Betting on You

“What’s weird is that it seems like everyone but me is cool.” I set my elbow on the table and rested my chin on my hand while Charlie finished his third cheeseburger. “I feel like I’m the only one, besides little kids, who can’t just adapt to the divorce and adjust.”

That was the total truth. I was seventeen, for God’s sake, and I’d be out of high school next year. Like a grown-ass person. So why did it still make me unbearably sad when my dad wasn’t around for school events? When the art club had a showcase and our work was hung in an actual gallery, I’d watched for him all night like he was going to just hop on a plane from Alaska to surprise me. Spoiler: he did not.

And why, when my mother’s boyfriend came over and sprawled out on our couch, watching TV in his socks like he was part of my family, did I close myself in my bedroom with the all-encompassing homesickness that felt like it was physically choking me?

Charlie shook his head and took a sip of his soda. “At least you seem to keep it all inside like the type A, repressed person you are.”

“First of all,” I said, surprised that not only was I sharing my story with him but I was actually enjoying the interaction, “I’m not repressed.”

He was the second person to call me repressed in the past half hour; that was an ouch.

“Second of all,” I continued, “how would you know if I was type A?”

He gave me an irritating I know everything look as he shoved a few fries under the bun of his burger. “Anyone with eyes can see that you are. And that’s okay—it makes for peace, if nothing else. I go off like all the time, so not only does everything just straight-up suck, but my mom, my sister, and the douche boyfriend are always pissed.”

“Like how?” I asked, genuinely curious. “How do you go off?”

He grabbed the pickle spear off the corner of his plate and stuck it under the bun as well and said, “I’m just honest. When I see Clark in the hall in the middle of the night, I say, Dude, why don’t you stay at your own house like you aren’t a mooching loser? And when my dad cancels on me because his girlfriend’s kid has a Little League game, I tell him that he’s a shitty father for choosing her kid over me.”

“Wow.” I sat up straight and stared at him in awe. I couldn’t imagine that kind of confrontational interaction—God, it gave me anxiety just thinking about it—but I respected Charlie’s ability to not care about other people’s feelings.

I mean, I might be able to daydream about that kind of honesty, but when it came down to it, I just didn’t like making people unhappy. I wanted my mom—and my dad, when he remembered I existed—to be happy and I wanted to be the one to make them happy.

Rocking the boat might feel good for about five seconds, but I knew myself well enough to know that the guilt that followed would be unbearable. I said, “I cannot believe you say those things.”

“It isn’t received well.” He took a bite of his overstuffed burger and looked at the two girls behind me. “But it’s the truth.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re kind of my hero.” I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms, studying him. I could actually picture him saying those words, and something about it made me sad for him, even as I respected his ballsiness.

That made his mouth turn up into a snarky half smile as he wiped his hands on his napkin. “And you don’t even like me.”

“I know.” I couldn’t stop my smile—his mischievous ones were contagious—and I shook my head. “But this is revolutionary stuff. Can I live vicariously through you?”

“Why be vicarious? Burn some cities down with your own rage.” He took another bite of his hamburger.

“Yeah, um… no.” I took a sip of my chocolate malt, wishing I could be gutsy enough for honesty. I wanted to, I really did, but there was no doubt I would remain nonconfrontational. I stirred my drink with the straw and said, “I don’t think it helps with anything.”

He dropped the rest of his burger onto his plate, like he was finished. “It makes you feel better.”

“But does it?” I thought back to the way Charlie had been each time I met him. “I don’t see you rolling in happiness with the freedom that your words have given you.”

“Maybe I am on the inside,” he quipped, wiping his hands before dropping his napkin onto his plate.

“Really?” I dipped a fry into the pile of ketchup.

“Chicks dig my churlishness.” He reached over and stole one of my fries, batting my fry out of the way so he could drench his stolen one in ketchup first. Oddly enough, there was something about the way he behaved as if we were actual friends that made me interested in learning more about him. “I wouldn’t want to screw that up with happiness.”

