Not Okay, Cupid

by Heidi R. Kling

  I swallowed the annoying emotion that crept into my throat at the thought of her driving away, waving to me in her rearview mirror. The thought of her blowing me a kiss. Then the thought of her…

  Wait. Huh? I pulled my truck into the lot of the point and saw a Jeep that was undeniably Hazel’s. That unmistakable I <3 SUNNYSIDE COAST and SAVE OUR SHORES bumper stickers.

  Maybe she was reading at picnic tables or something.

  This lot was pretty well reserved for surfers, so it struck me as incredibly odd that her Jeep would be parked here. I left my surfboard behind and headed over to the cliffs. The sun was incredibly bright, so I slipped on my shades and peered out. To my dismay, both in my hunt for Hazel and in my selfish quest to surf myself, I discovered a copious number of surfers bobbing up and down in the sea like little buoys.

  Outside of a lone homeless dude packing and repacking his backpack, the picnic tables were void of people. Strange. Where could Hazel be?

  I scanned the bobbing surfers again.

  Wait. There was one… From the shape of the rider, I could see she was female.

  I took a few more steps toward the edge of the point and leaned against the rail.

  I’ve always had a thing for girl surfers. And this one had me going quick. Maybe my crazy obsession with Hazel was finally over.

  I couldn’t make out her face, but I could see the board. Orange with aqua stripes. It looked oddly familiar, like I’d seen it in a photo somewhere. Oh yeah, in Kimmy’s room. On her board. I’d never asked her about it, but I’d always wondered why my sister, who had zero interest in surfing even though she’d lived in a beach town here whole life, had it up on her board.

  The colors were so pretty together, the tangerine and aqua, which I always found myself staring at it. And here it was again. Live and in person.

  And now that I knew what to look for, I knew it was her. I could recognize Hazel’s hair, Hazel’s face, Hazel’s grace from a mile away.

  She sat on her surfboard in the water, waiting for her turn to catch a wave. But man, that water…it was choppy. A mess. And I know she’s able to take care of herself, but she wouldn’t be the first person to get caught unaware in water much messier than she’d anticipated.

  Then I saw the huge wave headed right toward her. I’m a great surfer. Not trying to be cocky, but in our little town, I’m probably the best. And even I’d be nervous if that monster was coming toward me.

  Maybe she’d be fine. Maybe I’d laugh and duck back in the water so that she never knew I was there.

  But if I wasn’t? If she was about to be in trouble?

  I took off into the water and went after her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Hazel

  I hit the shark as hard as I could.

  I couldn’t really see it. Just felt it slam into my board, so I punched and punched and—

  “Hazel! Stop hitting me!”

  Sharks can talk?

  I jerked back and saw Felix James holding his bleeding nose.

  Bleeding nose!

  Blood could bring on a real shark frenzy.

  Oh my God, Felix? What was he doing here? And staring down at me no less, blood gushing from his once-perfect nose, his face bathed in sunset colors of pinks and oranges—the majestic sunset that had blinded me to his true form.

  “Felix?”

  My first thought? Thank God Felix isn’t a great white shark!

  My second thought: Felix saw me surfing!

  Felix knew my secret…and now it wasn’t a secret anymore.

  But my third thought?

  My third was a slow smile. If anyone had to know my secret, I’d want it to be him.

  I shrugged my shoulders guiltily and apologized. “I’m so, so, so, so sorry, Felix.”

  He waded back a little in the water, holding on to his board with one hand while he rubbed his aching nose with the other. “I know I’m not your favorite person in the world, but punching me repeatedly in the face? I was just trying to help you.”

  “Help me?”

  “Yeah. I saw you from up top and you looked like you were about to get caught in a rip.”

  “Oh. Yeah. The riptide.”

  “So I hopped on my board and headed out to try and help. I thought you saw me. I waved from up on the rails.”

  “Oh, Felix, you’re gushing blood.” I reached out and wiped the stringy red liquid from his face. “We need to get you to shore.”

