Daphne's Questionable Bet, page 1
Copyright © 2020 by Sara Jo Cluff
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover image from shutterstock.com
Cover design by Cammie Larsen
To all you quirky girls out there, I SEE YOU, and I think you're AWESOME.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Sara Cluff
The Kiss List
Chapter One
Onesie pajamas were basically the greatest creation of all time. Nothing beat lying down on the couch, snuggly in a onesie, and reading a blood-curdling horror novel by the warm fire. The hood of the onesie had to be up, of course, my sea of dirty-blonde wavy hair tucked in the back so I wouldn’t twirl it.
Scratch that. Reaching back, I secured a thin length of hair in my hand, twirling it around my finger and thumb, really working the strands as I got sucked into the chapter.
I’d pulled the coffee table close to me, sliding the rug over the wood floor, so my hot chocolate could be within arms’ reach.
My night was looking optimistic.
Two hair-raising chapters in, “Psycho” by Post Malone rang out from my phone. I hurried to snatch it from the coffee table—knowing it was my best friend Veronica video calling—my hand smacking into the mug in the process. Hot chocolate cascaded down my hand, searing my skin.
I was too busy shaking out my hand to really appreciate Veronica dancing on the screen, knowing what song would be playing on my end. I pressed the answer button as I wiped my other hand on my pink Cheer Care Bear onesie.
“Why do you look like you just found sour cream on your plate?” Veronica asked, her dance coming to a halt. Judging from the confined space and dresses hanging on the hooks behind her, she was in a dressing room.
I held up my hand, even though the evidence was already gone. “Spilled hot chocolate on myself.”
“Oof, that’s gotta hurt.” Veronica’s long, black hair hung down around her face, smooth and shiny. Her thick lips were covered in loose skin since she bit her lip so much.
I stuck out my tongue in disgust. “And now I’m thinking about sour cream.”
“Cherry Coke.”
Sighing in relief, I sunk back into the couch, holding my phone out in front of me. “Much better.”
She narrowed her brown eyes, trying to take in the hood of my onesie. “What’s the mood today?”
I angled the phone so she could see the rainbow covering my stomach. “Happy.”
“Good. I need your help.” She changed the view on her phone so I could see her through the mirror. “A?” The short navy-blue chiffon dress was cut low, the sequins glittering in the store light. She set the phone on a chair, darkness filling up the screen.
As she shuffled around—changing into another dress—I took a sip of my hot chocolate. I frowned at the top of it. It should have been covered in melty marshmallow goodness, but we were out.
“Or B?” Veronica asked. She’d changed into a burgundy dress with a high neck and lace cap sleeves, the skirt hanging just above her knees.
“B.” I sipped the hot chocolate, the mug warming my hand.
She pursed her lips. “You didn’t even ask what I need it for. That could change your answer.”
“Doesn’t matter. Your mom will kill you if you wear A, and B is a better color on you.”
Tilting her head to the side, she stared at herself in the mirror. “That’s what I was thinking, but DeShawn likes the color blue.”
I almost dropped the phone. “I’m sorry, did you just say DeShawn?”
Her grin practically split her face in two. “We have a date tomorrow night!”
“DeShawn.” I set the mug on the coffee table so I wouldn’t spill any more liquid on myself. My heart was hammering in shock.
She hopped up and down a few times, letting out a squeal. “Yes!” She cringed when she remembered she was in a dressing room, checking over her shoulder like someone would actually be standing there.
“The same DeShawn you’ve hated since elementary school? The one you added to your “hit list” in middle school?”
Veronica waved her hand. “That’s old news. He’s totally changed.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “He’s all buffed up now.”
“The same DeShawn that’s a running back on the football team, and you told me a few weeks ago after a game that he should ‘run himself on back to Loserville where he belongs’?”
She placed her hand on her hip. “You really need to get past all that and focus here.”
I pulled back the hood of my onesie, running my fingers through my messy hair. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know how to process this. In third grade, you told him the two of you were sworn enemies, and you’d rather take a thousand daggers to the heart than be in a reading group with him.” I smiled. “I knew in that moment that I’d picked the perfect best friend.”
Veronica threw out a hand. “How do you remember all of this?”
I slapped on my best “duh” expression. “It was a monumental moment in my life.”
She blew out a deep breath, sending some hair that had fallen in front of her face billowing. “I swear, you remember the most random things.”
