Page 29 of Betting on You

She said, “He’s got a Facebook. Profile pic is a normal dad-ish kind of thing.”

She scrolled a little more. “No weird political rants, no sexist posts, nothing pervy so far. Looks like he’s got a daught—”

“Our age, remember?” I said, still seething inside from the awkward encounter.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Wait,” Nekesa said, bringing the phone closer to her face. “Hang on for a sec.”

“What?”I glanced over, dying to know what she’d found.

“Holy shit!” She yelled it and glanced up from her phone, her mouth dropping wide open.

I was scared and hopeful, all at once. Had she found a criminal record? A rap sheet that would make my mother insta-dump Scott?I said, “Will you please tell me what you’re freaking about?”

She shook her head and looked legit nervous. “I don’t think I can even say it.”

I welcomed the red light over the upcoming intersection so I could slam on my brakes. “For the love of God, what?”

“Okay, don’t freak out.” She breathed in through her nose before holding out a hand to calm me and saying, “His daughter. Is. Kristy Hall.”

“No, no—it’s a common last name,” I said, trying to believe it even as a huge knot formed in my stomach. “He lives on the other side of town, way outside of our district. The name is just a coincidence.”

“Bailey, it’s not.”

It was my mouth’s turn to drop wide open as I stared at her in disbelief. There was just no way. I said, “If there is a God, you are lying to me.”

“Not lying, sweetie—look.” She held out her phone, and sure enough, there was an adorable picture of Scott and Kristy Hall.

Together.

Kristy Hall—was the universe kidding me with that?

Kristy went to our school; she was pretty and wildly popular, and shehatedmy guts. Which was weird in that I kept to myself and a large portion of the population didn’t even know who I was. I was off the radar to most of my classmates, but if Kristy saw me, she couldn’t stop herself from calling me out.

What are you looking at?

She was a nightmare, and the sole cause of my school anxiety.

All because of one stupid, stupid night.

Nekesa had dragged me to a football party. She’d just started talking to Aaron, and she was head-over-heels obsessed. Half the people there had been floor-licking drunk, and since I knew no one, I found a nice spot on the sofa in the corner and I literally readThe Handmaid’s Taleon my phone—all by myself—while Nekesa made out with her new boyfriend somewhere upstairs.

I’d been totally invisible until Callie Booth—Kristy’s best friend—had plopped down onto the floor beside me. She was hammered and mumbling incoherently, and then she laid her head on my calf.

I’d pretended not to notice—still very intent on remaining invisible—until I felt moisture on my skin.

I’d glanced down, and it was clear the girl had just vomited.

And her mouth was resting on my bare leg.

Without thinking, I moved my leg. I just jerked it out of the way of the vomit, not giving any thought to the fact that once I moved my leg, her forehead might slam into the glass coffee table in front of her.

But worse than Callie’s terribly loud head-bang and resultant groan was Kristy walking into the room the instant it happened. One minute I’d been minding my own business, and the next Kristy Hall had been screaming at me in the middle of the party, “Did you just kick her in the head?”

Even justrememberingthat moment made my blood pressure spike and my cheeks get hot, because it had been straight out of a bad dream. I had been terrified. If Nekesa hadn’t come downstairsthat very minute, I’m fairly certain I would’ve been clawed to death by screaming banshees in letter jackets.

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