The Bet - 3
Rachel Van Dyken
High School Prom 2000
I pressed my hands against the sleek white dress my mom had purchased for me. Char looked on, her eyes skeptical as she eyed the dress and then my face.
"Are you sure he asked you?"
"Char!" I rolled my eyes. "For the second time… yes, he asked me last week in biology class."
Like I would actually forget one of the coolest moments of my teenage life. My crush had actually spoken to me, and it wasn't even something stupid like asking me to do his homework or pass a note to the hotter girl. It was because he'd noticed me.
I knew the new clothes were paying off. It was the only explanation. I'd traded my old jeans for new designer ones and bought a few Abercrombie screen t-shirts.
"And you're sure?" Char's voice was high-pitched, meaning she was stressed out.
"Why do you keep asking me that?"
Char twirled a piece of dark wavy hair in her finger. "It's just that I could have sworn I heard that he was going with Jessica."
"Well," I spritzed some perfume on my neck and sighed, "you heard wrong. Now how do I look?"
Char smiled. "Beautiful. Like a fairy princess."
Giddy, I clapped my gloved hands together. Prom's theme was a black and white ball. My gown was a strapless white Cinderella-like dress with glitter across the bodice, and my gloves were black.
I couldn't contain my excitement. I was going to prom with Brett Xander. Basically the hottest guy at my school. He'd asked me! I mean, I wasn't a total nerd, but it wasn't as if I was high on the totem pole either. I was valedictorian and the president of the Future Business Leaders of America. But he'd noticed me, he'd asked me, and yesterday when he'd called me to finalize plans, I'd about died.
The doorbell rang.
I ran down the stairs, nearly tripping on the last one, before taking a deep breath and opening the door.
"Beth," Brett's smile dazzled, making me feel weak in the knees, "you look beautiful."
Licking my lips, I made a sound that sounded a lot like a girlish sigh and offered my arm. I'd specifically told my parents that if they as much as snapped one picture, I'd refuse to get married and give them grandchildren. So they'd reluctantly stayed in the study, allowing me this one moment, just for myself.
"So, you ready?" Brett took my arm and began walking me toward the waiting limo.
A freaking limo.
I was sighing again.
Unable to form a sentence, I nodded as he opened the door. The plush leather seat beckoned me. Maybe I was going to get my first kiss? Or a sip of wine? Or a—
"Hey, Beth!" a chorus of voices sang out.
Huh? I dipped into the limo and nearly choked on my tongue. Four girls were sitting demurely around, sipping soda. Each of them from my biology class. None of them were popular.Iif anything, they were less popular than me.
Confused, I looked to Brett for an answer, but the door slammed in my face.
"He's not riding with us?" I asked, full-fledged panic setting in.
"You're kidding, right?" One of the girls laughed. "Brett Xander? With us? Breathing the same air? Um, no, this is his good deed for the year. He was short a biology credit, and it seems Miss Sims has a soft spot for all us girls and the hard work we've had for our AP class. His extra credit was doing something nice for the biology department, and since it's Brett Xander, well, you can imagine what his something nice was."
"Us," I mumbled. "So what? He's taking all of us to prom?"
"Nope." The same girl slurped her Mountain Dew. "He picks us up in a limo, joins his girlfriend in the other limo, and walks into the gym with us. But at least we each get a dance with him. I mean, he is going to be Prom King, everyone says so."
"Right." I licked my lips and debated whether or not I should jump out of the limo, but just as I was reaching for the door, the car started barreling down the road.
Suddenly, my dress felt too tight, and I felt like an idiot. After all, what guy would want a super-geek control-freak who had a preference for cats? Not Brett Xander. I was kidding myself to think he would even look twice at me.
"Hey, you want a soda?" One of the girls threw a Pepsi in my direction. I caught it but set it on the seat.
"No, thanks." I left out the long lecture about soda causing cancer and instead focused on my black gloves. The same black gloves my mom had spent over thirty dollars on because she was so excited I had a date.
I couldn't bail now. I couldn't go home and tell them the truth.
I'd just have to be brave and smile. One day.
One day, a guy hotter than Brett would notice me. I'd make sure of it. I wouldn't be the crazy cat lady, or the girl who went all through college without making out with at least a few guys.
I just needed to find the right one.
One that wouldn't break my heart into a million pieces.
One who wasn't too good-looking.
Scratch that. One who wasn't better looking than me.
And someone I could trust.
So basically, I couldn't date a lawyer, doctor, model, celebrity, or firefighter. And abatove all cost — I could never marry a politician.
I mean, who would ever be that desperate?
"You've been charged with the kidnapping of a United States senator. How do you plead?"
Grandma Nadine smirked. Amateurs. She winked at the FBI agent and answered saucily, "Why, guilty, of course."
My legs ached something fierce, my face was smashed against a soft pillow that smelled a heck of a lot like a rich politician, and I distinctly remembered eating at least three cookies, or maybe it was four?
With a groan, I tried to move, but everything in my body, not to mention my brain, told me it would be a painfully terrible idea. I moved anyway.
Again, not my fault.
"What the hell?" A deep voice rumbled from somewhere underneath me.
I closed my eyes.
"You can't close your eyes. I already know you're awake."
"This is all a dream," I muttered, my voice sounding scratchy and unfamiliar. "I'm a figment of your imagination. Swear. In two seconds you're going to feel—"
"Shame," the voice said. "Isn't that what you were going to say? Absolute mind-shattering shame?"
I opened my eyes. "What?" I should have left them closed.
Really. It's the small things in life that get you. Close your mouth. Close your eyes. Pretend you don't see that. Crap. Some things just can't be forgotten.
And that face?
Bright blue eyes?
Blond hair that fell just below his ears?
Officially stored into my permanent memory until I died alone with all my cats.
"I was kidding." Mr. Sexy chuckled. "I just thought I'd throw that in there to make you feel more comfortable."
Right, because lying across a complete stranger in nothing but a smile screamed Hey, let's joke around. I'm game. I quickly grabbed at the sheet and pulled away, kneeing the poor bastard in the process.
After a few expletives, his muscled body moved away from my catastrophe to the other side of the bed. "You can't tell anyone you know."
Right. Like I was really tempted to go to the media about my current state of undress.
"About?" I tried to make my voice all high-pitched and screechy like the stupid girls on TV. Basically, I was playing dumb.
"Really?" He turned; a dimple peeked out from the right side of his cheek as he eyed me with humor.
Hey, I didn't say I was good at playing dumb; I was a chemist, for crying out loud! My version of playing dumb was allowing the opposite sex the opportunity of pushing the elevator button, in hopes that he'd get laid by being so chivalrous. I believe it included twirling my hair and blinking more than once.
Yeah, that was my game.
"Well…" I shrugged. "I should, uh, be going." Why the heck couldn't I remember anything from the night before? I never did this. I was so NOT that girl. I quickly grabbed my bra from the floor, my bridesmaid dress from the chair — crap, and my heels from the bathroom, though they looked like someone puked on them. Great, was that my puke? Did I get drunk?
"Do you do that a lot?"
Sexy man-candy grabbed my arms, and that's when it happened. No, not what you're thinking. Gosh, I wish it was that easy: he grabs my arms, I swoon, fall into hopeless love, and get married in Vegas the next day to Chris Hemsworth's doppelganger.
Nope. Not my reality.
Again, let's revisit.
I don't do things like this.
I don't sleep with guys.
Correction. I've never slept with a guy. Ever. Never. Ever. Ever. Was that too many evers? Holy Batman and Robin, was I starting to sweat? How unattractive could I make myself to sex-god? And why the ever-loving hell was he entering into my personal space.