Daphne's Questionable Bet, page 17
“How …”
“They told me to delete it, which I did. But not before I sent it to Rosalind. She was so right about you.”
My lungs constricted, burning. Dax had deleted Rosalind’s copy, but Sierra had it, too. Would that moment haunt me forever?
“What do you mean, she was right about me?”
“She kept warning me,” she said, “saying how vicious you are behind people’s backs.”
I scratched my head, so confused. “Okay, I have no idea what she’s talking about.”
“Stop lying!” Sierra took a deep breath to calm herself before she smirked, satisfaction dancing in her eyes. “If you don’t try your heart out to win this bet, we’re posting this photo.” She paused, her mind reeling. Then, a big ol’ smile landed on her face, and I didn’t like it one bit. “You know what? New deal. Forget about being asked to prom.”
“Okay …”
“The new bet is to make Prom King and Queen.” Her eyes sparkled like it was her most brilliant idea ever. I think she might have officially lost it. Gone cuckoo.
“Basket Case” by Green Day played in my mind, a crowd of people gathering around the band, jumping up and down and banging their heads.
Man, I really missed my dad. It was his favorite band of all time.
“Bentley and me against Weston and you,” Sierra’s voice cut through the party.
The song shut off like someone had yanked out the power to the speaker. The crowd in my head slowly lowered their hands, glancing around, confused. I had to shove them off the stage, bringing myself back to reality.
“What?”
She put her hands on her forehead. “This is so ingenious.” She paced the porch in front of me. “My mom won Prom Queen. Your dad won Prom King. You’ve already lost Bentley.” She smiled at me. “We kissed that day you freaked out at the bookstore. Did you know that?”
Sarcasm dripped from my words. “Weird. Bentley never mentioned it to me. Neither did you. Rude.”
“It was after we dropped Weston off.” Her head tilted to the side, her smile smoldering like she was reliving the moment. “I’ve actually liked him for a while. We’d been flirting a ton right before you moved here.”
I folded my arms. Taylor had been right about them already liking each other. “Hey! So you went into it knowing you already had a head start?”
“Of course,” she said. “Anyway, he doesn’t want to go to that stupid ball with you, but he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“It wouldn’t,” I said. “I’d rather go with Weston.”
Her lips twitched, clearly not happy with my reaction. “Anyway, I’ve already won your dad in this scenario.”
“That’s really weird …”
She ignored my comment, rattling on, still pacing. “My parents will be ecstatic to know I’m dating Whitaker Anderson’s son. And if we win Prom King and Queen? Icing on the cake. Maybe then Mom and Dad will …” She trailed off, her eyes going wide.
“Your parents will what?” I asked, eager to know where she was going.
“That’s none of your business!” she snarled.
Man, she had some anger issues to work out.
“You know,” I said, “you could win Prom King and Queen without involving me. I could even help with your campaign.” I tapped my lips. “Do people campaign for that? We could probably work up some sweet posters—”
“You don’t understand,” Sierra said, practically screeching. A part of me wanted to reach forward and hug her. She looked like she could use a big bear hug. “Bentley as my date, my king, is for my dad.” She pointed a finger into my chest, poking a little too hard. “Beating you, though, is for my mom. I can make them both proud.”
I swatted her hand away from my chest. “Your family has some really weird ideas on how to impress each other. Isn’t your scholarship to UCLA enough?”
She paused, taking a slight step back. “You know about that?”
“Weston told me. Congratulations, by the way. That’s really awesome.”
She sniffed. “My dad didn’t quite feel the same way.” Her voice switched to a tone that made me believe she was mimicking him. “As a woman, you can’t make a career as a basketball player.”
“Your dad sounds like a real piece of work,” I said.
“No thanks to your parents. I’ve had to live in misery for seventeen years, thanks to your dad’s choice. Now you’ll get a tiny glimpse of how I feel.” She backed down the steps. “Not a word to your mom, Veronica, Taylor, or anyone else. You need to do this on your own, just like I have to.”
