Wanna Bet?

Chapter 1: Dork-Girl Makes a Bet

Introduction to Theater was a required course for senior year at Westland High. Otherwise, Keely McKenzie-or Dork-Girl, as she was more commonly known by her peers-wouldn’t have attended it. Technically, I’m not attending it now, she thought, as she hurried down the hall, clutching her one-strap backpack to her chest, rather than slinging it over her back. She hadn’t had time. Keely knew it was pointless to hustle because Mr. Barton, the Theater teacher, never believed she was actually late by accident. That was the great thing about being a latch-key kid all throughout middle school and high school: her parents never knew she had detention.

And she knew she was in for detention. Mr. Barton always gave her detention for being late, which meant she had it at least twice a week. Keely, however, would rather have detention than get pushed down the amphitheater stairs again, like she had the first day of Intro. Gina Halloway had told her the reason she hadn’t gotten hurt was because she had so much extra padding. It was actually because she’d been pushed so many times that she knew a hell of a lot more about falling than the average person. Although Gina would know all about extra padding, Keely thought, as she shoved open the door to the amphitheater. She is Westland High’s resident expert on stuffing her bra.

As she came crashing down the stairs, her fellow students looked up at her and started laughing. Only her small group of friends didn’t laugh, although they were hard-pressed not to smile. Mr. Barton looked resigned. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and reached for his pen to make a notation on his roster as Keely came skidding to a halt next to her friend Shauna. She dropped her backpack at her feet, stood up straight, and gave Mr. Barton a brisk salute.

“Dork-Girl reporting for duty, sir!” Keely barked, keeping completely serious.

Mr. Barton sighed. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what you’ll be doing after school today, Keely.”

“Going home to do my homework because you’re such a nice, understanding, forgiving man?” Keely ventured hopefully.

“Don’t push it,” Mr. Barton warned, “or I’ll give you Saturday detention too.”

Keely pushed her own wire-framed glasses back up onto the bridge of her small, upturned nose and shrugged. She glanced sideways at Shauna, Bridget, and Mardea, her three best-and only-friends. Shauna and Bridget rolled their eyes, but Mardea flashed a wicked smile. The tall, slender black girl was always on Keely’s side when it came to making trouble-and therefore always in detention with her. Mardea, with her exotic, cat-like features and wild mane of long, thin black braids, would have been popular if it weren’t for her Voodoo priestess grandma; the only member of her all-Christian family that Mardea actually liked.

Her other friends had more slightly mundane problems than bragging about Voodoo-practicing grandparents. Bridget was given the title-by the rest of their class-of ‘the fat one’. And unfortunately, she was. Not like Keely, whose mother referred to her extra weight affectionately as puppy fat. Bridget barely topped five feet even, and weighed in at well over two hundred pounds. She was also a genius with a ridiculously high I.Q., and very nice, if you got to know her. Only most people never did, because she didn’t really give off a warm, fuzzy vibe. The first time Keely had sat with her, Bridget had told her-rather scathingly-that there was no need to pity the fat girl. Looking back, she supposed it must have been pity, or she probably would have told the fat girl to go to hell. But they got along much better now.

Shauna’s problems were really of her own making, like Mardea’s. She took the gothic Queen of the Dead look way too far. The only time she ever wore anything other than black was when she wore dark purple, dark blue, or dark red. She liked the so-called Lolita look, so often she came to school in a short, lace-edged PVC skirt with layers of ruffles underneath, or something quite similar. There were always spiky metal things coming off her clothes and boots and jewelry, and even her face. And Shauna’s hair, which was a big, crimpy mass, had faded from dark red to orange, so she looked like a burning bush. Due to her bizarre ability to predict things, like how many points the football team would lose by, or which days of the year they’d have snow days, she was too eerie for most people-even Keely found her a bit creepy at times.

“What’s your excuse this time?” Bridget asked, looking huffy. Bridget didn’t approve of being late on purpose.

“Had to pee something fierce,” Keely answered cheerfully. “Hit me all of a sudden when I was halfway here. You know how it is.”

“No, I don’t,” Bridget said, frowning. “Keely...”

“Give her a break, Gidge,” Mardea said, using the nickname Bridget hated most (even more than ‘the fat one’). “It’s not like her grades suffer or anything.”

“Don’t call me-” Bridget began furiously.

“Girls!” Mr. Barton snapped. “Quiet! And you, Mr. Dayton ... would you care to join us?”

Keely lifted her head to look. Up in the stands, absorbed in a book so battered that the cover was missing. Nineteen-year-old Xan Dayton, a nineteen-year-old, looked like a man among boys, with his slender but toned frame and strong hands roughened from work. Somewhat curly, dark-brown hair fell into his face in what she thought of as the Harry Potter haircut-although she was dead positive he combed it and even got it trimmed from time to time, it never actually looked like it. His eyes were dark gray-green, and although they remained trained on the book for a long moment after Mr. Barton had spoken, they finally raised to stare, unblinking, at the theater teacher.

The school bad boy, that was how people referred to Xan. Certainly, the six-month spat in juvie that had held him back a grade and the motorcycle he rode to school every day supported that title. Keely, however, wasn’t convinced. For one thing, he was really smart, almost as smart as Bridget; he’d have straight As if he wasn’t so bored by what he was being taught, she was sure. He read all the time, too. And if anyone asked him advice on motorcycles, all he ever said was that a good one would get them from Point A to Point B for quite a few years. Most of all, Xan was always polite. Okay, maybe not to the teachers, but to her, definitely. He was the best person to be behind when going into school because he never dropped the door on her.

