Not Okay, Cupid

by Heidi R. Kling

  Her mouth gaped open. An expression of embarrassment, shame, and most of all annoyance flashed over her face.

  She’d normally chuck an old stuffed rabbit at the door and yell at me to get out of her room, but she knew childlike behavior wouldn’t work this time. I wasn’t going anywhere until she heard what I thought of her and that slimebag.

  After Hazel had run out of the caf crying, I’d tried to catch up with her but ended up letting her go. She needed to be alone. I’d never been angrier at anyone in my life than I was with Kimmy. How could she do this to Hazel? And that Jay. It had taken every ounce of mellow I could muster not to beat the crap out of him. Fortunately (or not) I had the gift of clairvoyance: meaning I could see myself punching Jay, which would get me in the principal’s office, who would expel me from school, which would lead to my mother’s tears and lectures and then more tears. No thanks. I could do without that inevitable drama. I had to think of a different form of revenge.

  I wasn’t yet sure what that revenge would be, but meanwhile, there was no way I was letting my sister off the hook.

  “Jay, I’ll call you back,” Kimmy said into her iPhone with a wistful tilt of her head. After she hung up, she sighed. Then, leaning back, she fluffed her big, square pillow and proceeded to adjust herself, as if in preparation for a lecture. Before I could speak, she held up her hand. “Look, Felix. I know.”

  “You know what?” My heard thumped. I couldn’t believe how outraged I was on Hazel’s behalf. “She’s your best friend, Kimmy.”

  “I know.” She hung her head down and started to cry.

  “So you do feel bad?”

  “Of course! I never wanted to hurt Hazel! This all happened so fast. We were going to tell her—Jay wanted to break up with her anyway—”

  “Well the proper way to go out with a new person is to break up with the old person first.”

  “I know,” she said. She made a snorting, snotty noise that made me feel almost bad for her.

  “So why’d you do it?”

  “I don’t know. We just were hanging out at this party—Hazel never likes parties—and we started talking, you know, about life and stuff, and we had one beer too many and just sort of—bonded.”

  “Bonded?” I was incredulous. I couldn’t see Jay bonding to anything. Except maybe a barnacle.

  My sister scowled at me. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “How do you expect me to look at you? Did you see Hazel? Did you hear her? She’s a mess over this. Her boyfriend and her best friend?”

  Kimmy continued to cry so hard I eventually chucked a box of tissues at her. It bounced off her knees and landed on her lavender comforter. She plucked a few tissues out and blew her nose daintily.

  “Felix, I just…really like him. I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a long time.”

  I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t say anything else. When Kimmy cried, I just wanted her to stop crying. Better or worse, I couldn’t stand to see people cry, even if I knew they deserved it.

  I’d have to figure out another way to get her to understand that this was wrong.

  “Well, you know you’re going to have to stop seeing him.”

  “What?” The tears stopped for a moment. A slight reprieve.

  “Yes. This can’t go on. It will wreck Hazel.”

  “Felix. I can’t stop seeing him. You don’t understand. This is for real.”

  I didn’t say another word.

  I just saw Hazel’s crushed face.

  Imagined her crestfallen, looking down in the hallways. Cute Hazel. I saw her as a little girl. I remembered when her parakeet, Weather, had died. How she’d been sad for weeks. Crushed even. Forlorn. It had broken my heart to see her without her smile. It wrecked me. I’d ended up scooping a frog out of the creek and giving it to her. She’d named it Kermit and kept it for a week before she set it free. It helped.

  But what would be a Kermit-fix for this?

  Things were much simpler at seven than seventeen, but I’d think of something. I had to.

  Chapter Five

  Hazel

  Venus, thus being offended, was forced to commission Cupid to work for her revenge.

  Even though I never cut class, ever (I had perfect attendance—even making dentist appointments on Saturdays, much to my mother’s chagrin), that day, I’d cut class.

  I’d run out of the caf, off the grounds, and ran and ran and ran until I collapsed, exhausted, by the side of the creek on the dry, graveling rock bed where we’d fished for tadpoles as kids. I hugged my scraped-up knees into my chest and cried until I could cry no more.

