Cupid's Sabotage (COMPLETED)

Chapter 10

Six Years Later . . .

"What do you mean it didn't work!" My outburst carries throughout the crowded DMV office. I'm immediately shushed by a middle-aged woman in a nearby office cubicle; her eighties style haircut and angry eyes are the only things that protrude above the plastic partitions.

Reggie is standing at my side, clutching a rolled up pamphlet of the driver's ed course. "I'm saying Cupid's Sabotage was a huge bust. Luke Evans asked Gwen to prom yesterday."

"And . . .?"

"Well, she said yes. Duh!" We move up in line a few feet.

Today was supposed to be the best day of my life, the day I got my driver's license, the day Gwen would finally see me as a man and not as a boy who rode around on a broken bicycle. Though, I can't be too hard on the thing; that bike served me well for many years. It got me where I needed: school, Marcus and Reggie's house, and the ice cream parlor downtown we frequented nearly every weekend during summer break. Dad never did get around to fixing it. Time got away from him and I never inquired about it again. It was bittersweet the day I set it out by the driveway for trash pickup. A portion of me was hoping I'd see it laying there on the ground the next morning, but it was gone.

I exhale deeply, feeling a rush of negative energy leave my body. How could Cupid's Sabotage not work? I know it wasn't meticulously crafted or well executed, but it should've made Gwenevere apprehensive about dating ever again. Maybe I'm putting too much stock in our efforts?

"Think about it, though," Reggie says as he uses the pamphlet to scratch his double chin. "It's been six years since her fling with Zane Archer, and Gwen hasn't been on a single date since. That's not a bad return on our investment."

"Oh, and I suppose your confidential informant has kept you in the know all this time?" Reggie grimaces at my remark. I know very well his informant, Quaid I believe is his name, moved to Arizona two years ago. From what Reggie told me, Quaid's dad is stationed there, so he uprooted his family from Michigan and flew south. Last I heard, Quaid was placed in military school with the expectancy of following in his father's footsteps. From time to time, He and Reggie hit up Rocket League on Xbox Live, but other than that, Reggie hasn't had much contact with Quaid since he left the state. I know it's been tough on him. "That was low of me to say, I'm sorry. I know you miss him." I pat Reggie on the back to further my apology.

"Cupid's Sabotage will be much harder this time without my informant doing reconnaissance for us beforehand."

"Hold on a minute. Are you saying Cupid's Sabotage is back on?"

Reggie shoots me a sideways grin. "That's exactly what I'm saying! Call it Cupid's Sabotage 2.0."

"You just want to play secret agent again, don't you?"

"Hey, I didn't say there wasn't anything in it for me."

Fifteen minutes later, the line finally clears. We move up to the counter and hand the desk clerk our legal documents, a middle-aged man who looks to be as wide as he is tall. His dark brown hair does little to hide the golf ball size bald spot at the top of his head. I feel like I'm looking at Reggie in twenty years.

The clerk looks us over with tired eyes, no doubt ensuring that we're of legal age to be taking our driver's test, then stamps the documents before handed them back to us. "Practice car's outside. Try not to hit anyone." He waves us away with a lazy hand gesture. Try not to hit anyone? That's not exactly the type of thing you want to hear right before you get behind the wheel for the first time.

"Too bad Marcus isn't here with us," Reggie says as we move through the side exit. "I bet he drives like an old lady: all cautions and full of care, hands at ten and two, fastened seat belts before starting the engine, checking twenty different times before he pulls out into traffic." He laughs at himself. "Good stuff."