The rumble of the garage door echoed down the hall, letting me know Mom was home. I checked the time on my rose-gold smartwatch.
“Mom’s home early,” I mumbled.
Veronica leaned closer to the phone, her fake eyelashes and penciled-on eyebrows taking up most of the screen. “I can’t understand you when you mumble.”
The back door slammed open, and I spun around in time to see Mom running down the hall, peeling off her high heels in the process and throwing them on the ground.
“I’m in a Hurry” by Alabama played in my mind, reminding me of my dad. One of his favorite bands.
“Get packed!” Mom rounded the corner and tossed her purse on the kitchen table. The leather slid effortlessly across the wood, thankfully stopping short before it could fall off the table. “We’re moving.”
The song in my head came to a screeching halt, like records being scratched, making me cringe. Worst. Sound. Ever.
Wait. What?
Moving?
Shaking the screeching record from my head, I stared after Mom in shock, my mind frantically trying to piece together what was happening. I must have heard her wrong.
“What?” I yelled at the same time Veronica did.
“Turn the phone around so I can see her!” Veronica snapped.
I did as I was told.
“Mom, call me silly, but I swear it sounded like you said we were moving.” I sat up, watching my words settle in her eyes, and the determined nod that followed caused a whimper to crawl up my throat. I had heard her right. Reaching up, I tucked my hood back over my head, feeling the darkness looming. Something bad was about to happen.
Mom started undoing the buttons on her blouse as she moved toward the stairs. “You heard me right. I want to be out by tonight.”
“Let’s keep this PG, Mrs. Richards,” Veronica said.
Mom paused her unbuttoning and squinted at the phone. “Oh, hey, Veronica. How are you doing?” She waved her hand. “Sorry, I don’t have time for small talk right now. Daphne, get upstairs and pack up everything worth keeping.” She bounded up the stairs two at a time, moving quite deftly for wearing a pencil skirt.
I watched her ascend the stairs, confused. We were moving? Why? Where?
“Why are we still sitting here?” Veronica shrieked. “Follow her!”
“Oh, yeah.” I ran up the stairs, stumbling halfway up. I regained my footing and sprinted to Mom’s room.
Her blouse and skirt were on the bed as she shimmied into a pair of sweats, only wearing a bra on top.
“This just went way past PG. So never wanted to see that side of your mom, Daphne.”
I turned the phone so she could see me. “You’re the one who told me to face her.”
Veronica rolled her eyes. “Cl
I twisted my lips to the side and tapped my chin. “I just don’t get the hype.”
“Daphne!” Mom yelled, making me look at her. She was finally fully dressed. She yanked a suitcase down from the top shelf in the closet and tossed it on her bed. “Focus. Just essentials. I’ll have Shannon take care of the rest.” She opened her dresser drawer with so much force, it rolled off the tracks. Shrugging, she set the entire drawer on the bed and transferred the items to her suitcase.
We had officially switched to a code red Mom breakdown.
“Veronica, I’ll call you back,” I said, the words spaced out. I threw out the next words as an afterthought. “Get the maroon dress.”
“Don’t you dare hang—”
I ended the call and slipped the phone into the pocket I’d sewn on the side of my onesie—seriously, manufacturers should know that pockets are a given for every piece of clothing—before holding my hands out in front of me like I was trying to calm the crazy Judson twins I used to babysit. “Okay, let’s breathe for a second.” I sat down on her bed, patting the spot next to me. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Mom moved to another drawer, taking that one out from the dresser as well and turning it upside down over the suitcase, all the contents haphazardly pouring in. “I felt like a change.”
“Which meant up and leaving in the middle of the night from the house we’ve spent the last eight years in?” I leaned forward and grabbed her hands before she could move toward another drawer. “The same house where you made me help repaint the entire downstairs just a couple of months ago.”
Mom forced a smile, tucking her short blonde hair behind her ear. “It will make it easier to sell.”
I guided her to the bed until she was sitting next to me. “Talk.”
With a sigh, Mom fell back onto the bed, sinking into the mattress. “Patrick showed up at work again today.”
I lay down next to her, staring up at the ceiling fan. Dust hung from the sides of the blades from lack of use—thanks, freezing cold Utah winter—and our busy schedule. “This is like the tenth time.”
“I know.” She rubbed her forehead. “The guy just won’t take no for an answer.”
I turned onto my side so I could face her. “Yes, it’s creepy, but it’s not a ‘get up and move’ situation. Can’t you file a restraining order or something?”
