Page 128 of Betting on You

“Yeah,” he said, opening the drawer that was full of office supplies. “He’s got some kind of conflict this week, so we swapped shifts.”

“Oh.” I swallowed and watched him grab a box of staples. “What was the conflict?”

“He didn’t say,” Theo muttered as he opened the stapler and started loading it. “All he said was that Tuesday/Thursday wouldn’t work for him.”

I stood there, frozen in place, as it hit me.

Holy shit, Charlie was full-on avoiding me. As in, avoiding so hard that he wasrearranginghis work schedule so he wouldn’t have to see me. My stomach clenched and I felt queasy as the reality of his absence—of theplanningbehind his absence—slammed into me.

He was willing to do anything not to see me.

What was I, so pathetic that he couldn’t stand to be in the same building as me?

Shit—was I?

Had I been so pathetic and desperate as I’d bawled in his arms that (after making out with me first) he didn’t even want to see me? Could Charlie really be this cruel?

I worked with Theo, numb, super grateful that it was a busynight. The check-ins were constant because of a national DECA event in town, so I was able tonotlose my mind thinking about Charlie as I juggled room keys and activities bracelets.

The minute things finally slowed down, though, I decided to do it.

Screw it, I needed to know.

I pulled out my phone and texted Charlie.

I cannot believe you switched shifts to avoid me. Can we talk? Plz don’t ignore this.

I gasped when I saw conversation bubbles. Holy shit, was he finally going to acknowledge my existence? I watched in nail-biting anticipation as those bubbles bounced around.

Then—finally—a text appeared.

Charlie: Can we NOT talk about it, Glasses? Let’s just move on.

I reread it three times, the near-vomitous feeling getting worse with every read.Let’s just move on.

I’d known, but it still felt like a knife to the chest to realize that I was actually right about him. Charlie had been avoiding me after that night and wanted to keep avoiding me.

Oh my God.

He didn’t ask about my mom, or how I was doing, or try to brush off that night by saying something cruel in its kindness.

No, he just wanted to move on.

I honestly didn’t even know what that meant. Did he want to return to our normal friendship, or did he want to move on from even that?

I went into the storage room to inventory the rollaways, blankets, and cribs, but once I got there, I just leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes.

It felt like too much to bear.

He’d always warned me that girls and guys couldn’t be friends.

Turned out he was right.

And I hated him for it.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVENCharlie

Shit, shit, shit.

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