“Sierra,” I said. “What if I don’t want to do this? Cuz, I really don’t.”
She wriggled her phone at me. “The picture goes viral.”
Would that really be a bad thing? A photo of my butt forever in the cloud? Okay, yeah, that would be very bad for me and my anxiety.
Maybe Dax would be willing to delete the photo from Sierra’s phone as well. He had said he loved doing that kind of thing. How illegal was it? Was that something he could get in trouble for? I mean, he was just deleting some scandalous photos they shouldn’t have had to begin with. He was being a hero, really.
“Weston and you have to beat Bentley and me for Prom King and Queen. Good luck with that.” Her snooty manner made me pause.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She put her hand on her hip. “You really think you, Daphne Richards, and Weston Ashworth could become a power couple? Please. I don’t think so.”
Why couldn’t we become a power couple? We could totally be Tim and Faith. David and Victoria. Beyoncé and Jay-Z. Okay, probably not them. But we could become our own epic, unique couple, making waves at our school. We could have our own hashtag. #DaphneandWeston4EVR. Uh, no. #Westne. Nah.
#Daphton. That could work. It sounded like a really cool singer that only needed one name because they were that awesome.
I found myself smiling. This meant I could pursue Weston. We’d win Prom King and Queen, then the photos would be deleted, and all would be right in the world.
Things were suddenly looking up.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I went to sleep feeling all-powerful, then woke up with so many concerns. One thing I hated was that I was back to being bullied. I thought I’d left all that behind years ago, but I guess bullies were everywhere. No place was immune to them.
But hadn’t I said I’d never let it happen to me again? That I’d never let someone have that much control over me? Who cared if that photo got out? Yeah, it was embarrassing. Yeah, I’d never hear the end of it. Yeah, it would be turned into a meme for time and all eternity.
Oh, no. It could be a meme. It would be a great meme.
That photo couldn’t get out.
Even if Dax got his hands on Sierra and Rosalind’s phones, they could have other copies on their laptops or something. They’d be stupid not to have backups. Asking someone to take someone’s phone and delete a few photos wasn’t that big of a deal. Asking them to break into their home and find their laptop to do the same, that seemed to be pushing it too far.
So, basically, I needed to win the bet.
Standing in front of the mirror hanging on the back of my closet door, I bounced on my feet, getting the blood pumping.
“I can do this.” I flexed, and, wow, I had no muscles. Nope. Positivity only. “I am strong. I can do anything I put my mind to.” I pointed a finger at myself through the mirror. “I’m going to woo the crap out of Weston Ashworth. I will win this bet, and do so with grace, dignity, and my sweet dance moves.” Reaching over, I grabbed some liquid eyeliner from my makeup bag. “Alexa, play ‘Roar’ by Katy Perry.”
As the song played, I sang along, putting on my makeup. A couple of times, I had to remove my eyeliner and start over, thanks to my crazy dancing sending the liner flying all over the place. I didn’t want to look like a circus clown for my date tonight. Because—as previously established—clowns were serial killers.
It was triple date night with Veronica and Taylor. We were watching a movie and playing games over at Zander’s house.
Bentley was my original date, but I talked to him after Sierra left my house, letting him know I had feelings for someone else and letting him back out of the date and the ball. He sounded happy for me, so all was well in the end.
Plus, he admitted he had feelings for Sierra. They’d honestly make a cute couple, but only if she went back to being her black and plaid wearing self. Not the pastel Barbie she’d created. I mean, Bentley wore flannel as well. They could be all matchy-matchy.
Wait. That would make them a perfect power couple. I needed to make sure Sierra stuck with her fake Barbie persona. It was obvious how fake she was being, and no one liked fake.
My main goal for the night was to officially become Weston’s girlfriend. We couldn’t become a power couple if we weren’t actually a couple. Then, I could move onto my #DaphtonforPromRoyals campaign.
Back in Utah, I never went on dates. I hadn’t really wanted to. Now, I had two dates in one week. Originally, with two different guys, but thanks to a bet to win Prom King and Queen, it was with the same hot guy I had a major crush on. It was pretty much the start of a Taylor Swift song.
