Betting on You

I walked into the kitchen the next morning, starving and half-asleep and totally regretting my decision to ignore the alarm the first three times it went off. I had to be at Planet Funnn in thirty minutes for day two of training, so I was going to have to wolf down my bagel, throw my hair into a ponytail, and put on makeup when I got there.

“Good morning, my sole offspring,” my mom said, not looking up from the newspaper that was on the table. The room smelled like the Folgers coffee that she guzzled by the pot, and I wondered if we had enough almond milk for me to make it into a decent cold brew.

“Good morning, matriarch,” I muttered, opening the pantry and grabbing the package of everything bagels. I pulled one out and put it into the toaster, and I was reaching for a plate when IT happened.

Scott walked into the kitchen wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a faded white T-shirt that I could see a forest of chest hair through. “Well, good morning!”

“Oh my God.” I yanked down my sleep shirt (even though it went to my knees) and crossed my arms over my braless chest. “Um, I didn’t know—”

“It’s, uh—it’s okay.” He held up a hand and gave me the world’s most awkward smile, looking mortified. “I have a daughter your age so…”

He shrugged and looked like he wished the room would swallow him.

“You’re fine,” he mumbled. “I have to go shower anyway.”

And then he turned and walked right back out of the kitchen.

I think I stared at the spot where he’d appeared (and quickly disappeared) with my mouth hanging wide open, but I’m not sure. Time stopped and sounds got furry as the ramifications of everything slapped over me. He’d stayed the night. He had stayed the night… with my mom… in our apartment. Like he lived there. Like he belonged there.

What did it mean?

Surely this wasn’t just going to be a onetime thing, right? My heart raced as I wished so badly that it was, even though I knew better. Was he slowly moving in now—was that it? And shouldn’t my mother be worried about what this said to me about sex or something? Shouldn’t someone be protecting me from that kind of bullshit?

And side note: What did his having a daughter my age have to do with the fact that I wasn’t wearing pants—or a bra—in front of him in our kitchen? Did he really think the fact that he had offspring in my general age vicinity mattered? Since I wasn’t related to this jackass of a man in any way, shape, or form, I was going to have to disagree with him and say that it wasn’t okay for me—at seventeen—to be nipping out and bare-legged in front of his fortysomething ass.

“Bay, honey.”

My mom’s voice—soft and gruff with morning—made my head swivel around. I foolishly thought she was going to save me. Apologize, rescue, or at least comfort me in this most disconcerting of breakfast scenarios. Her pretty face was half smiling, but she was looking at the spot where he’d just been standing, not at me.

I said, “Yeah?”

“Why don’t you go put on some pants and we can all have breakfast together?” She glanced at my face and gestured toward my room with her chin, whispering, “You should probably get dressed before coming out when there are people here, kiddo.”

“Oh my God, that is disgusting.” Nekesa rummaged through her purse in the passenger seat while I drove. “YIKES! He stayed the night? What did your mom say when he just walked out of her room in the morning? Did she warn you?”

“No.” My head was bouncing with all of Nekesa’s questions that I had already asked myself a million times that morning. “She acted like it was normal and like I was somehow in the wrong for doing exactly what I do every single morning.”

“I cannot believe Emily didn’t step up for you.”

“Right?” I said, realizing that was exactly what the worst part of the morning had been. My mother taking a step back from me.Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

“What’s his last name?” Nekesa took out her phone. “I’m gonna look up this weaseldick and see what his story is. Scott what?”

“Hall.” Nekesa was acting psychotic, but it felt good to have someone in my corner. She might be outrageous, but I also knew she’d stab someone in the face with an ice pick (her words) for me. “Scott Hall.”

I slowed and took a right at the corner, driving too fast but determined to be on time for work.

“Found him.”

I glanced over, and she was scrolling.

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 she hated my 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 read The Handmaid’s Tale on 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 just remembering that 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 downstairs that very minute, I’m fairly certain I would’ve been clawed to death by screaming banshees in letter jackets.

God. Kristy Hall.

I was going to have to find a way to ensure my mother ended things with Scott before Kristy calling me a bitch over morning bagels became a distinct possibility.

God. Kristy Hall.