  He rejected my offer to help him. (He was Felix James, after all.) But once we were on the shore, he did let me nurse his bloody nose with my rainbow-striped towel.

  “Make sure you use the red stripe,” he said.

  “Hush, you.”

  I felt absolutely horrible.

  “Oh gosh, it’s still bleeding,” I said. “Let’s sit down.”

  He protested for a second, but then he let me take his big hand and pull him down to the sand, where I continued to squeeze the bridge of his nose. I was practically in his lap, leaning over him and squeezing. I watched his breath go in and out of his black wet suit.

  “Who knew the most dangerous thing in the water would be you, Baze,” he said, joking.

  “How can you be so nice about this?” I asked him. “Jay would’ve freaked out. He wouldn’t have talked to me for a week.”

  “It was an accident,” Felix said with a shrug. “It’s not like you were purposefully trying to beat me to a pulp and leave me as shark bait.”

  “Still. Jay wouldn’t have understood that. He’d probably already be on the phone with his plastic surgeon ordering a consultation for his nariz.”

  “When are you going to realize the guy was a total and utter douchebag, my friend?”

  My friend.

  He looked at me so sweetly, Felix James, with his bright eyes and swollen nose.

  “You were trying to help me?” I asked, suddenly shy.

  Felix James had been watching me. He’d thought I was in danger, and then there he’d been, scurrying effortlessly down the rocks.

  Just like in the cafeteria. Think what you want about Felix, he had a protector side to him that no one could deny.

  “Indeed. I thought you were having trouble.”

  He squinted his eyes shut, pretending to scrutinize me.

  “Who knew you could surf.”

  “Well. It’s kind of a secret.”

  He whistled, this time like it was me who’d dropped a bomb. “Well, well, well. I see the cat’s out of the bag.”

  “Was the cat ever really in the bag to begin with though?” I asked.

  “Right?” He nodded. “It’s such a weird expression.”

  “Who put a cat in a bag in the first place?”

  “Does it harken back to the days where insane people drowned cats and whole litters of kittens?”

  “I don’t know, but I read about that in a book when I was a little kid and had nightmares about rocks and kittens sinking to the bottom of a swampy lake.”

  “Wasn’t that in a movie we saw once?”

  “Maybe?”

  We went on like this for a while about the cat in the bag. He seemed like he was in a very good mood. Or maybe he was just excited about catching me doing something that wasn’t Typically Hazel. Part of my Hazel Agenda.

  And then he admitted just that.

  “I had no idea you surfed, Baze. Seriously, zero idea. How in the world have you been hiding this from Felix, Surf King all these years?”

  “Why do you assume it’s been years?”

  “Those moves? They don’t happen overnight. I watched you down there. You’re good.”

  “Thanks,” I said, surprised by his generous praise. “That means a lot coming from you.”

  “Why, cuz you still think I’m a d-bag?”

  “No! Because you’re an awesome surfer.”

  “Thanks, kid.”

  “It’s true! You don’t think you’re a great surfer? Come on. You’re renowned as being one of the best at the point, if not t
he entire city.”

  “Now you’re just mocking me.”

  “Felix!” I slugged him. “Just say thank you when someone pays you a compliment.”

  “Thank you,” he said bashfully.

  “Gimme a break.”

  I slugged him again.

  He laughed.

  And then he told me about the fight he’d had with his mom and his sister. Well, it was mostly a fight between him and Kimmy, and it was mostly about me. And Jay and the whole mess.

  “It sucks so bad that things are so…messy right now,” I said, turning away from his earnest listening face and looking out at the sea.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But at least you have me?”

  I nodded. “For now, anyway.”

  “For now?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure once they’re jealous enough and the revenge is complete, you’ll be back to your girlfriends and I’ll just be your sister’s ex-best friend.”

  “Basil. I’m ashamed at you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being so whiny.”

  “Huh?”

  Something flickered in his eyes, gone too fast for me to be sure what it was.

  “Surfer girls never whine,” he said.

  “You know, I really do hate you.”

