Betting on You
Lynn Painter
This book is dedicated to the late Nora Ephron—the greatest rom-com writer of all time and the queen mother of autumnal comfort movies.
And to the readers who create playlists, aesthetic boards, and full-on edits—everyone should be so lucky as to connect with stories in such an immersive way.
CHAPTER ONE THREE YEARS AGO
Bailey
The first time I met Charlie was at the airport in Fairbanks.
My dad had just said goodbye, so I was swallowing down heavy emotion as I left behind life as I knew it and prepared to fly to Nebraska, where my mother and I would now be living since my parents had officially separated. I lifted my chin and attempted to channel maturity as I traversed the airport with my rolling pink carry-on, but every blink of my eyes held back a weighted homesickness for the place and the memories I was leaving behind.
It was when I got stuck in a long line of people waiting to go through security, sandwiched between strangers and stressing over whether or not my braces were going to set off the metal detector, that we made contact.
The line started moving, but I couldn’t take a step because the two people in front of me were kissing. Hard-core. As if their mouths were fused together and they were desperately trying to pull them apart by turning their heads from side to side.
Or else they were eating each other’s faces off.
I cleared my throat.
Nothing.
I cleared my throat again.
Which made the guy open his eyes—I could only see one eye—and look directly at me. While still kissing the girl. As if that wasn’t weird enough, he said to me while his lips were still attached to hers, “Oh my God—what?”
Which sounded like omiguhdwhruut.
And then The Eye closed and they were full-on kissing again.
“Excuse me,” I said through gritted teeth, my emotional anxiety replaced by irritation, “but the line. The line is moving.”
The Eye opened again and the dude glared at me. He lifted his mouth and said something to his girlfriend that prompted them to actually move forward. Finally. I heard his girlfriend chirp about how much she was going to miss him, and I could see by his profile that he was kind of half smiling and not saying anything as they stumbled forward, hand in hand.
But I couldn’t get past the fact that they looked like they were my age.
What?
I was going into my freshman year. Of high school. People my age didn’t make out in public; they couldn’t even drive yet. People my age didn’t have the audacity to totally get after it in the airport security line, where they could get in trouble.
So who were these obnoxious PDA renegades?
The girl stepped out of line and waved to the guy, probably relieved to finally be getting oxygen. After making it through security and reorganizing my things, I checked the time on my phone. I wanted to be right next to the door when the Jetway opened, so it was imperative that I get there as quickly as possible. I went around the face-eating jackass as he looked down at his phone, and I walked as fast as I could toward the departure gate.
It wasn’t until I took a seat right next to the check-in counter, where I couldn’t miss any pertinent announcements and would be guaranteed a spot at the very front of the line, that I was finally able to calm my nerves.
I scrolled through my phone, checked the airline’s app for updates, then put on my headphones and cued up the freshly curated Bailey’s Airplane Playlist. But as I sat back and watched the other travelers milling about the terminal, I couldn’t help but wonder how many of them were being forced to go somewhere they didn’t want to go and start a new life they had no interest in beginning.
If I were a betting person, I’d say zero.
I had to be the only person in that entire airport who was going on what was the polar opposite of a trip. I had a ticket to my own transplantation, and it sucked. I dwelled on this for the entirety of the hour wait, especially when Adorable Family of Four plopped down across from me, looking like poster children for the Disney resorts as they bounced around with palpable travel enthusiasm.
The sight of their familial bliss made me want to snuggle with the tiny scrap of blankie I still slept with (even though no one knew) and cry just a little.
So to say I was tightly wound by the time we lined up to board would be an understatement. I was first in line—hell yes—but buzzing with my own brand of palpable energy. My gurgling turmoil saw Adorable Family’s enthusiasm and raised the pot by a hundred.
“Hey, you.”
I looked to my left, and there was the face-eating jackass from security, smiling at me as if we were friends.
“I looked everywhere for you, babe.”
I glanced behind me at the rest of the boarding line, because he couldn’t possibly be talking to me. But when I turned back around, he was actually moving marginally closer, forcing me to take a step over so he could stand beside me. He nudged my shoulder with his and winked.
What in the actual hell? Was he high?
“What are you doing?” I whispered, clutching the strap of my carry-on bag as I tried scooting away from him while still maintaining my First in Line status. He was wearing a hoodie that said Mr. Nothing, with baggy shorts, and he didn’t have a single thing in his hands. No carry-on, no book, no coat; what kind of person traveled like that?
He moved even closer, so his face was about an inch from mine, and said under his breath, “Relax, Glasses. I just don’t want to wait in that line, so I’m making it look like we’re together.”
“But.” I looked at him and wondered who Mr. Nothing actually was. He was obviously my age-ish and a generally attractive human. He had thick, dark, careless hair and a nice mouth. But his nerve was just too huge for a normal boy. “That’s not fair.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Everyone else has to wait in line,” I said, trying not to sound like a child screaming It’s not fair while kind of wanting to throw elbows. “If you didn’t want to wait, you should’ve gotten here earlier.”
“Like you?” he asked, his tone thick with sarcasm.
I pushed up my glasses. “Yes, like me.”
Why is this total stranger messing with me? Was this karma for daydreaming about Adorable Family being stranded at the airport? Karma was supposed to be a cat, dammit, not this.
He tilted his head to the side and looked at me. “I bet you used to be a hall monitor.”
“Excuse me?” It was obvious he meant it in an insulting way, and I was torn between wanting to punch him in the face and wanting to sobbingly beg him to leave me alone. I glanced behind us again, and the man next in line was smirking, clearly eavesdropping. I turned back to Mr. Nothing and whispered, “Not that it’s any of your business, but everyone had to take a turn at my school.”
“Sure they did.”