Page 9 of Okay, Cupid

“Technically The Devil Wears Prada isn’t a rom-com,” I clarify.

Cal stands up, snatching the empty glass off the table and dumping the contents into a bin near the trash can before he leaves it at the counter nearby; then he waves over to me, smile bright on his face. “Are you coming or not? We’re going to the Uuuuuuuuuuuuniqlo.” He sings it like he knows the key to my heart.

I feel so tired and energized at the same time. Cal’s infectious, even when I don’t want him to be. So, really … I can’t say no.

“I’m looking for a new skirt anyway.” I stand, grabbing my own bag.

“Atta they-them!” Cal wraps his arm around my neck and pulls me in close. “See? Things aren’t so bad.”

We take the 38R all the way downtown, where Cal is meeting this boy after school. I insist that I can hang out at the food court until Cal is done, working on what I’m going to say to Leah and Richard, but Cal is insistent.

“I could use your help here,” he tells me.

So before this boy gets to the Uniqlo where they’re meant to meet, I’m supposed to go in, browse, and find the girl that we’re here for. Cal doesn’t give me directions; he simply tells me to improvise.

“Cal, I don’t know about this,” I tell him as we pretend to look through the table filled with oversized T-shirts at the front of the store. If I mess up Cal’s assignment, I don’t know what I’ll do.

“Please, Jude. You’ve got to get back out there one way or another.” He holds a black shirt up to me before deciding that he doesn’t like it. “Plus, you’re obligated to help me, remember?”

Yeah, didn’t need that reminder.

It’s been a part of my probation, to be partnered with Cal on multiple assignments of his. Richard thought it would be good for me.

Cal nudges me when the guy approaches. He’s tall and broad, built like a football player, with closely cropped hair. You’d never imagine that someone like Cal would ever be friends with a guy like him. Cal stands only a few inches taller than me—though he’ll never let me forget those few inches—and since he’s more of a fan of the sun than I am, he’s more tan, with thick-rimmed black glasses and a nest of hair on top of his head. He’s very Peter Parker in his charms. The Andrew Garfield one.

“What am I supposed to do?” I ask him.

“Come on, Jude. It’s not your first rodeo.” Cal walks away, pretending that he wasn’t just talking to me as he goes up to the guy. The two do some weird secret handshake, and the taller guy wraps an arm around Cal’s shoulder. It’s almost like Cal is a different person. He’s always been better at the acting than me.

I move into the store behind them, going for the girl. Her shiny black hair is done up in a ponytail as she makes sure blouses are properly folded. She looks strong, and when she puts the blouses away, I can read the letters on the front of her styled sweatshirt that spell out O’CONNELL HIGH WRESTLING TEAM.

The nerves are back, my hands getting sweaty.

Why did Cal trust me with this?

I spy two girls walking in with drinks from the smoothie shop in the food court, and a plan begins to form. A little dangerous, sure. But what’s love without the risk of a few broken vertebrae?

I chew on my bottom lip, scooting closer to the girls, waiting for the magical moment when one of them might set their drink down. Cal reads my mind, our eyes meeting as his friend checks out some Uniqlo anime collaboration. We’ll need to get the pieces just right here. A girl is walking toward this section, then stops and puts down her smoothie to check something out. Which means it’s time.

I nod at Cal, and he and the boy start walking toward me. I slip into the aisle, ducking down so I can take the lid off the smoothie and tip it over without anyone noticing. Cal’s keeping our guy’s attention, so he doesn’t notice when an entire strawberry-and-mango puddle spills out onto the floor in front of him. His eyes meet the girl’s just as his feet are stepping into the smoothie.

The floor is pulled out from underneath him, his shoes sliding on the already too-slick surface.

The rest of the exchange plays out in slow motion. Cal hangs back as his friend flies into the air. For a moment, I’m worried that I might’ve just ruined someone’s life. Back injuries are no joke, and landing on this hard floor will undoubtedly do damage. I ready myself, just in case I need to intervene.

But our girl is quick. The blouse in her hand falls to the floor, now stained with strawberry smoothie as she reacts quickly, holding out her arms and grabbing on to her ex-boyfriend, her arms strong enough to support him. In an instant, both of them are standing there, her staring down at him, him staring up at her as he almost floats in her embrace. There’s this beat of shock where neither of them is really sure what to do next. Their gazes linger.

“I slipped,” he eventually says.

She lets out this exasperated but happy breath, a smile on her face. “I can see that.”

“I, uh … Thanks.” Finally standing on his own two feet.

“Just watch out for hazardous smoothie spills in the future,” she says to him. The moment is awkward, but it’s clear from the look on Cal’s face that this is the scene he’s been waiting for. It’s hard to describe when we know we’ve finished our job. There are no actual fireworks or sparks that go off, no message above their heads that reads MISSION COMPLETE.

It’s something internal, unexplainable.

It’s the moment that a manager makes an appearance to check on everyone, asking if anyone was hurt, if everyone is okay. The two of them look at each other, their gazes lingering as if they’re the only two people in this entire store.