Page 40 of Betting on You

I was studying in my room on a random Wednesday night, with music cranked in my AirPods so I couldn’t hear Scott and my mom in the living room, when Charlie texted.

I need a favor, Glasses.

I texted:What’s the favor?

Charlie: I want you to go with me to a party Friday night.

What?That made me hit pause on the song. He wanted me to go to a party with him?Withhim? We didn’t really do things like that; we only hung out at work and at my house. Why would he want me to go to a party with him? I texted:What????

Instead of him texting back, my phone started ringing. Which, to be fair, was something Charlie did all the time. If something required explanation, he almost always bailed for the phone call.

I answered with, “What kind of a party? Like a child’s birthday party?”

I wanted him to say yes to that, because I didn’t want this to be something that made things weird with us.

“Like I’d subject you to that kind of torture,” he said, his voice quiet and a little hoarse, like he’d been sleeping. “It’s just a small party at one of my friends’ houses.”

A small party at one of his friends’ houses?

Without thinking, I said, “Okay, but we don’t do that.”

I walked over to the window and closed my blinds, trying toexplain without sounding like I thought he was into me. “We’ve never crossed school and friend lines.”

“That’s why this is called a favor,” he said, and he cleared his throat. “My ex and her douche will be there—and I so do not care about that—but I also don’t want to seem pathetic. If you go with me, I can relax and have fun without worrying about looking sad.”

Okay, that didn’t sound bad. I was relieved he wasn’t asking me out, even though for some reason a tiny knot ofsomethingwas in my stomach. “Will I have fun?”

“Of course you will—you’ll be with me.”

“That isn’t the reassurance you think it is,” I said, wondering what his friends were like. “I’m fairly certain you’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.”

“Wrong,” he said, and I thought I heard a dog bark in the background. “It’s a known fact that repressed people mistake ‘fun’ for ‘obnoxious’ all the time.”

“Obnoxious people mistake ‘normal’ for ‘repressed’ all the time,” I replied. “Get it right.”

“Oh, Glasses, you’re adorable when you’re in a huff.”

That made me smile, which I was glad he couldn’t see. The boy didnotneed to know that his sarcastic boobishness was amusing at times. I said, “It’s like you’retryingto make me say no.”

“Pleeeeeeeeeease say yes,” he begged. “Please, please, please, please, please.”

“Are your friends, like, keg-stand party people,” I asked, my mind switching over to the idea of the party itself, “or are they more of the playing-board-games party people?”

I wasn’t a partier. I didn’t have strong opinions about it either way, but my friends and I didn’t hang out with people who got together to drink beer. Zack and his friends were big drinkers, but he’d never taken me with him to a party.

“This gathering will be everything,” Charlie said, sounding happier since I’d yet to say no. “Keg in the front, trivia in the back, probably a few bros with bongs hiding somewhere upstairs.”

“So I’m going to get an MIP, then.”

“If you go with me, Bay,” he said, his voice soft and quiet and surprisingly genuine, “I guarantee your safe return.”

Every time he called me “Bay,” it made me feel a little weird. Which, honestly, was weird in and of itself, because Nekesa and my mom called me thatall the time.

But when Charlie said it, it made me feel closer to him than we actually were. I cleared my throat and said, “You remember the story of my one booze party, right?”

“Puke chunk on leg—yep.” His voice held a tinge of amusement when he added, “I promise I will not leave your side.”

And for some reason, I could tell he meant it. Which surprised me with its reassurance.

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