Betting on You(21)

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 not advancing, 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 there all the 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 na?ve 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.”

“Shut up,” I said, horrified for him. 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.”

“Smart. You’d probably be one hell of a killer.”

“Why would you say that?” I grabbed the remote from my nightstand and started flipping. “I just told you I hate confrontation.”

“It’s the half-diet, half-regular thing with your soda. You’re meticulous, like a total sociopath. You’d probably chop up a body on a tarp and individually wrap each section in ziplock baggies and newspapers. While wearing rubber cleaning gloves. Wouldn’t even spill a single drop of blood.”

“Oh my God,” I said, laughing in spite of myself. “That’s pretty dark, even for you.”

“You’re the murderer.”

I sped through the channels until I found a rerun of Psych. “Says you.”

“Listen, about the bet—” he started, and I cut him off.

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said, feeling guilty for even discussing it.

“It’s not—it’s a great idea.” He dove right in like he was excited about the wager. “So here’s what I’m thinking. Since we’re all going to be working the front desk, it’ll be cake to see them in action. I say we give it thirty days or a hookup, whichever comes first.”

I crawled under the covers and repeated, “Nope. I have no desire to make a bet with you about my best friend.”

“What if I said your refusal to wager has nothing to do with that.”

I sighed. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me what you think it actually has to do with.”

“You got it.”

Charlie’s confidence in his own opinions was truly remarkable.

“The real reason you don’t want to make the bet is because Nekesa is your friend and you know you should have faith in her. But deep down, you also know the truth about love. You try to deny it, like a little kid convincing themselves that they didn’t see their parents putting Santa labels on the presents under the tree, but it’s there, deep in your psyche.”

“You don’t know jack about my psyche,” I said as I rolled over and snuggled deeper into the covers. “We’re not all jaded like you.”

“You saw her and Theo,” he continued, ignoring me, “and you know that as much as she might like her boyfriend, she has chemistry with that prep school jackass. Love is fickle, and everyone—even Nekesa—is capable of infidelity when faced with chemistry.”