Page 87 of Okay, Cupid

“Neve, are you going to the Valentine’s Day dance?” I ask, giving Alice the change of topic that she’s been searching for.

“I’ve worked on that stupid heart-shaped disco ball in art for a month now, I’m not missing the dance.”

“I thought we were gonna watch movies?” Alice asks, her voice lower, almost as if I wasn’t supposed to be privy to this conversation.

“I told you I wanted to go. Jude, are you going?”

“I think so.” I kind of have to, don’t I?

“You gonna ask anyone?”

I freeze. “Why would I?”

“Because it’s a Valentine’s dance.” Neve says this like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You should ask someone.”

“Who are you going with?” I ask.

Neve turns to Alice, and from under the table, she takes Alice’s hand, showing it to me. “Alice, of course.”

“Do I really have to?” Alice whines.

“Come on, you know how hard I’ve been working on these decorations. I want to enjoy the actual dance.”

“But no one goes to these things,” Alice tells her. “Dances are overrated.”

“They’re fun,” Neve tells her. “And we already have a bunch of tickets sold. So, we’re going. And you’re going to look cute and you’re going to have a good time.”

It doesn’t sound like a request.

“Fiiiiiiine. You owe me.”

“Good girl.” Neve pats Alice’s hand. “And now we just need to find Jude someone.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” I tell her.

“Come on, you’ve been at school for a few weeks now. No one’s caught your fancy?”

“Ew.” Alice sticks her tongue out. “Don’t call it ‘fancy.’ You’re not a grandmother.”

Neve rolls her eyes, but Alice doesn’t notice. “So, no one? Not a soul?”

“No,” I tell her. Certainly not anyone at this school, and definitely not this boy at the neighboring table with nice hair and sweet brown eyes. Not a boy with an oddly compulsive need to collect a dead medium of music, who loves a weird movie about Muppets.

Not the boy who loves to bake and play soccer with his friends on the weekends. Not the boy who is meant for someone else, who I’ve been tasked to help find his actual one true love.

I look at Neve, and I swallow hard.

“There’s no one.”

• • •

When I get home later, the house is totally empty. The only evidence that Leah’s been home is a note on the refrigerator door.

Gone for the night on a job—don’t wait up!

So, I’m alone. Again.

You know, usually I might appreciate that. I used to love these nights alone, having the house to myself, watching whatever I wanted, listening to music without my headphones on, practicing makeup or going through my closet. On bolder nights, I’d venture out into the city, go to Japantown or the Castro and just walk around, people watch. Or text Cal, see if he wanted to hang out, get dinner, go somewhere, or watch a movie or something.