Cupid's Sabotage (COMPLETED)

Chapter 2

Four Years Later . . .

"Christian, you're going to be late again!"

My eyes burst open at the sound of my mother's voice. I bolt upright in my twin-size bed and check my wristwatch: 7:53. How did this happen? I set my alarm last night. I know I did! So why didn't it go off? The bus will be here any minute and I'm still in my pajamas. I throw the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bedsheets off my body and rush to the closet.

Okay. Think! I gotta impress Gwenevere. Leather jacket? No, I wore that last week. A striped tie with a vest? No, that says I'm trying too hard. My watch beeps, reminding me I don't have time to waste. I grab a pair of jeans and a plain V-neck T-shirt, hoping my hair will finish the look.

After jumping into the clothes, I rush to the bathroom, skidding to a halt at the sight of the person in the mirror. My hair is a total mess! It's flat against my head on one side, and all frizzed out on the other. My signature hairdo takes me a minimum of twenty minutes, but I don't have time to make it perfect. This is bad, this is bad. This is very bad. Gwen is not going to approve.

"Christian, get downstairs! The bus will be here any minute." Mom's command touches my ears and propels me into action.

I'm gonna have to multi-task if I have a chance at making it to school on time. I reach for my toothbrush and squeeze the tube of toothpaste; unfortunately, a little too hard—spraying most of it all over the sink. With one hand, I rigorously brush my teeth, while trying to oil and comb my hair with the other. In my haste, I accidentally apply too much oil, which quickly turns my head into a shiny mess. I look like I just got out of the pool!

The bus pulls up at the end of the street and I hear the rigid brakes hiss as it comes to a stop. I'm out of time!

I race back to my bedroom, grab my backpack from the foot of my bed, check my reflection in the mirror one last time—this will have to do, I say to myself—then rush downstairs to the kitchen where mom is standing in front of the toaster applying strawberry jam to a slice of bread.

"Sweetie, what took you so long? You almost missed the bus."

"Sorry, mom. Don't have time to talk. Gotta go!" I grab the slice of bread from her hand and stuff the entire thing in my mouth, still chewing as I rush out the front door. Two seconds later, I hear her voice call for me.

"Christian, you forgot your lunch box!"

Ugh! I don't have time for more delays.

I rush back up the driveway; mom is standing at the front door with an outstretched hand, gripping my NASCAR lunch box. "Thanks, mom! Love you. Bye!"

The bus is still waiting at the end of the street. I might just make it after all!

I'm back to running again. My forehead perspires and my heart feels as if it is trying to claw its way out of my chest. It will be so embarrassed if I show up to school with my shirt drenched with sweat. If that happens, I'll never be able to show my face to Gwen again.

My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach as the bus pulls away from the street. I watch it fade as it gets further down the road.

You gotta be kidding me! I missed it!

I rush back home to get my Speedon bicycle. It hasn't been the same since I tried jumping off that ramp Reggie's dad built for him last Spring. The chain crunches dreadfully loud every time the wheels make a full revolution, and it's difficult to steer properly. I was hoping to get good enough to do a few tricks with it and impress Gwen; that would surely grab her attention. Instead, I flew off the ramp going easily eighty miles per hour—or at least it felt like it—and landed on my wrist. I had to wear a cast for ten weeks before it finally healed. The bike, however, didn't fare quite as good as my wrist. Dad has been meaning to fix it, but he hasn't gotten around to it yet. So until then, I have no choice but to ride it in its impaired condition.