“Alexa, play songs by Taylor Swift.” If I was going to date like TSwift, I needed to get in the right mindset.
Finally finished with my makeup—I really had to tone down the dancing—I stared in my closet, not sure what to wear. Taylor and Veronica were both getting ready at their own houses, which was truly stupid on my part. I should have had them get ready over here. I needed their input.
Mom was out on a date with Cody. That left one woman in my life whose opinion truly mattered to me.
Sitting down in my swing, I video called Grams.
She answered on the third ring, the background dark.
“Hello?” Grams’ voice was shaky like she’d just woken up.
Crap. The time difference. I’d forgotten about that.
A light switched on, lighting up Grams’ face. She had total bedhead, her beautiful face clear of makeup.
She squinted at the screen. “Daphne?”
I waved. “Hey, Grams. Sorry to be calling so …” What time was it there? “Early.”
Grams sat tall in the bed, leaning against the headboard. “Is everything okay?”
“I have a date emergency.”
Her eyes lit up. “A date? My Daphne? Is he cute?”
I nodded, grabbing some of my hair and twirling it around my finger. “Very. He’s really smart, funny, and totally adorable.”
Grams wriggled her eyebrows. “Sounds like quite the catch.”
“We’re watching movies and playing games over at Taylor’s boyfriend’s house—”
“A group date.” Grams nodded her head in approval. “Smart girl.”
“I don’t know what to wear, and Weston’s going to be here soon to pick me up.”
“What are your options?”
I smiled sheepishly, still working my hair. “My clothes consist of Care Bears, Cherry Coke, or Captain America.”
Grams sighed so loud it rattled the speakers. “Oh, my Daphne girl. What am I going to do with you?”
“Love me forever?”
Grams pursed her lips, deep in thought. Then her eyes went wide, an idea coming to her. “Rompers are back in style, right?”
“Well, yeah, but I don’t own any.”
“I do. Go to the attic and find my box labeled, ‘clothes from the 1970s.’ You’ll find some rompers in there.”
I hopped off the swing. “You really do keep everything, don’t you?”
She grinned. “Aren’t you glad I do?”
Keeping her on the line, I headed into the attic. I hated going there on my own, so taking a virtual Grams was better than nothing. Her calm voice walked me through it with ease.
Once I found the box, I opened it, peering inside. An old, musty smell hit me, making me grimace.
“There should be a navy-blue one in there,” Grams said. “It was my favorite. I’d wear it on dates with Gramps.”
“That’s so sweet.” I dug through the box until I found the romper, pulling it out.
It had short sleeves, a collar, zippered front, and a thick belt around the waist. I pulled back in surprise, though, when I saw how short the shorts were.
“You wore this for Gramps? Did it even cover your butt?”
Grams rolled her eyes. “It was the fashion back then. And it’s the fashion now. Don’t be such a prude.”
Nothing like hearing your grandma call you a prude.
“Are you talking about the romper that zips in the front?” Gramps’ sleeping voice came from beside Grams.
She smiled at him. “Yes.”
“That one is my favorite.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Especially when you didn’t zip it up very far.”
I stuck out my tongue. “Seriously? Why? Now I don’t want to wear it.”
Grams chuckled. “It’s fine, Daphne. Wear it. Zip it up as high as you want. You’ll look amazing in it, I know it.”
“Thanks, Grams. I miss you both!”
“We miss you, too, sweetie,” Grams said in a soft tone.
“Love you, Daphne,” Gramps said through a yawn. “I’m going back to sleep.”
I blew a kiss to Grams and then hung up. I quickly put the box back and hightailed it downstairs, wanting out of the attic.
The romper fit surprisingly well, though it did smell like clothing that had been locked in an attic for years. I almost expected moths to crawl out from the outfit, finally free from hibernation.
Going to my dresser, I snatched my cherry perfume and spritzed it all over the outfit, hoping that would help. I didn’t have time to wash it.
