Chapter One CHAPTER ONE Cupid Commandment Number 13: For a Cupid, there is nothing more noble than the pursuit of a quality education (except for maybe the pursuit of love). PREPARING FOR THE FIRST day of school is similar to preparing for battle. At least, I think it would be similar to preparing for battle. I haven't actually prepared for battle before, but I imagine that preparing for battle would include plenty of planning, and if I'm known for anything, it's my ability to get things organized. I'm the queen of organization. I already have my bookbag packed according to my class schedule (something we just got last weekend). I have: 1) Five binders (color coded for each of my different classes and filled with paper) 2) A pencil pouch filled with ten already-sharpened pencils, three highlighters, and five pens 3) Two glue sticks 4) Safety scissors 1 5) A pack of fresh note cards Most students at PMS (Paxton Middle School) 2 will not have already gotten their supplies, because technically we won't get our supply lists until the first day, but it's the same supply list every year. It never changes. I imagine that Marie Curie 3 would have always, always been organized. And that is motivation enough to buy my supplies early, even if my best friend, Bruno, says that I will end up being the only one who brings their supplies on the first day. I'm completely fine with that. Except I know that he's wrong. I won't be the only person who will come prepared. I know one other person who will be in class today in freshly pressed khakis and a button-down shirt (Honestly, who dresses like that in middle school? Who dresses like that if you're not a thirty-year-old man?), with all his supplies spread out on the desk in front of him. Trevor Jin will be prepared, more than prepared, but this is going to be my year. This is going to be the year I best Trevor Jin. A soft knock sounds, and my mom opens the door. I don't know why she even knocks. She never actually waits to be told she can come in. Privacy is not something we have in the Johnson household. She leans on the doorframe, smiling at me like a crazed raccoon. She looks absolutely ridiculous in a yellow poodle skirt, her hair pulled up into two poufs on either side of her head. I pull at my blue sweater self-consciously, giving her a withering look. "You're not taking me to school like that." My mom chuckles, coming over and giving me a playful hip bump. "Why not? It's a lot of fun. I'm getting into character. My newest heroine 4 is a love-shy girl carhop 5 who loves a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. You know getting into character helps me to write." I roll my eyes. "That's Grease . You're literally just writing the plot to Grease ." My mom scrunches up her nose, sticking her tongue out at me. Honestly, sometimes I forget who the adult is in this house. "The client is always right, Erin." "Whatever," I mumble, slinging on my backpack and glancing down at my watch. "We're going to be late if we don't hurry." I look at her outfit again, groaning. "Mom, you can't get out of the car looking like that. Please don't get out of the car looking like that." Mom laughs. Actually laughs. Like this wasn't some type of emergency that would tarnish my reputation as a serious student. "Don't worry, peanut," Mom says, dropping a kiss on my forehead. "I won't embarrass you." She pulls playfully on my sweater. "Even though I would be the perfect complement to this grumpy librarian getup." She wiggles her eyebrows at me as I swat her arm. "Better grumpy librarian than over-the-hill sock-hop girl." She snorts and we both laugh. My mom is definitely not over-the-hill. She had me when she was twenty, and she still looks like the living embodiment of some type of goddess. She is all smooth, even dark chestnut skin and perfect ringlet curls, where I'm short (honestly, when will I get a growth spurt?), pale brown (apparently, this is all thanks to my dad), freckled (again, thanks, Dad, whoever you are 6 ), and I have impossible lionlike (reddish-brown) hair that refuses to lie down no matter how much gel I put on it. It really isn't fair that I have such a mismatched appearance, while my mom (who constantly goes out of her way to look like she's an alien from another planet) looks so effortlessly beautiful. "Can you pick up Bruno?" I ask politely, even though I know she is going to pick up Bruno. Bruno's mom is her absolute closest friend in the world. "Duh, of course I will," she responds, ushering me into the kitchen. She pushes a bagel into my hand, a dry bagel with absolutely no cream cheese. Who eats dry bagels? "I'll get them both," my mom responds nonchalantly. I put the bagel up to my mouth, preparing to swallow it down quickly, but I stop when I fully digest what my mother has said. "Both," I say slowly, filling with dread. My mom gives me an uncharacteristically sharp look. "Yes, both, Erin." I groan. That means we're picking up not only Bruno, but also his obnoxious twin brother, Ben. Since our mothers have been best friends for most of their lives, Bruno, Ben, and I were raised together practically as siblings. Our mothers got pregnant with us around the same time, and our birthdays are