I gave him a very unladylike snort. “I don’t think it’s quite as appealing as you think it is.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, his eyes sparking like he wanted to grin as he chewed. “The first time we met, when you were all owl-eyed and brace-faced, you didn’t fall a little under the Charlie spell?”

I shook my head, remembering how much he’d irritated me. “I definitely did not.”

“Seriously?” His eyebrows scrunched together, and he looked at me like I’d confessed to being an alien.

Which made me want to laugh, because how could he be so unaware of what a total jackass he’d been? I said, “Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

“Because I’m rakishly charming,” he replied, although the slight tilt of his mouth told me he wasn’t wholly serious.

“Oh, is that what you are?” I said, exhaling around a laugh. “I guess I missed that.”

He barked out a quick chuckle, and for a minute it was great. For that brief, fleeting moment, it was nice with us. And then he said, “Wait. I’m not hitting on you.”

“Oh my God—gross.” I shook my head as the annoyance returned. Why did he feel the need to say things like that? Still the same Mr. Nothing. I said emphatically, “I know.”

“Okay, good.” He pushed his plate toward the center of the table and added, “And I second the gross.”

I couldn’t believe his nerve; not just the gross comment, but the overall disclaimer that he wasn’t hitting on me. “Why would you even say—”

“I don’t know.” He held up a hand to stop me from talking, then raised the other one as well. “I’m pretty sure no two people have ever been as disinterested in each other as we are, but I just wanted to make sure.”

“Oh, I can definitely confirm.” I thought back to the Fairbanks airport and said, “Honestly—the first time we met, I was in awe of how irritating you were. Like, I don’t think I knew just how obnoxious a person could be before that day.”

“Same,” he said, nodding in agreement.

“What?” I narrowed my eyes at him. I hadn’t been remotely obnoxious that day. If anything, I’d been a pathetically quiet little mouse. “I wasn’t irritating.”

He moved his straw around in his cup and said with a feigned scowl, “You wouldn’t let me cut in line because of rules. Irritating as fuck.”

I was about to explain to Charlie how there was nothing the least bit irritating about following the rules when Nekesa interrupted, appearing beside our table with Theo. “Hey! Guess what? Mr. Cleveland sat with us at lunch, and when Theo told him he’s majoring in accounting next year, good old Cleves transferred him to Protostar. So he’s on our team now too.”

I looked up at the two of them and was mildly annoyed by this news. Theo seemed fine, but Nekesa and I had taken the job together—as a team—and his presence was really messing with the vibe.

“Wow.” Charlie leaned back and stretched. “So you got upgraded? I got demoted to Protostars just because I said glitter was the devil’s calling card.”All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

Nekesa snorted. “You said that?”

“Respect.” Theo gave Charlie a slow grin of appreciation. “There was an entire section in the Red Giant handbook on the endless joy of glitter bombs. I can’t believe you actually said that out loud.”

“Listen to what you just said and tell me I’m wrong.” Charlie crossed his arms over his chest. “ ‘Endless joy of glitter bombs’—are they kidding with that?”

Charlie and Theo started talking between themselves, and I glanced at Nekesa. “Are you sure we shouldn’t quit and find normal jobs?”

“Normal sucks,” Nekesa said, and I got distracted for a second by Charlie and Theo. They were doing that whole low-talking, smart-ass grin-wearing thing guys did that usually equated to a conversation about breasts, and I rolled my eyes.

I just knew I wouldn’t approve of their conversation.

Nekesa reached down and grabbed my cup. “Can I have a sip?”

Charlie looked up from his conversation with Theo and said to Nekesa, “Only if you like a malt made with vanilla ice cream but only half a spoonful of malted and two squirts of chocolate syrup instead of three. And half whipped cream, no cherry.”

I hadn’t realized Charlie had heard my order at all, much less heard it and remembered every little detail. A part of me was impressed by his perfect recollection, but a bigger part of me was taken aback by the way he acted so familiar with me.

Because we didn’t know each other at all, right?

