Okay, Cupid by Mason Deaver

Okay, Cupid by Mason Deaver

Author:Mason Deaver [Deaver, Mason]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2024-01-02T00:00:00+00:00


“Impromptu sleepover tonight?” Cal asks as we step out onto the front steps of the school, leaving the event. It’s gotten so cold out, and I was stupid enough to leave my coat at home.

“Is it still impromptu if we plan it?” I ask.

Cal sticks his tongue out at me. “Semantics.”

“I can’t,” I tell him. “I, uh … homework.”

“You don’t have to do your homework,” he says. “It’ll be fun! We’ll watch Nobbing Hill.”

“I’m serious, Cal. And it’s Notting Hill.”

“Maybe Be My Always? You love that one.”

I don’t even bother to correct him on the title this time. I just say, “Not tonight.”

“Okay, okay. Text me when you’re home?”

“Yeah.” I nod. It’s late enough that Cal doesn’t want to take the buses, so he orders a Lyft instead, and I wait the five minutes outside with him until it arrives.

“Love you,” he says as he gets in the car, then blows me a kiss through the air.

“Love you too.” The words feel so shallow to say out loud.

Cal might not want to ride the bus this late at night, but I don’t mind, especially with how quiet it tends to get. But before I do that, I just want a moment to myself. I walk back toward the school, taking my seat again on the front steps. It’s cold, but after sitting in the chill for a few minutes, it’s starting to feel nice. Sure, maybe I can’t feel my fingers, but who needs fingers?

I should feel good about tonight. I should feel proud of myself.

It’s not an easy feat to get two people to repair a relationship the way that Huy and Alice did. And sure, they probably still have a ways to go in terms of figuring out what this friendship looks like now, but that’s why I’m here, to help clean up the messy ends that are left over.

Half my job is done.

The next half is for them to admit their feelings for each other, to reignite that spark that they once had. And sure, a middle school romance can’t compare to a high school one. Hormones are running higher, and they’re old enough to know that a relationship is more than just holding hands and passing notes in class. Not that those aren’t instrumental parts, don’t get me wrong, but this time we’ll be going for something more real.

And then I’m done.

Just like that.

There will be some sort of grand gesture at the dance. I can probably pay the DJ to play a special song … the lights will come down … maybe I can arrange it so that they’re the only ones on the dance floor …

A love story for the ages.

Wouldn’t that be perfect?

I can feel the tears welling up before I have a chance to stop them. I put my fist to my mouth, biting softly to distract myself, to give myself anything to do other than sit here and wallow in my own misery. I don’t want to cry; I shouldn’t be crying over a boy.



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