So betrayed. So effing furious.

  I eyed her tofu “burger,” longing to shove it into her struck-stupid face and rub it around till pieces of ground faux-chuck—what was it? Beans?—got stuck in her stupid perky nose.

  And him.

  I wanted to drop kick him like one of those green fluffy balls he was constantly messing with. He kept one in his pocket 24/7. I always found it weird but never said anything. Jay hated criticism. He was more sensitive than a piece of thin glass.

  “So…” Jay started. “I think we better break up.”

  “Oh. You think?” I spat, tears falling like rain. Rain I couldn’t stop. A storm that wasn’t predicted. An afternoon of summer showers, only the worst kind. Acid rain. Acid tears. I might fade away. Melt into a pile of faded flesh and bones. A science experiment of the worst possible kind.

  Chapter Four

  Felix

  In defending Psyche, Cupid unwittingly sealed his own fate.

  I walked into my sister’s bedroom. She was lying in her usual position of feet up on the wall like she was holding falling sheetrock up with her legs. She was on the phone and didn’t hear me come in.

  “I knew she’d be upset…I told you to b
e careful…oh, so now it’s my fault?”

  Jay.

  Jackass.

  I reacted like a rattler in the desert: recoil, rattle, and prepare to strike.

  My sister, Kimmy, had never been my favorite person if I was being perfectly honest. I found her petty, spoiled, vain. But, when she wanted to be, she was also organized, helpful, and giving. She always asked what I wanted for Christmas or my birthday and made sure I got it. She kept our bathroom neat and tidy, even on occasion hung up the wet towels I accidentally dropped on the floor.

  She wasn’t all bad all the time.

  So I didn’t get why she would go after her best friend’s guy like this. It was pretty uncharacteristic of her. It was odd. He wasn’t even her type. Usually she went for the grungier, guitar-playing, tattooed types, and this Plain Vanilla Mayonnaise Jay was the exact opposite of the guitar-playing, tattooed type. I never thought I’d miss those dingleberries, but at least they went along with the Kimmy I thought I knew. And sure, she lied on occasion—sure, she was sneaky—what teenage kid wasn’t?

  But cheating?

  Lying?

  Lying and cheating?

  I hated liars.

  I hated cheaters.

  Put those two together and I had no choice. They were going down.

  My dad cheated on my mom for years. It was why they got divorced. Jay sort of reminded me of my dad, in fact. Even though I never knew him that well (my dad and Jay both, actually), I never really trusted him.

  The fact that Kimmy would cheat with a cheater made her too much like my dad. I’d forgiven her and she’d forgiven me for all the little things sisters and brothers do to each other, but this was on another level. She knew it as much as I did. All we had left to rely on was who was loyal and who wasn’t. And she’d just proven she wasn’t.

  “Hang up with that jackass,” I said. “I need to talk to you.”