So why did it feel like we kind of did?

“So on-brand for my girl.” She lifted the cup and took a long drink before saying, “Ooh—but so good. Do I have time to get a malt?”

I said, “No,” and at the same time both boys said, “Yes.”

Nekesa stuck out her tongue at me, and I glanced down at my watch. “Well, be fast. I don’t want to be late.”

“Such a Protostar,” Theo teased, and I couldn’t believe he was self-assured enough to mock me when we’d only just met.

“Takes one to know one,” Nekesa said, “Mr. Private School.”

“Did you really just say that?” Theo said, giving Nekesa a flirty smile. “Miss Public Education?”

“I think I did,” she said, grinning.

“Looks like someone upped the attitude since we last met.” I watched as Theo tilted his head and gave her an appraising look. “I’m not sure if I’m scared or if I like it.”

“Oh, you’re scared,” Nekesa replied, meeting his gaze before turning and walking to the counter to order.

“I think I’m both,” Theo said, laughing as he followed behind her. “I’m scared and I like it.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Charlie said, “Those two are so gonna hook up.”

“You are so wrong,” I quickly snapped at him. Even if she was being a little flirty, that didn’t mean she was going to cheat. “She’s got a boyfriend.”

He gave me a level stare before saying, “So what?”

“So she’s super happy with Aaron, that’s what.” Typical Charlie, assuming the worst. “Theo’s just an old friend.”

“An old friend who looks at her like that.”

I followed his gaze over to the counter, where Nekesa was laughing loudly about something. And, okay, Theo was staring at her.

Pretty intently, actually.

He was staring at her as if she’d just told him the most wonderfully shocking thing he’d ever heard in his life. His eyes were very nearly sparkling, for God’s sake. Still, I said, “He’s looking at her like he thinks she’s funny.”

“Trust me, if those two start working together, they’ll be banging it out in under a month.”

“You’re disgusting,” I said, not at all shocked by his cynical assumption. It was exactly what Charlie in the plane would’ve said, as well as Charlie at the movie theater. He might have changed in some ways, but his penchant for assuming the worst remained the same.

“I’m right, though. Even if she’s happy with Aaron the Great, those two have entirely too much fun together for it to stay platonic.”

“So you still subscribe to the same idiotic theory about friendship?” I wasn’t sure why I was even posing it as an inquiry when his opinion was obvious.

“It’s not a theory, Glasses—it’s a fact,” he said, stretching out his long legs under the table. “And coworkers are the worst, too, by the way, because they don’t realize they’re becoming ‘friends’ until that ‘friendship’ turns into attraction, which ultimately becomes a hookup.”

“That’s a trash theory.” I watched just over his shoulder as Theo and Nekesa laughed together as they stood in line. He’s wrong, right? I said, “I guarantee you, no matter how much those two might work together, nothing will happen between them except friendship.”

“Care to make a wager?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement even as his mouth stayed in its patented snarky half smile.

“On what?”

“Gimme your phone,” he said, holding out his palm.

“What?” For some reason, I pulled it from my pocket and handed it over. “What are you doing?”

“Putting in my number so we can work out the details of our bet later.” He glanced toward the counter. “Shhh—here they come.”

He finished entering his number before dropping my phone onto the table.

I stared at my phone as if it were a loaded gun, because, What the hell? Suddenly I had Mr. Nothing’s phone number—definitely wasn’t on my new-job bingo card for today—and also he wanted to make a bet on my friend’s fidelity.

I was getting whiplash from all the WTFs.

“You guys ready?” Nekesa gave me a weird look, and I knew she’d seen Charlie messing with my phone.

I snatched it up, feeling like I’d been caught misbehaving.

“Yep—let’s go,” I said, standing up so fast that I knocked over my chair. It landed with a crash when it hit the tile, and I wanted to disappear when all heads turned toward me.

Shit.

As I bent to pick it up, it occurred to me that this job might not turn out to be the mindless fun that Nekesa thought it would be.