I Was His Bet, I Become Their Surprise Chapter 02
Tristan called immediately.
I didn’t pick up. He called three more times, then switched to voice memos.
[Sabrina, can you quit being dramatic?]
[It’s just how the game works. I lost, so you and Nolan are a
“couple” for one night. Three challenges and it’s done.]
[We all have to see each other every day. Stop turning this into a thing.]
I laughed, the kind of laugh that comes out when you’re too
furious to scream.
He’d handed me off like a party favor, and somehow I was the
one making him look bad.
I opened the pinned note in the chat. The so–called couple
challenge had three rounds.
Round one: feed each other cake at the mixer. Round two:
hold hands for a photo and post it in the freshman chat.
Round three: he carries her bridal–style for ten seconds.
The chat was already writing Nolan’s obituary.
[Who came up with the third challenge? That’s attempted murder.]
(Nolan’s six–foot–two, and even he can’t deadlift 220 pounds]
[He’ll live. Probably. At least the hospital’s close.]
Through all of it, Nolan hadn’t said a single word.
Black profile picture. Empty bio.
But people in the chat seemed wary of him.
They tripped over each other roasting me, but when it came
to Nolan, they kept it light. Nobody pushed him.
I was about to leave the chat when my best friend Phoebe
Langley video–called me.
She exploded as soon as I answered.
“Sabrina, is Tristan completely out of his goddamn mind?”
“He literally gambled away his girlfriend. Does he think you’re
just some cheap party favor?”
I froze.
“How do you know?”
“Screenshots are all over our high school group chat already!”
On screen, Phoebe was pacing, livid.
“I already know who posted that photo. First week of school,
I’m jumping him in a parking lot. You’re my lookout.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
Seeing me laugh only made her angrier on my behalf.
“So what’s the plan? You gonna post a new photo and shut
them all up?”
“I’m not posting one.”
“Why not?”
I opened my closet. A row of dresses stared back at me.
“What’s the point of a photo?”
Filters. Stolen photos. Face swaps.
People who didn’t want to believe it would always find an
excuse not to.
I wanted them to see me in person. I wanted them to regret
it right in front of me.
Phoebe caught on instantly. Her eyes lit up.
“Are you really going?”
“Of course I’m going, I already put down $420.”
“Then you have to go!”
She slammed her hand on her desk.
“You don’t just have to go. You have to walk in there looking
so good that every single one of them chokes.”
“Tristan put $1,400 on you not showing? Take his money first,
then make sure the whole school sees his face.”
A knock on my bedroom door cut her off.
My mom entered with a mug of warm chamomile tea.
She paused when she saw the dress laid out on my bed.
“Are you heading to that campus mixer tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated. “Is this… for the boy?”
I didn’t answer.
A whole year. I’d spent a whole year losing weight for him.
At my worst, I lived on a handful of lettuce a day. I’d lie in
bed at night with stomach cramps so bad I couldn’t sleep
without a heating pad pressed against my body.
Then a checkup caught what I’d been doing to myself, and
my nutritionist shut it down.
That’s when I finally started doing it right, counting macros,
lifting weights.
220.And finally, 109 pounds.
187.My mom had been there for every single dropped dress.
size. Seven of them.
143.And finally, 109.
My mom had been there for every single size drop. Seven of them.
She’d watched me step on the scale more times than I could
count, blinking hard, refusing to let myself cry.
Mom set the mug down. At the door, she tucked a strand of
hair behind my ear.
She didn’t know that the thing I’d been waiting for had
already gone rotten.
Mom set the fruit down. At the door, she tucked a strand of
hair behind my ear.
“Sabrina, it doesn’t matter what anyone says. Thin or not.
Pretty or not. You’re my girl. Always.”
The door clicked shut, and my throat locked up.
Then my phone buzzed.
[She isn’t a prize.]
He ignored everything and sent one message.
[She isn’t a wager.]
The chat went dead.
A few seconds later, he tagged me again.
[You don’t have to come tomorrow if you don’t want to.]
Tristan jumped in right away.
I stared at those four words, “She isn’t a prize,” then, for the
first time, I opened Nolan’s profile.
Nolan didn’t respond.
I stared at those four words, “She isn’t a wager,” then, for the
first time, I opened Nolan’s profile.
I didn’t know why. But something about him felt familiar.