Page 25 of Betting on You

I stopped. “What?”

Again with the fatherly smile. He asked, “Did you guys have a good time shopping?”

I smiled back as I daydreamed about pushing him off the couch. With a cattle prod. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He snuggled back into the couch pillows. “Night, Bay.”

MY NAME IS BAILEY, YOU SHOELESS DOUCHEBAG!I wanted to roar it like a bloodthirsty hellbeast, because only my friends and my mom got to call me that.

But I just said, “Good night.”

As soon as my door closed behind me, I gritted my teeth and threw my head back in a silent scream. It was so unfair. Wasn’t your house supposed to be the one place where you feltat home? Like, relaxed and comfortable? My heart ached with homesickness whenever I thought about the house back in Fairbanks. Notbecause of the home itself, but because it seemed like a lifetime ago that I’d lived with the wrapped-in-a-blanket comfort of knowing that at any given time, the only inhabitants of the place were the members of my family.

No dates, no boyfriends, no coworkers who liked to yellWhoowhen they had girls’ night at our apartment. I missed my home beingmyhome so much that I rarely allowed myself to even remember life before the split.

It hurt too much.

I flipped on my little TV, but Scott’s presence had ruinedThe Bonk. I was too worked up to get lost in trashy reality TV. I tossed my phone onto the bed and changed into my pajamas—my dad’s faded oldGlobal Weather CentralT-shirt that still went down to my knees—as I silently raged.

I felt like I was going to explode.

My phone buzzed, and I didn’t recognize the number that popped up. But when I opened the message, it was from Charlie.

Hey, Glasses.

Even though he’d said he was going to text me, I couldn’t believe he actually kept his word. I stared at the phone in my hand like I’d never seen a phone before, wondering how to proceed.Do I answer and engage with him? Do I ignore it and pretend it never happened?

I felt toorageyabout Scott to think rationally.

But as I flopped down onto my bed, I thought about what Charlie had said about his interactions with his mom’s boyfriend. Did he really just go off whenever he felt like it? I could never do that, but imagining it was sublime. Calling Scott a peckerface andtelling him to put some shoes on his gnarly feet? That was some euphoric kind of daydreaming.

Instead of responding to his “hey,” I went wild with oversharing.

Me: My mom’s boyfriend just called me out on being late. She’s asleep, as in down for the night in her bedroom, but he is still here watching TV. Is there a way to kill him without getting caught?

There were immediate texting bubbles, and then—

Charlie: Just ask him why he’s still there and throw in the word “loser.” Tell him he’s gotta go.

I couldn’t believe I was smiling, but I was. The idea of that conversation was just too funny. I texted:I can’t do that.

There were more conversation bubbles and then they disappeared.

Just as my phone rang.

It was Charlie.

Almost on instinct, I let my phone slip from my hand.

Why is he calling me?

My heartbeat picked up as I retrieved the phone, unsure yet again on the best way to proceed. Talking to Charlie on the phone, instead of just texting, seemed like a big bump up for us on the friendship scale and seemed somehow unwise.

But for reasons I didn’t have time to explore, I answered.

“Hello?” I said,beyondhesitant about this unexpected form of communication.

“Quit being a wuss. Go out there and get it done.”

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