  When I could finally breathe, it was hours later and classes were long over. I sagged home and faced my mom, who’d no doubt gotten a call from school when I’d disappeared. I put off her questions by telling her I was sick, and I guess even if she didn’t believe me, she knew something had to be bad for her Miss Routine daughter to skip class.

  I tried to get past her and go straight to my bedroom, but she cared too much not to at least ask…

  “What’s wrong?”

  I hated bothering my mom with emotional things. Ever since my dad died, she’d been so fragile. The smallest thing made her well up with tears. She was so happy I’d found Jay, and Jay was so easy for me, too. I mean before. He was so predictable. Well, he used to be so predictable, anyway. That’s why our relationship worked on my end. He was always there. No question. I never needed to worry about the rug being swept out from under me again. So much for trusting that logic. Ugh.

  I couldn’t dump this on her. I just couldn’t.

  At least not until I felt good enough to talk without breaking into tears. Maybe I could come up with some dumb lie like this was all for the best so she wouldn’t be so upset about my heart being broken again. (My dad’s passing being the first.)

  If I’d been thinking straight, I would have washed my face at the park bathroom and waited until the puffy flush went down before coming home. Instead, I had to hope she bought whatever I said.

  “Nauseous.”

  It was true. I’d never felt this sick in all my life.

  Mom sprang to fix-it action. This was something she could help with without falling apart herself. Relief spread over her face, and I was glad about the little white lie.

  “Oh no,” she said. “Want some Tums? Or Advil? Or Tums and Advil? I think I may have some Pepto, too. Or I can run to the store? I’m not sure if the Tums are expired. When was the last time we had Tums?”

  “No. I’m okay.”

  She looked disappointed and suddenly way too inquisitive again.

  “Actually, maybe two Advil and a glass of cold water,” I amended.

  “Definitely have that. Be right back.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” After a quick, forced smile, I avoided eye contact. If I looked at her, the tears would waterfall all over again, and I needed to be alone to begin to process this whole mess.

  If I let her help with something concrete, she’d leave me be.

  Sure enough, she brought me two bark-colored Advil, a tall glass of cool water, and a banana on a tray.

  She set it on the foot of my bed. “Let me know if you’d like the other three-quarter of the BRAT.”

  “Will do.”

  BRAT diet: Bananas, rice, applesauce, and toast.

  The cure-all, according to mom, for the stomach flu.

  This was the same kind of earth-shattering event, and even though I realized no one’s rule book of life would ever compare a death and a breakup, this was something else. This was a betrayal. It burned like an arrow to the heart, and it didn’t stop burning.

  I cried for what must’ve been six hours that night. I cried until there were no more tears. And I threw things. Pillows, old stuffed animals, framed pictures of the two of us at the wall. I broke things. As I picked up a frame that had fallen to bits on the floor, I studied Jay’s smile. He looked genuinely happy with his arm around me. We were at Homecoming. He was wearing a dark blue s
uit and looked so snazzy. I was wearing a light blue dress that complemented his suit. I was smiling. Glowing even.

  What went wrong?

  I reread old love letters.

  I listened to our songs.

  When had he stopped loving me and started loving her?

  The crushed pieces of my heart banged around in my chest when I reluctantly entered the school grounds the next day. As I walked down the halls, I tried to deflect peoples’ “helpful” smiles at me. Those sad, aren’t you pathetic grins. Like the way volunteers look at wheelchair-bound old people that sit in nursing homes and no one comes to visit other than kids looking for something to put on their college applications. Everyone knows that smile. It’s the I’m-sorry-your-life-is-so-sucky smile.

  I looked at the ground and avoided everyone’s eyes.

  One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. I knew this routine. It was how I got through the days, then weeks, then months following my dad’s death.

  It was all I could do to move forward, but I had no choice.

  In class, I didn’t participate like I normally did. I just wanted to avoid the kids, the smiles, the questions.

  I had a plan. Get through today.

  Then get through tomorrow.