officially five months apart. So Bruno has always been like a brother to me. We've always been attached at the hip. He is way closer to me than he is to his brother, who is meaner than a rattlesnake at a Fourth of July party. Ben is completely uninterested in me. To him, I'm nothing more than a pesky bothersome fly on the wall. But Ben absolutely loathes Bruno. It wasn't always like this, though. There was a time when Bruno, Ben, and I were all close. But then when Ben and Bruno were eight, their parents got a divorce, 7 and it was like Ben turned into a different person, surly and uncommunicative. It wasn't long before Bruno and I stopped hanging out with Ben. Ben can't understand how he and Bruno are even siblings, much less twins. He picks on Bruno every chance he gets. But when you're a talented lacrosse player with tons of charisma (and very little ambition), you can get away with being mean, especially when you're mean to your twin brother who doesn't own clothes in any color other than black. Even though I typically carpool with Bruno, for the last two years Ben has been getting rides with his best friend and fellow lacrosse buddy, Xavier. But Xavier recently moved out of state. So, I guess we're now going to be stuck with Ben on morning rides to school. When we pull up to their house, my mom leans on the horn, something that embarrasses me but makes Bruno and Ben's mom come to the door crippled over with laughter. They do this routine every time they take us to school. It isn't funny. It is never funny. I honestly would take the bus, if our neighborhood stop wasn't three blocks away. Bruno and Ben come out of the house, both of them scooting around their mother. "Take good care of my boys, Jo!" "Siempre," 8 my mom shouts back. This is also a part of their routine. They burst into a fit of giggles again. I scoot over for Bruno, who climbs into the backseat, while Ben sits up front, grinning over at my mother. "Hi, Joanna. You look nice today." Ben purposefully looks back at me. I give him a biting look and he ignores me. My mother has started telling all the people my age to refer to her by her first name, even though it annoys me to no end. I roll my eyes. "Thank you, Ben," she says, ruffling his light brown hair. "Ready for your first day of eighth grade?" my mom asks jovially, completely unaware of the death glare I'm giving her from the backseat. "Yep, of course," Ben replies, fixing his letterman's jacket. I roll my eyes again. It's not even cold enough for a jacket, but Ben is a peacock. He loves for everyone to know just how popular he really is. As Ben turns around to face us, his mouth lifts into a smirk. "Looks like the wonder twins 9 are ready too." He laughs. "The vampire and the librarian." I see Bruno's cheeks redden out of the corner of my eye. "See," my mom says, laughing. "I told you, you look like a librarian." I ball my hands into fists. "Well," I say sweetly, "I will agree that I look like a librarian if Ben will agree to spell it." Bruno snorts beside me, putting his head down when his brother turns around again to glare at us, his cheeks heating to a pale pink. Okay, I'm normally not this mean, but Ben is ruthless when it comes to Bruno, and it really isn't right. Bruno, honestly, never does anything to anybody. "Erin Marie," my mom admonishes. Her disapproving eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. I sink back against my seat as Ben gives me a triumphant look. I huff loudly. Ben is definitely not worth it. 1 . My mother still doesn't trust me with scissors even though this is my last year of middle school. It's not like I'm the one who stabbed myself with a toothpick last year. 2 . Yes, our school initials are PMS. Yes, it is very embarrassing. Sometimes I wonder if there are actual adults in charge at that school. 3 . Marie Curie is my absolute hero (heroine??). She was the first woman to win a Nobel Prize, and she won it twice. Honestly, if I could go back and be reincarnated as Marie Curie, I totally would. 4 . My mom is a romance writer (I know, I know). Well, technically she's what you would call a ghostwriter. Someone who writes a story for someone else, gets paid, and then gives all the credit to the person who paid them. It is, honestly, one of the stupidest things I have ever heard of. It would be like me writing a report for Trevor Jin because he paid me, and then Trevor getting all the recognition and credit. No, thank you! 5 . A carhop is a fifties-style waiter/waitress who serves people at their cars. Sometimes they do this on roller skates. 6 . I have never met my dad. He left my mom right after I was born. My mom won't tell me anything about him, except that I look like him, which is not helpful at all. 7 . Ben and Bruno's dad now lives in California. So, they only see him during the first half of the summer, and every other Christmas break. 8 . Bruno and Ben's mom, Isa, is a second-generation Salvadorean, and she taught my mom some basic Spanish terms. This one means always . 9 . Ben thinks it's highly original and amusing to refer to us as twins. It's neither original nor amusing. Excerpted from Courtesy of Cupid by Nashae Jones All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
