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Betting On Love

Novel By: OvercomeTheDark
Romance



Meet Callie Anderson: a beautiful punk-like rocker who is currently single, not willing to get into a relationship, especially after dating Mike Ford, a cheater, who only dated her to get into her popular girly best friend, Leslie Ryan's skirt. She is doubtful in acquiring a date for prom, so Leslie and her boyfriend decide to set up a blind date system, for her to achieve the "One" to take her to prom.

Meet Trevor McAllin: the school's God. All the girls in the school, especially snobby rich Felicia Wilson, are lining up to get him to take them to prom, even though he doesn't wish to go, merely because he doesn't like getting involved with those girls. His best friend, Ethan, along with his girlfriend, have decided to set him up with someone, someone that they think will keep up with Trevor's wits and is a really good match for him.

What Trevor and Callie don't know is that they will be going out with each other. Problem? We think so. Ever since second grade, Trevor and Callie have been at each other's throats.

What happens when ex boyfriend, Mike challenges Trevor to a bet: the first person to win Callie's heart, wins her along with $300? Who will win? Most importantly, why does Trevor agree to the bet? Will Callie find out? What happens when Trevor begins to develop feelings for Callie? Or will it be too late? Will he regret Betting On Love? View table of contents...


Chapters:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Submitted:Jun 9, 2011    Reads: 1,432    Comments: 129    Likes: 55   


Chapter One

Callie

"Prom tickets!! Prom tickets over here!" my best friend Leslie Ryan yelled out as we both stood behind a booth with an even bigger sign above us that read 'Prom is in a month! Be there or be circle!'

"I don't understand why anyone would buy these tickets," I muttered, sitting behind the booth, completely bored out of my mind. I looked down unto my dark burgundy nail polished fingernails. God, I had horrible, horrible cuticles.

I began biting my cuticles when I looked up to find Leslie, who was still standing, glaring down at me with those menacing green eyes.

"I probably shouldn't have said that, but nevertheless, these tickets look so fabulous!" I fake-smiled at her, entirely forgetting the fact that Leslie was like a math problem:

Leslie + Stress = Ursula from The Little Mermaid.

Ergo, by the law of substitution, she could equal a bitch.

"Yeah, Callie, you probably shouldn't have," she growled, peering over the mass of students. "Are you even coming?" she glanced back down at me.

I cleared my throat, "Nope. Probably not."

Leslie sat beside me, "Seriously?" she asked gently, "You don't have stay home. You can come with Ethan and me."

I gave her a horrified look, "No thank you, princess. I'd rather not go as a third wheel with two completely-engrossed-in-each-other lovebirds," I said, standing up. "I'd rather watch Twilight than to go with the both of you," I said, putting on my black hood.

"I will take that insult as a compliment," she said, swiftly standing on her feet, straightening her designer white flare-y skirt.

Now, here's the part where you all ask me: Oh my god, Callie, you and Leslie totally don't seem like the type to be friends. And oh my god, are you tremendously right!

Leslie's the type of girl who instead of reading books for fun, she will read magazines, religiously. Leslie only wears designer. She even refuses to go shop in Macy's, only Bergdorf or Barney's. As if I know what the hell's the difference but whatever. That is Leslie. Your average blonde girly girl.

I, on the other hand, am completely different. I read Stephen King, not Teen Vogue. And I don't really care where my clothes come from. Sometimes, I even go ransacking through Goodwill (they actually have very good cool stuff there).

So why are Leslie and I friends? Well, maybe it's because before we went through our transformations before ninth grade, Leslie and I were inseparable. Like, tied to the hip. We did everything together, went everywhere together, and our mothers sometimes were worried that somehow we were separated at birth, and that they weren't our biological mothers.

But then the summer of ninth grade happened. Leslie went off to cheer camp, and I stayed at home. It's not like I hated her for leaving me, I didn't. She even asked me if I wanted to go to cheer camp but I refused. I didn't see how shaking my ass in very short skirts, shouting out clich├ęd and stupid cheers would help a basketball team win.

So she went off, and I stayed home. I made a few new friends, ones who always hung in the parking lots of Davey's Supermarket after hours. Soon enough, I felt actually in place, like I belonged there. They were outcasts, and so was I. I began realizing that I never felt like I belonged whenever I hung out with Leslie and her group of dumb blondes.