  And then get through the day after that, swallowing this lump of sadness down every ten seconds. Feeling it re-swell, threatening to close my throat again and again.

  I tried to breathe, and almost succeeded. But then I heard the bell ring. Which meant one thing.

  Lunchtime.

  No.

  The time of day I was dreading most.

  The caf. The now-horrid place where the pieces of my heart lay broken in a pile on the floor. Could I really go back in there? Well, yeah. I would. Because as much as Jay and Kimmy had hurt me, I wasn’t going to eat my lunch in the bathroom stall the way people do in teen movies.

  I would eat normally, and then leave proudly.

  And then I’d cry later, when no one was around to hear me or comfort me.

  It was a solid plan.

  (As long as I didn’t puke.)

  But as soon as I rounded the corner, I smelled the caf and almost tossed up the nothing I’d had for breakfast. Emotional distress was the most painful kind. I’d take the flu, hell, I’d take malaria over this.

  My eyes fell on the two of them, Jay and Kimmy. It wasn’t like yesterday.

  They didn’t look happy.

  They looked distraught. Guilty. Guiltily distraught. Their heads were close together, and they were talking seriously. People were looking at them and starting to notice me. A hush grew over the caf as people connected the dots. They’d gotten a scene yesterday, and they’d likely get another one today. I could almost hear the virtual popcorn popping in their heads as they lay in wait, like bulging eyed crocodiles on riverbanks, waiting for the innocent to put themselves in danger.

  “Don’t worry, Baze,” a low familiar voice breezed into my ear. “I got this.”

  “Felix?” I blinked, a warm comfort melting into my belly in such a fast rush that it made me gasp.

  He looked me dead-on, his eyes vibrant with mischief. “It’s the perfect revenge, Baze. I cooked it up last night. You have to play along, though.”

  “Play along?” I could barely speak, never mind play along. Play along with what?

  “You’ll see.”

  That warm comfort turned cold. “Oh, God. I don’t like the sound of this.”

  “Trust me, Baze.”

  I nodded. Not sure why I nodded, but I nodded.

  Trust me, Baze.

  Felix grabbed my hand and pulled me through the gasping crowd.

  Saltwater-smelling, loose, and confident Felix James pulled zombie-stiff, shell-shocked me through the packed crowd. When we reached Jay and Kimmy, he put his arm around me and pulled me close.

  The perfect revenge?

  What did that mean?

  What was his plan?

  His arm was a straitjacket, and I was drugged out of my mind. “Remember, just go along with it,” he whispered softly in my ear. “I promise this will be awesome.”

  Go along with…what exactly? I blinked.

  Trust Felix James? He’d never completed a revenge plan in his life!

  He pinched me. I frowned. He lifted an eyebrow and glanced at Kimmy and Jay. Apparently it was Action Time.

  “Have I told you how great you look today, Hazel?” Felix James oozed in the low, sultry tone I’d heard him use over and over with his Barbie Flock of Fans. “I love those new jeans.” He hooked his index finger and thumb through the belt loop of my jeans, and I could tell he was saying this loud enough for Jay and Kimmy to hear.

  Felix James thought I looked great?

  Felix James liked my jeans?

  Go along with it, Felix had said.

  Trust me, Felix had urged. And his tone told me I could.

  I glanced at the two cheater jerkos, and they were both staring up at us. Dumbfounded.

  To be honest, I was struggling to follow along, too.

  Was Felix pretending like he had a crush on me?

  “You do?” I asked incredulously.

  He gave me a hard look. It only lasted a second, but I got the message. He’d said he had a plan.

  It was like I could hear him in my mind.

  Come on, Baze. Trust and all will be revealed.

  “Oh yeah,” he said. “Are they Hudsons?”

  I almost blurted out they were 501s I’d found at the thrift shop, but he was very convincing.

  I froze.

  The very idea of Felix James crushing on me. Or liking my jeans. It was just hilarious. Even in my devastated state, the thought made me smile. And made me want to play along just to find out what in the world he was up to.

  He shrugged. “And now that you’re single, well, I figure it’s my chance to ask you out.”

  “Ask me out?”

