Cupid's Guide to Murder

Chapter 2: Your Kiss Is My Command

Freshman Year

Love was an hourglass. At one moment, everything appeared serene and beautiful, and you didn't realize time was ticking. Then the next moment, it turned upside down, stolen kisses became tearful fights, and that was it; time was up.

Sometimes, you held on to the lost time because it was the only thing you had left.

I met Justin in September: I remember it because it was the season's first football game. Streaks of clouds painted the sky an ominous shade of blue-grey. I was on the sidelines with the rest of the cheerleading squad, squinting in the drizzling rain as we ran through the routine. In a sea of yellow and blue jerseys with numbers printed on them, Justin was lucky number 13. Under blurry field lights, he scored a touchdown and found my gaze, shooting me a million-dollar smile.

One smile, three seconds.

At the end of the game, he approached me by the bleachers to enter his number on my phone, his blonde hair wet and matted from rain. It didn't matter that it was cold and dreary — What I would remember from that day was him.

Things with him were simple. We had the same friends, the same interests, and he was the boy I could see myself loving one day. That was how crushes started, after all. They stemmed from something as sweet as candy hearts.

And we trusted each other — we always trusted each other.

Except for when we didn't.

It was at a party at West Blakeyard's house, the first celebration of the summer of freshman year. His well-furnished house was one of the few homes in the neighborhood, complete with a cul-de-sac, remodeled hardwood floors, and huge tinted black glass windows. Music vibrated from the speakers, and the scent of old whiskey mingled with perfume.

Several of us sat in a circle, playing truth or dare in his living room. It was a core party tradition to see how far someone would go.

It was the first time I met Griffin Keely.

Although that wasn't true. We had been in a group project earlier this year for AP English, so I owed Shakespeare for our meeting on a technicality. He always wore a devilish smile, one that I assumed had gotten a lot of people in trouble before.

He seemed like the guy who didn't care about anything, especially not grades, but he was smart. We aced the project, and I learned two things.

Romeo and Juliet was a tragic testament to how love sucks, and Griffin Keely cared more than he let on.

Aside from that, my knowledge about him came from rumors that trickled down the grapevine. Detention was his second home, and his only "friends" were people he sold weed to or girls he hooked up with. Considering I didn't fall under either category, our friendship was more doomed than Romeo and Juliet's.

Griffin sat far away from me. He wasn't saying anything, but he didn't need to. He had those eyes that looked like the shallow waves in the ocean, and they somehow conveyed every emotion he felt. Right now, they were twinkling with amusement. His overgrown dark hair fell over his forehead, and I saw a recent addition to the tiny tattoos lining his forearm. I didn't know why I was analyzing him, but I couldn't help being curious about why he was here. His type of party favors didn't include playing truth or dare.

Griffin looked at me as if he felt me staring, and I looked away.

"All right, my turn to spin," Willow Stevens said, spinning the bottle. The tip of the bottle landed on Griffin, and she grinned. I had never really liked her, but she was friends with Justin, so I learned to keep my feelings to myself. Willow leaned forward, pressing her manicured nails on her thigh. "Griff, kiss Haven."