The Cupid Touch

The Cupid Touch Chapter 2 - Meeting the Enemy

"Ah, I - I am so sorry."

I heard him say it, but I was too busy trying not to fall over to look at him. Those footballs look soft, but when they hit you in the face, they hurt. You probably already know this. I'm just saying that I had an excuse for both a) staggering and grabbing hold of a student's chair-back, and for b) swearing at the new boy eighteen times in around thirty seconds.

"That's probably fair," he said, after he'd eventually managed to scramble over to me. He bent down to look at me, but I turned away to hide the watering in my eyes. "Eesh. You have a really big red mark on your cheek..."

It's funny how in that kind of situation the pain makes you really angry, but also makes you feel a lot like crying. Or maybe it's just me. Anyway, it was the worst kind of reaction in front of a whole cafeteria full of students, particularly when most of them were sufficiently into sports to be have experienced way worse. Having attention drawn to the stinging red mark was not helping, but there was no way I was crying in front of them. I went all-out angry instead. 

"If you don't stop talking,"  I said to the football star, holding my hand over my cheek, "I'm going to put that ball somewhere unmentionable." 

And I turned to look at him. 

The feeling was almost as physical as that blow to the head. He was hot, like Fiona had said, but more than that, he was just the kind of hot that I always seem to find attractive. That lean, muscular, slightly dangerous-looking kind of guy with a smile that was just a little bit uncertain, and as sexy as his green-eyed gaze was piercing. And there was a tension to him that implied he was holding something back. 

I didn't see which one of the guys it was who muttered, "Watch it. She'll probably do it." 

It was definitely the footballer who replied, "Maybe I won't risk it." I could tell because he said it straight at me, quietly. 

I'm normally good at comebacks. I mean, I'm not a genius at them, but I'd found that years of snapping retorts at people - mainly guys - had made me pretty decent at firing back something withering. I even represented my school at debating for three years, which is a pretty good way of being smart-talking. 

But right then, when I was in genuine need of something genius, my mind was a total blank. Worse than that, I could feel my face starting to grow hot as I did nothing but stare back at him for several seconds.

I had to get out of there, and so I muttered the lamest, "Maybe you shouldn't," and spun and walked away. 

I heard him asking someone, "Who's she?" when I was halfway to the door.

I also heard them answer, "Oh, don't even bother."

Yup, don't bother, I willed him, shoving my tray away and escaping through the swing-doors. It would be bad news for at least one of us. 

I don't know if you've ever been ditched by your best friend in favour of a love interest, but if you haven't, it's worth knowing that it's not all that different from breaking up with someone, and both of them are strangely like grieving. You spend the first few days instinctively checking your phone for a text from them, and then wonder what it is that you're checking for. And every so often, you think of something you'd love to tell them about before you remember that you can't talk to them any more. 

Every time you remember, it's a little bit like tripping up. Your heart-beat picks up, and you feel jolted; almost scared. And then you carry on walking, a little bit sadder about the world.

Those days are lonely, and make you veer between hiding yourself away, and wanting to reach out to people. In my case, I generally end up phoning my Mom. Which means she generally expects me to have some kind of heartache to spill.