Page 17 of Betting on You

The music stopped and the DJ was back to deep-throating the microphone. “All right, squadron, let’s bounce on out of here, grab ourselves a doughnut, and head to the Milky Way for launch.”

“I’m assuming that’s a training room?” I muttered, disappointed that our parental-horror-story exchange was over before it’d begun. I couldn’t explain it, but our fleeting moment of commiseration had feltgood.

It was nice to have a partner in suffering.

God—how weird was that, that I actuallywantedto talk to Mr. Nothing?

Maybe I was coming down with something.

“Or they’re slingshotting us into orbit,” he said, looking at the deep-throating DJ with an expression so disgusted that it made me want to laugh. “Either way, it’s probably gonna be painful.”

“Probably,” I agreed, and Nekesa joined us as we exited the trampoline area and were ushered down the hall.

Once we got to the Milky Way, we were split up into four groups: Red Dwarfs, White Dwarfs, Protostars, and Red Giants.

Charlie asked without raising his hand, “Because we’re all stars. Seriously?”

I could hear people snickering, but the perky lady in charge of our training class gave him a wide Miss America smile, totally unfazed by his snark. “You got it, hon. We thought it would be real excitin’ to use the stars for our four teams.”

He put his hands into the pockets of his pants and looked down at his feet, almost as if he was working hard to keep his sarcastic thoughts to himself.

That’s new.

Although, to be fair, Charlie actually seemed like he’d completely changed from the last time I’d seen him.

He was taller, but not in a typical he’s-grown-a-little-in-the-past-couple-years way. No, Charlie had to be, like, at least six foot three now—he wasbig.

Not only that, but his face had changed. The dark eyes stilltwinkled with trouble, but the face they were set in had popped from boyish softness into chiseled edges.

He had that whole contradiction thing going on, I supposed. Boyandman. Mischievousandintense.

The promise of multitudes.

Yeah, Nekesa was right—he wasveryattractive.

Not tome—God, no—but objectively speaking, he was a handsome guy.

I pulled out my phone—no messages—and after a brief perusal of the crowd, my eyes went back to Charlie.

Who waslisteningto the speaker like an interested new employee.

Wow—he reallyhadchanged.

The woman went on to list off the teams and their designated training rooms. There was no explanation onhowthe group was split up or what it meant, but Nekesa and I were Protostars, staying in the Milky Way, while Charlie was called to line up with the Red Giants, who were headed to Mars. He shrugged and followed his group out of the room, and I was torn between being a tiny bit disappointed that he was gone and massively relieved I wasn’t going to have to work with him all the time.

Because even though he appeared to have grown up a little, and we’d just shared a decent human moment, there was surely enough Mr. Nothing left in him to drive me mad on a daily basis.

Once the Protostars were alone, we were each given a big red shield with aPto affix to our uniforms. We were told that our group was the administrative band that would hold the frontline of fun together. We would train to become front desk clerks, concession stand reps, restaurant hostesses, and Funcierges (fun concierges). Pretty much any job that involved a little responsibility and customer fiduciary interaction fell to our team.

I was slightly offended when Mr. Cleveland, our trainer, explained that our group scored high in professionalism but very low on the fun vibe. He said our love language wasn’t socialization but rule-following, and though that might sound like a drag—the man literally used that word—we were essential to the success of Planet Funnn.

He mentioned that the other teams had roles such as “audience exciter,” “waterslide daredevil,” “snowball fight instigator,” and my favorite, “karaoke influencer,” so I imagined their training curriculum would differ wildly from ours.

About an hour into an incredibly boring PowerPoint presentation on the history of our parent company (Funnnertainment, Inc.), the side door creaked open and Charlie walked in, loose-limbed and looking totally chill with the fact that he was interrupting our very large group.

Mr. Cleveland stopped speaking. “Can I help you?”

If it were me, I would’ve died of embarrassment as the eyes of the entire Milky Way rested upon me. But Charlie was relaxed. He put his hands into the pockets of his flight suit and said, “Yeah. Um. Apparently there was a mistake. I guess I’m supposed to be in here.”

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