I get up early the next morning, ready for pancakes with Dad, and head downstairs to an empty kitchen. I call him, put the dirty plates littering the counter into the sink, and line up the batter ingredients.

Then I make myself an instant coffee in the chipped You BOWL Me Over mug Mom got Dad, before sitting at the table. As I sip the black liquid my disappointment grows.

Dad's not coming down. He's forgotten. Again.

I glance at the time on the microwave.

I consider waking him—there's still time. But then I exhale, gulp down the rest of my coffee, and get to my feet.

Whatever. It's no big deal. I wanted to catch up with Charlie before class anyway.

I grab my leather jacket from the coat stand in the hallway then head out to wait for the bus to school.

When I get there, I head straight to the IT classroom that doubles as the school's online newspaper office. Charlie's not here yet, and the space is empty except for a petite junior named Laura, who's huddled with two of her friends around one of the computers.

They're talking in hushed tones as I wheel a chair to Charlie's usual spot. It's facing a window overlooking the school courtyard, which is filled with flowers and picnic benches. She told me once that she can see everything that's going on from here—who's getting kissed, who's getting ignored, and who's worn the same outfit three days in a row. Her bright-pink notepad and an empty paper cup are already on the table by her keyboard. She must have gone to one of the vending machines.

"He's hardly even spoken to me before," Laura says, adjusting her mousey brown ponytail. "Not since he called me a nerd in fourth grade. And now he's leaving cards, flowers, chocolates . . . it makes no sense."

"I think it's sweet!" says her friend Lisa, eyes glinting beneath her dark bangs.

"Creepy, more like . . ." Rachel, her other friend, disagrees as she picks at a loose thread on her sleeve.

I pull out my phone and fiddle with it, realizing I'm oddly nervous at the prospect of Cupid starting at my school, even though I'm still not entirely convinced that this isn't part of some weird reality show.

I have a boyfriend anyway, I remind myself. So who cares if he does start?

Suddenly, the door bursts open. I turn to see Charlie hurtling past the computers, her jet-black hair flying behind her.

"Hot . . . there's . . . a . . . hot . . ." She stops to pant, bending over slightly with her hands on her knees as she composes herself. "Hot guy . . . starts today," she finally gasps before collapsing into the chair beside me. "I saw him . . . in the registration office . . . when I was getting . . . a breakfast bar . . ." She looks exceedingly pleased with herself for passing on this knowledge.

My stomach plummets. Cupid? It must be.

I feign a smile. "And you ran all the way from the vending machine to tell me this?"

She grins while switching on the computer monitor, and the school's student-run blog materializes. There's a tapping sound as her fingers dance across the keyboard. The words Hot Guy Starts Today! appear at the top of the blank article.

"To tell everyone about this!" she corrects.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, Mr. Butler's going to love that . . ."

"Just giving the people what they want, Lila," she says.

I laugh. "How long do you think before he deletes this one?

More or less time than your exposé on the teachers' night out at the Love Shack?!"

"Hey! He's just lucky I didn't write about how I saw him flirting with Ms. Green!" she says.

"Oh yes, you're very restrained!"

She grins. "Anyway, how was—" She stops talking abruptly, her dark-brown eyes widening on something above the screen. "Make that two new hot guys."

Frowning, I follow her gaze. My stomach jolts as I catch a flash of pale-blond hair pass by the window in front of us. I only see the back of his head, and he's traded his white suit for a pair of jeans and a blue and white checkered shirt, but I recognize him instantly.

It's Cal.

I watch as he strides past the picnic benches to the school entrance, a brown leather satchel over his shoulder.

What is he doing here?

". . . summer? Lila? Helloooooo?" Charlie says, waving her hand in front of my face.

"Huh?"

She raises her eyebrows. "What's wrong with you this morning? I asked how you managed to pass the dull, Charlie-less hours while I was at journalism camp."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Just give me a second."

I stand up—ignoring Charlie's startled look—and make my way to the door. Cal's about thirty feet down the corridor, opening one of the lockers on the other side of a group of football players in black and pink Forever Falls jerseys. I stride out of the computer room and come to a halt just beside him.

"What are you doing here?" I ask in a low voice.

Cal doesn't look at me, eyes fixed on the inside of his locker. "It's best if you're not seen speaking with me."

"Yeah, that would be easier if you were back at your dating agency instead of here at my high school!"

Cal turns and looks straight at me. "I'm here to monitor the situation. I told you I would be doing that yesterday."

"Yes, but I didn't think you'd be coming to my school!"

Cal pulls up his bag and unpacks what seems to be the entire Back to School section of Walmart into his locker. "When Cupid arrives, you'll need my help."

I watch as he neatly arranges a calculator next to a brightly colored Avengers binder. It seems an odd choice for a stern, immortal matchmaker.

"You're a Marvel fan?" I ask.

He looks at me like I'm speaking another language. "What?" I shake my head. "Never mind. Look, I'm not going to be interested in this Cupid guy, I've told you that!"

Cal looks at me stonily from beneath his thick eyelashes. "So you have," he says dismissively. "But if he finds out you're his Match, he will be very interested in you, and that's why I have a plan to keep his attention from you for as long as possible. Part of that involves you not speaking to me."

I swallow my growing irritation. "Fine. But do you think you might tell me what your plan is, exactly?"

Cal smiles coolly, tilting his head to the side. "I intend to befriend another female student here so that Cupid thinks I have been sent to protect her."

"Okaaay, but say this incredibly well-thought-out plan does work . . . aren't you just passing the danger on to one of my classmates?"

An unreadable expression flickers across Cal's angular features. "That's not how it works. You are his Match. You, alone, are in danger. No one else."

The bell rings for first class and more people begin to spill into the corridor. I turn my head, catching sight of Charlie in the doorway. She's talking to Laura but her eyes are on me.

Cal's not the only one who doesn't want to draw attention to this conversation. Charlie's going to have a million questions.

"Look, fine. But does Cupid even know that you work for the Matchmaking Service?" I hiss. "Because if he doesn't, this whole charade seems incredibly pointless."

A dark look crosses Cal's face. "Oh, me and Cupid go way back."

Before I can say anything else, he hands me a folded slip of paper, spins around, and shuts his locker.

I glare at the back of his head as he walks down the corridor. Then I quickly flatten out the note and read it, aware that I only have five seconds before Charlie swoops in with questions.

Meet me after school by the gym. If you are to resist his charms, you will need to undergo some serious training in the arts of the cupids. Don't be late. Cal.

I groan. I just wanted a nice, simple, drama-free semester. Instead, I seem to have acquired an irritating paranormal match-making agent, a match, and . . . training in the arts of the cupids?