  “Oh yeah. I can tell.”

  I elbowed him. I’m not sure when my eight-year-old self conspired to take over my body and force me into this increasingly infantile physical assault for the offended behavior—I figured it happened somewhere along the time Felix the Swine became Felix the Savior? —but it was bad, bad, bad, and now I wanted to stomp on his flip-flop-laden toes and listen to his squeal.

  But instead, I tried to be a grown-up. Or at least a version of a seventeen-year-old future college student, present-day straight-A student and apparently awesome surfer girl. I scrunched my mouth in his direction and shook my head like a dog after a romp in the waves, and we stood there watching each other for a beat. Then he suggested we go back up the trail and grab a coffee before heading home.

  “You know. So people can see us out and about,” he added, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying to snuff the silly grin building on his annoyingly handsome face.

  “Right. Need to keep up the ruse,” I pointed out.

  “Exactly.” He mimicked my scrunched-up expression, and I wanted to hit him with something, but this time it wouldn’t be with my fist, it would be something else. “The ruse.”

  I stood on my tiptoes and gave him a quick little kiss on the mouth.

  “What was that for?” he said in a low, surprised voice that didn’t sound entirely unhappy.

  I smiled. “There are a lot of surfers out there. Someone is bound to be watching.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Felix

  When I got back home, things were thankfully quiet. Mom was passed out asleep in her bedroom. Kimmy was asleep in hers.

  I opened the fridge, bathing the dark kitchen in an eerie horror-moviesque light. After pulling out the key ingredients, I made a giant turkey, cheese, tomato, and lettuce sandwich, poured a tall glass of milk, and, after grabbing a handful of nuts to go with it, sat down at the kitchen table with the funky, sticky-mango-print tablecloth and ate in the dark.

  And thought.

  Thought about Hazel.

  Hazel who surfed!

  I’d had no idea.

  Clearly, I really never knew Hazel at all. The Hazel I thought I knew had a one-track mind: school. Well, two-track if you considered Jay. Three if you threw my sister into the mix, but I digress.

  Hazel surfed! We had this…huge thing in common. I wondered if she’d want to go out surfing with me sometime. I mean, beyond fulfilling the whole Revenge Plot. Just like, for fun. Maybe even after the dance was over, and we’d stuck it to Jay and Kimmy, surfing would be something we could still do together.

  After I ate, I showered, jumped in my now too-small twin bed, and tried to sleep. Normally I had no problem, but tonight I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t relax. I just saw her up on that wave, confidently zooming toward the shore. I saw her over and over and over, coming at me faster and faster until I must’ve finally fallen asleep, because only in my dreams was I free to kiss her for real.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hazel

  Five Days Before Valentine’s Day

  I woke up feeling like I was still bobbing up and down in the waves, waiting for my turn to ride. My stomach was seriously funky.

  At the breakfast table, I could barely nibble at my oatmeal—I picked at my blueberries—and the smell of my soy latte made me queasy.

  What was going on? I rubbed my aching head.

  Was it Jay? Felix?

  Kimmy? All of the above? Ugh. All of the above.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have gone out surfing last night… It had been too much. And then I couldn’t sleep. I just lay there, staring up at my ceiling, counting my unlucky stars.

  This was uncharacteristic of me. I was never one to feel sorry for myself.

  That wasn’t my M.O. (as Mom would say, short for modus operandi in life. I was a pick-myself-up-and-move-on type. I wasn’t perfect, but I was a hard worker).

  I’d worked hard getting over the loss of my dad.

  I’d worked hard on my relationship with Jay.

  I’d worked hard on my relationship with Kimmy.

  I was a good girlfriend and a good friend.

  Wasn’t I?

  “Here, sweetheart,” Mom said, putting two Advil down on my yellow farm table napkin. We only used reusable napkins. “You look like you’re about to brain someone. I sure hope it isn’t me.”

  “Brain someone?”

  “You have a zombie glow.”

  “Great. Now I look like a zombie. No wonder Jay dumped me for Perfectly Coiffed Kimmy,” I groaned, flopping my loose-necked heavy head on my hands and groaning.