The doorbell rang, and footage of our front porch came up on my phone. Weston was here. My eyes narrowed on the image. Was he wearing a blazer over his Captain America tee? Could he get any cuter? Then he cupped his hand over his mouth, smelling his breath. Yes, yes, he could.
Tucking my phone into my bag, I threw my bag over my body. I quickly put on my tennis shoes and ran to the front door, trying to keep my cool, when Weston’s eyes lit up, a huge smile taking over his face.
I completely tossed my cool to the side and threw my arms around him, hugging him tight. I was overjoyed to have him standing on the other side of the door, not Bentley. No offense to Bentley. I mean, he was a great guy.
But he was no Weston.
When I finally released him and pulled back to look at him, I noticed the pink in his neck and cheeks and how his hand trembled on my waist. “Yeah Boy” by Kelsea Ballerini provided the moment’s soundtrack, and I couldn’t shake the thought that we were so going to win the bet.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Zander’s parents had a home straight out of the Real Housewives of Orange County. When Weston and I turned into the massive driveway (after being let in through the gates), I got all self-conscious.
I mean, was I supposed to act differently at fancy homes? Be all proper and such? It would be good practice for the ball, but I highly doubted Zander’s family talked like they were from the Regency Era.
A scene started in my mind, a bunch of people in Regency clothes dancing to “Rich Girl” by Gwen Stefani, and I found myself moving my shoulders back and forth to the music. I should be the DJ for Cody’s friend’s party. I’d nail it.
“Yeesh.” I stared up at the wide, glass front doors. “Think they’re overcompensating for something?”
Weston’s laugh was strained. I looked over to see him rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks red, looking at the ground—which, upon further inspection, was smooth, shiny cement with speckles that probably cost more than my car (when Cody first got it).
“You okay?” I asked.
He glanced at me nervously. “I just don’t know how to act at places like this. I’ve never been in a house this nice.”
“Same!” When I realized how loud I said it, I clamped my hand over my mouth.
A genuine smile replaced Weston’s nervousness. “Should we use accents or something?”
I snickered, but I quickly stopped myself and pretended to be polishing my nails. “No, darling, just act like everything is beneath you, and you’ve never seen anything so plain in your life.”
“Kind of difficult to act that way when I’m standing next to you,” Weston said. Then his face turned a bright red.
I loved that his mouth betrayed him like mine always did.
With a wide grin, I threw an arm around his neck, smooshed the side of my head against his, and snapped a picture of us with my cell, wanting to remember the moment.
Weston cleared his throat. “We should probably ring the doorbell or something.”
“Oh, yeah.” I leaned forward, pressing the button, before turning back to my phone.
The picture took my breath away. I looked beyond happy, my eyes lit up to match my wide smile. Weston, on the other hand, hadn’t looked at the camera like I thought he had. Instead of the side of his head up against mine, his forehead was against my temple, his nose pressed against my cheek, his eyes closed like he was breathing me all in.
Weston’s hand lightly landed on the small of my back. “Can you send that photo to me?”
I turned to him, our faces close together, and, boy, did he smell good. I had to work moisture back into my mouth before I could speak. “Sure.”
“Dear Future Husband” by Meghan Trainor appeared out of nowhere in my mind, making me blush. What in the what?
The front door opened, the song coming to a screeching halt. The Regency lady in me expected to see a nice butler with a fancy tux, but instead, it was just an average-looking lady wearing pink jeans and a button-down shirt tucked in only in the front.
“You must be Daphne!” She welcomed me with a hug. “Taylor has told me so much about you. I’m Zander’s mom.” She shook Weston’s hand. “Welcome to our home.” She waved her hand. “Follow me. The others are already in the movie room.”
As we trailed behind her, I tried to casually look around, not wanting to appear like a regular person touring a celebrity’s home. With the whole Housewives of Orange County vibe I got outside, the inside took me by surprise. I was expecting fancy. Gaudy. Pretty much screaming, ‘please don’t sit on or touch anything!’