  “Yes. I’ve always wanted to,” he said loudly, “but you’ve always been with Jay. So what do you think?” I enjoyed his emphasis on Jay, as if he was saying Donald Trump. Everyone hated Donald Trump.

  Felix waggled his eyebrows.

  I couldn’t say anything, so, with his hand on the side of my hip(!), he continued on. “I know, I know, my timing is horrible, but I know that soon you’ll be so in demand by all of Sunny Cove High’s other gentlemen callers. I have to try now or lose my chance.” He moved his hand from my hip and rested both hands on my shoulders. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to say anything now.”

  I glanced at Jay, who was looking at me…not with pity…but with jealousy.

  He didn’t want me to say yes to Felix.

  Kimmy looked confused. Then mad. Then confused and mad.

  She didn’t want me to, either.

  Now I got it.

  Now I loved it.

  Felix had a plan.

  It was a revenge plan.

  If Felix and I liked each other. If we pretended to go out. This would hurt Jay and Kimmy almost as much as they’d hurt me.

  Felix James, you’re a genius!

  I almost threw my arms around his neck as we caught eyes and smiled wickedly at each other. It was working.

  I saw Jay with his hands in Kimmy’s hair. I saw all of our memories—me and Kimmy’s, me and Jay’s—rewinding through time. All the kisses, all the laughs, all the presents, all the scenes. Scenes like in a movie, rewinding and then erasing. Deleted scenes in a movie. All disappearing. I had no best friend. I had no boyfriend.

  Felix James looped a finger through my belt loop, and everything flipped upside down and backward. Again. Felix James was standing there, with me. With me. Arm flopped easily around my shoulder like I was his.

  I was slowly coming to, about to reject this zany idea and flee for the bathroom, where I could properly lock myself in a stall and cry on the toilet seat, when, through the saltwater tears, I caught Jay and Kimmy’s dumbstruck expressions, and I realized t
he best revenge I could muster was to stand there and reach down, down, down into my core for those acting skills I’d worked so hard on and wholeheartedly act out this zany script of Felix’s.

  “I’m glad you said something, Felix,” I said, clearing the emotion out of my throat and trying my best to replace it with a flirty-actress voice. “I’ve always liked you, too, and now we can finally act on it.”

  He blinked as if pleasantly surprised by my reaction.

  Resting my palm on his chest, I squeezed my eyes closed like the actresses do on my favorite CW shows. And then, praying to the Purell gods I wouldn’t get herpes from what I was about to do, I tipped my head back, got up on my tiptoes—Felix was a whole head taller than Jay—and hungrily kissed his eager-acting mouth.

  Meow.

  Chapter Six

  Felix

  I was not expecting that.

  Hazel’s arms around my neck, then her fingers scraping through my hair like I was her favorite sandy beach. Girl could kiss, too—soft at first, and then this crazy hunger. I kissed her back. Of course I kissed her back. If the kiss was the gift, then the look on Jay’s d-bag face was the frickin’ lottery. At the time, I didn’t even care that she didn’t mean it. That she was just using me to get even. What shocked me most was how much I enjoyed it. Who knew revenge could be so fun?

  You know that expression, Mouth gaping open? Well, dude’s mouth was literally gaping open. If I wanted to check—which I definitely did not—I’d bet his little white tennis pants were full of his own…

  “What the hell? Are you kidding me?” My sister, now standing up, hands on hips, looked like she was the one being slighted. Being cheated on. The nerve of my sis never failed to surprise me. The look on her face was so worth this.

  Revenge was already working.

  Us: 1.

  Them: Well, I guess they also had a 1.

  But we were catching up thanks to my plan and Hazel’s surprising willingness to go along with said plan. I was still reeling from that kiss.

  “What?” I echoed with faux nonchalance. Those theater courses were really paying off.

  Hazel was still semi-hanging on to me like a cute koala bear, and when she made no move to unclench herself from my grasp, I casually turned her toward them (she was a bit limp and red-cheeked—natural, considering I’m a helluva good kisser) and kept my arm firmly around her shoulders to keep her from going completely limp.