  “Brainzzzz…” Mom stuck her arms out and started zombie-ing around the kitchen, cracking herself up.

  “Stooooop. I feel even sicker when I laugh.”

  “If I didn’t know you better, I’d guess you were hung-over. Did you eat something weird?”

  “I don’t think so. I haven’t slept very well the last couple of nights, though.”

  Mom pulled up a chair next to me and patted my hand. “Do you want to stay home from school today, sweetie? Get some rest? Maybe you need to take a personal day.”

  I grinned. Mom always let me take a “mental health day” when I needed one. Kids need to recharge as much as grown-ups do, sweetie—maybe even more so. Now that I was in high school and taking AP classes, she was hyper aware of all the stress high school kids placed on themselves.

  And I was one of those classic high-achievers with mellow parent formulas. I was even harder on myself since my dad had died. It was just Mom and me. I didn’t have a sibling to lean on. It was just me.

  And even if she didn’t say I had to get straight A’s…

  Even if she didn’t punish me for a C+ or any of these other things stress-riddled parents did…

  I saw how proud…no, how relieved she was when I did well. Mom was a widow. The better I did in life, the less I’d depend on her.

  I understood this.

  She had enough weight on her shoulders; I wanted to be light as feathers: a tickle, not a heavy pack weighing her down.

  So I couldn’t disappoint her. And I couldn’t disappoint myself, either. As bad as I felt, I was resigned to go to school. More than that. Those little feelings I’d had for Felix? They’d have to be fuel for the revenge plan.

  My independence was at stake here. If I couldn’t stand up and give it to Jay and Kimmy the way they deserved, it’d be like a sign for everything else that would happen. I’d never know I could stand up to bullies and cheaters and backstabbing best friends.

  For me—for mistreated women everywhere—I had to be okay. I had to do this.

  “No, I’m okay. I’ll just take it easy. Maybe you co
uld just write me a note and get me out of PE, I think that would help.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Mom gave me a little kiss on my head, and then she scribbled a note on a bright yellow Post-it. The bright colors in our kitchen were on purpose. Cheery colors equals cheery day. It was important for us to get a good start every day. We even had a little lemon tree in the corner, and Mom always had freshly cut flowers (daffodils or sunflowers) on the kitchen table. I appreciated all she did to push away the darkness and the void Dad had left behind, but sometimes all the cheer made me feel worse.

  I swallowed the ibuprofen and thanked Mom for the note. The pills swirled down my throat when I remembered something else that was happening today: Valentine’s Day Dance invitations. Stupid Cupid.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Felix

  No matter what else was going on, I was always up for eating.

  No matter what we were having for breakfast, if Mom cooked it, I knew I’d be leaving early for school.

  Except I hate to hurt her feelings. Sometimes you just gotta eat it.

  I love her, so you can see my conflict.

  “Are you okay?” Ma asked while trying to feed me runny-queasy scrambled eggs. This was the reason I started cooking to be honest. Ma, as hard as she tried, and how decent she was as a human being, was a terrible cook. No. Terrible was too kind a word. She was a horrendous cook. I’m surprised Kimmy and I survived on her culinary experiments into teenhood, really.

  Her eggs were always overcooked, and in an effort to make more of them—her water into wine trick— she used “this great technique” of dumping an extra cup of milk into the egg yolks and whites, and often she added a few of those cheap processed American cheese slices. And then she wouldn’t leave them in the pan long enough to melt.

  So we’d sit down to breakfast with this bowl of runny, half-cooked yolks mixed with one-inch chunks of processed cheese. I wondered even then as a wee kid if it didn’t melt all the way because it was fake cheese. We only used real cheddar now. That melted fine, contrary to popular opinion, though I preferred other kinds of soft cheese. But in eggs, I didn’t like added cheese or milk in my eggs at all. A simple Google search of online recipes agreed with me—straight-up farm fresh eggs, the brighter the yolk the better—and you were good to go.