Page 26 of Betting on You

I lifted up enough to kick the throw pillows off my bedbefore flopping back down. “I don’t like confrontation.”

“Do you like hiding in your bedroom?” he asked, his voice sounding deeper over the phone.

“Well, no.”

“And you can’t just give up your territory, by the way.” I could hear music in the background, and I wondered what he was listening to. “As soon as he conquers the living room, he’s only going to advance and take more space. Before you know it, you’ll be living in an occupied state where he is the king. Stand your ground.”

I turned over onto my back, amazed that anyone’s brain worked that way. Love him or hate him, Charlie was definitely his own person. I said, “He’s notadvancing,you psycho. This isn’t a war.”

“The hell it isn’t.” It sounded like he was moving around when he said, “I fought hard but not until it was too late. Now the jackass practically lives here.”

“Ugh.” Three stains formed a flower shape on my ceiling, and I wondered what had caused it. “That’s a nightmare.”

“Right?” I heard him bite into something crunchy.

“So he’s thereallthe time?”

“Every minute.”

“Does he act like he belongs in your family?”

“What?”

“Like, is his role that of your mother’s roommate, where he stays at your house but that’s kind of it, or does he tag along if you guys decide to eat out?”

He sounded like he was smiling when he said, “You sweet little naïve child, hoping for some fictional version of the best.The answer to your question is that Clark is ever-present. He eats with us, watches TV with us, rides in the car with us, texts us, and shares his every dickish opinion with us. Last week, for example, he went to conferences with my mom, asked my trig teacher if it was possible for me to come in early for extra credit, and then he came home and casually mentioned that I wasn’t applying myself.”

“Shutup,” I said, horrifiedforhim. How utterly intrusive.

“Trust me, I wish I could.”

“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, staring up at those ugly ceiling stains.

“Which is why you need to stand your ground.”

“You’re right.”

“But, Bailey,” he chastised, his tone downright fatherly, “you’re not even going to leave your room, are you?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“You’re just going to hope for the best?” he asked, sounding disappointed in me.

“That’s right.”

“Well, I’ve got a news flash, Glasses—the best never comes.”

“So.” I rolled over onto my side and realized I didn’t want to get off the phone with him. Apparently, when facing depressing Scott thoughts and certain insomnia, I was desperate enough to grab on to ol’ Charlie. “You’re just as positive as ever. Like a freaking ray of sunshine.”

“I’m still a realist, yes,” he said, sounding incredibly serious.

“Well, I’m just going to trust that my mom will bore of Scott over time and then maybe take a hiatus from dating for a while.”

I was counting on that.

He made a noise of dissent, like a snort or an exhale, before saying, “Yeah, that’ll happen.”

“Well, if it doesn’t, I’ll just go back to the murder plan.”

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