After the summer, she came home. I took one good look at Leslie who came back all tan, saying "like" after every word, her blonde hair bleached to Bimbo Blonde, and then I took one good look at me. I had changed over the summer as well, wearing darker colors, my brown haired dyed to Midnight/Jet Black with a few pieces of hair colored pink, blue, and white. I realized that we were complete opposites. But should we cut off our friendship because of differences?

I thought after Leslie's whore couture-ish transformation, she'd begin acting like a whore. But she didn't. She acted like the same old Leslie from before the summer (except that she would say "like" after every word). She even said to me when she saw my hair for the first time after the summer, "Wow, it's like Cirque de Soliel up there!"

That was the fun, banterish, sister relationship I had with Leslie, and I realized she hadn't changed. So we agreed despite our differences, to stay best friends.

"Um, hello? Earth to best friend?" Leslie waved a hand in my face.

I snapped back into reality, "Huh?" I looked up at her in confusion. "Sorry," I mumbled, "What did you say?"

"I said do you think Ethan should get me a white or pink corsage for my pink dress?" Leslie asked.

I rolled my eyes, "You're kinda asking the wrong person here, Les," I said, pointing to my dark purple jeans and off the shoulder black ripped down the sides Alice in Chains concert tee shirt.

"What's a corsage anyway?" I asked her after she had taken an order from a senior.

She was taking out two tickets out of her blue "tickets" box when she paused and looked at me, appalled. "You know what? You're right. I am asking the wrong person," she said, continuing to pull out two tickets and handing it to the senior.

I laughed, "I'm kidding. I know what it is. That stupid flower you wear on your wrist and he wears in his jacket?"

She turned to me and put up her index finger, "First of all, it is not a flower. Normally it is a rose. Second of all, it is not stupid. It is a romantic gesture. Third of all, don't ask when you're going to make nasty faces like that," she pointed at my face, where I was indeed, giving her faces as if I was in pain.

I bumped her shoulder with mine when she turned away from me. "Come on, you know I'm kidding. I'm happy your going. Have the time of your life," I said, beginning to sing "I've Had the Time of My Life" from the Patrick Swayze movie Dirty Dancing.

Leslie smacked me on my arm, "Shush! You're embarrassing me. No wonder no one wants to buy tickets," she grumbled.

"Oh chillax, will you? No one wants to buy tickets because people probably haven't figured out their date situation," I said, reassuring her. Sometimes I knew when to joke but the worry in her eyes for these ridiculous tickets told me to stop kidding around and calm her.

"I hope you're right," she sighed. "I'm still mad at you, though."

"Me?" I put a hand over my chest, "What did I do?"

"It's not what you are doing. It's what you're not doing."

"I'm confused. Please repeat that but say it in English this time around."

She whacked me on my arm. "You're not coming!" she yelled.

"To where? Prom? Come on, Leslie. You know me. I'm not the type of person to go."

She turned to face me, once again with those menacing green eyes. "You. Are. Going, Callie Elizabeth Anderson." Oh shit, when she said your full name, you knew she was talking business.

"Yeah?" I put one hand on my hip. "With who? Peter Pan?" I joked.

Leslie crossed her arms and turned around to scan the hallway, "I'll find someone," she huffed.

Crap. Oh no. She couldn't be that serious.

Before I could open my mouth to refuse, she put one finger over my lip. "If you dare to disobey, Callie, I swear to God, I will make your life miserable," she said.

"God, why are you so persistent on this stupid Prom thing?" I mumbled against her finger.

"Ew," she said, taking her finger off my mouth and wiping it against her skirt. Then she looked at me. "Because you are supposed to go to prom, Callie. That's just how high school is. You have to go. You shouldn't sit at home, all lonely because you don't have a date. Look around," she waved her hand at the hallway. "There are plenty of fish in the high school sea. But don't worry," she grinned at me devilishly, pointing her finger at me, "I will find that fish to take you to prom."

I sighed; there was no point in arguing against Leslie. Leslie was stubborn and very determined. I knew she'd find me someone but who? And how?

Author's Note: Hope you all enjoyed! Thank you so much for reading! Let me know if I should continue!





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