She looked at me, her face scrunching like it always did when she had to tell me something she really didn’t want to. “I did. A couple of weeks ago. Nothing changed.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
I gestured to her suitcase. “And coming home, declaring we’re moving, and rushing to pack isn’t going to worry me?”
Mom propped herself up on her elbow, facing me. Dark puffs of skin sat under her green eyes. The last time I’d seen her this tired was at Dad’s funeral. But through it all, a smile formed on her lips. “Grams and Gramps want to retire.”
“It’s about time.” They owned an antique shop down in Southern California and were at least five years past retirement.
“They want to travel for the next few years.” Mom placed her hand on mine. “They’ve offered to sell me the shop and their home in Yorba Linda.”
“I always knew you were their favorite child.”
“I’m the only one in a spot where I could possibly uproot my life right now.”
My mind spun. “Move back to California?”
I’d grown up in my grandparents’ home, back when Mom and Dad were barely scraping by. They searched for jobs everywhere, including Utah, where Mom’s sister, Shannon, and her family lived. Dad ended up getting offered a lucrative job in Utah, so they up and moved us when I was nine. We’d really enjoyed our time here, but Dad passed away a couple of years ago, leaving Mom and me alone in this huge house filled with reminders of happier days.
Mom glanced around the room like she was replaying memories. “I think a change would be good for us. We’d be back near the beach, Disneyland—”
“Veronica.” A grin burst out on my face, way bigger than Veronica’s had been. “I could actually hang out with her instead of taking her places via video chat.”
Mom scratched above her lip. “So weird that the two of you do that.” She lowered her hand. “Like, really weird.”
I got so many strange looks from people when I’d call Veronica at nearby events, like festivals, and we’d just video call the whole time so we could “experience” it together.
“The weather is nicer,” I said, easing into the idea of moving. “We’d be able to escape the Utah winter early.”
Mom twisted her lips to the side. “But it’s more expensive.”
“And more crowded,” I put in.
Mom sat all the way up. “No Six Sisters’ Deli.”
I sat up next to her, thinking about our favorite local restaurant down the road. “I’ll miss their egg salad sandwich.”
“You think we should do this?” She stared at her hands, eyes unfocused.
I lightly pushed her shoulder. “You were just shouting that we were.”
She twisted a hand. “Not really shouting—”
“Total shouting. Neighbors probably heard.” I placed a hand on my cheek. “Mrs. Weaver is going to be ticked if we move.” She was our elderly next-door neighbor that we’d grown very attached to. I considered her another grandma.
Mom put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to her. I rested my head on her shoulder, breathing in her peach scent.
“We need a fresh start.” She rubbed her hand on my arm. “And I think it will be good for you to be back with Veronica. You two need each other.”
We’d both been dealing with a lot. Veronica’s dad walking out on their family. Her taking care of her younger brother and sister so their mom could work more hours. My ever-building anxiety, which had recently led to panic attacks. Things hadn’t been right since Dad passed away.
I stood, straightening out my onesie. “I’ll go pack.”
Chapter Two
Thick palm trees greeted us as we pulled into my grandparents’ subdivision, immediately washing me with a comfort of home, and I knew we’d made the right choice.
Mom reached over from the driver’s seat and took my hand. “I feel good about this.”
“Me, too,” I said, squeezing her hand.
Veronica hadn’t stopped squealing since I’d told her we were coming back to California. She wanted to throw a block party and basically invite everyone we went to elementary school with, but I talked her down from that. I wanted to ease into the change, especially since it was in the middle of my junior year.
Grams and Gramps were waiting outside of the house when we pulled into the driveway, both of them waving so excitedly, their wrinkly skin flapped on their arms. Gramps had on his typical Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and flip flops, even though it was fifty degrees outside. His shaggy hair and beard had gone full gray. Grams’ eyeglasses were perched in her dyed-blonde hair. Her top and cardigan were both blue, same as her flats and the necklace dangling around her neck. Always put together, Grams.
Unlike my mom—who had me at the ripe age of twenty-one—Grams and Gramps had Mom when they were in their late thirties. Mom was the youngest child and unplanned. They always say she was one of their greatest blessings.
Veronica was on the grass, jumping up and down and holding a humongous sign that said, Welcome home, Daphne and Laura! in a glittery magenta ink. Best. Color. Ever.