“No, sir,” Xan said finally, in a soft voice that nonetheless carried across the amphitheater.

Mr. Barton glowered. “So I take it you’ll be joining Ms. McKenzie in detention, then?”

“Love to,” Xan responded, ignoring the snickers of the rest of the class.

Then he went back to his book. Knock it off, Keely told her pounding heart. We graduated from the sixth grade a long time ago, so stop acting like we’re still twelve! How she’d managed to hide her crush on Xan from her friends for as long as she had was really a miracle. It was ridiculous, really. She was going to be in college next fall, and she still had it bad for the same guy she’d liked since the ninth grade. I just can’t help it, Keely thought, glancing up covertly towards the seat where he was sitting. I mean, we don’t actually really talk, but he’s still nice to me. And he is just so drop-dead gorgeous...

“ ... even if he is really cute,” Bridget was saying.

“Mmhmm,” Keely murmured in agreement. It was weird, though, because her friends never mentioned thinking Xan was cute.

“Imagine going to prom with him,” Shauna said. “It would probably be boring as hell...”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Keely protested, turning to look at her friends.

“Not that he’d go with one of us, anyway,” Bridget pointed out. “So we’re never going to find out.”

“I’m sure I could get him to go with me,” Keely said confidently.

Mardea’s dark eyebrows rose. “You and Brad Faraday?”

Oops, Keely thought, trying not to show her surprise. I thought they were talking about Xan... The chances of her going to prom with Brad Faraday were pretty slim, and not just because she thought he was a slimeball. He was also on the Westland High basketball team-the only sports team that had won anything for years. Gina, the bra-stuffing, bubblehead cheerleader, was pretty much always at his side. Those were the kind of people who only looked at Keely twice in order to make fun of her. It was Brad, in fact, who had dubbed her Dork-Girl-a nickname so lacking in originality or creativity that she’d once taken it upon herself to slip a list of better ones into his locker. Apparently, though, Dork-Girl was easier to remember than any of her choices.

Brad was pretty typical of his kind, with his short brown hair, low-hanging Tommy Hilfiger jeans, unlaced Timberlands, and an ego built for five hundred or so. Bridget insisted he was just insecure. Which Keely imagined must be true. The flashy sportscar he drove proved he was insecure about his penis, if nothing else. Of course, that’s pretty much a given, with a guy like him, she mused, watching Gina lean over to him, simpering and battering her eyelashes. Mr. Barton, she noticed, didn’t threaten her with detention.

“I could convince him,” Keely said, shrugging. “If I really wanted to. But-”

“So do it,” Mardea cut in. Her dark eyes flashed with mischief. “Come on, Keely ... I bet you that you can’t.”

“No!” Bridget went white. “Mardea, don’t!”

Keely grinned. “You’re on, Dea. Hope you like losing,” she said. Mardea was always quick to exploit her gambling nature. “And I also hope you like waiting tables, because guess what you’ll be doing when I win?”

Bridget sighed and rolled her eyes. Shauna, however, decided to get in on the bet. They ended up deciding on a cash bet. I guess I’d better get some scratch-off cards, Keely thought. I always get lucky with those things. She’d need some money if she lost. When she lost, most likely, because she had absolutely no idea how she was going to convince Brad Faraday to go to the prom with her. Especially since she couldn’t stand him. Why do I agree to these things? Keely wondered, glancing again in Brad’s direction. Oh, yeah ... my pathological inability to say no whenever I hear the word ‘bet’.

---

“Oh, cat poop!”

Xan paused in mid-reach. He forgot about his helmet and stared at Keely McKenzie, who stood several yards away, glaring at the back of the late bus as it left the parking lot. Cat poop? he thought, feeling the urge to laugh. Oh, come on ... she’s not that naïve ... Sure, she was one of those dweeby outsider types, and relatively quiet in most cases, but anyone who had a few classes with her knew that the whole shy girl act was just that: an act. In fact, the only person in school with a bigger, louder mouth than Keely McKenzie was her friend Mardea Richards.

She stood there with her hands planted on her somewhat pudgy hips. In some ways, she was even a bigger weirdo than her friend Shauna. Her hair hung past her shoulders and had been dyed black; he knew it was dyed because her eyebrows were still strawberry blonde. She was wearing a worn, black Pink Floyd shirt over a camouflage thermal with thumbholes at the ends of the sleeves. Her nails were painted a bright, acidic green to match-assuming she was color blind, of course. Keely’s jeans were too big, and the holes at the knees were so large, they had to be safety-pinned at the side. The soles of her Doc Martens were starting to come off, and the ends of the bright green laces on them were frayed. Which was odd, considering that her parents were rather well off.

Maybe she felt his eyes on her, because she turned suddenly to look at him. Keely’s eyes were such a bright blue that even at a distance they were intense. She was actually rather cute, with her heart-shaped face, too-large eyes, little button nose, and a rather pretty mouth that, when it wasn’t open to speak, was usually set in a stubborn line. Too bad she’s against the rules, Xan thought, eyeing her warily as she approached. Good girls were a no-no; they took too much time and energy to have a relationship with.

“So,” Keely said cheerfully, smiling brightly at him, “gonna be a gentleman and offer me a ride?”

“I’m going to assume you mean a ride home,” Xan said, once again fighting the urge to grin. “I guess I can give a fellow detainee a ride ... couldn’t hurt.”

Keely held out her hands for his spare helmet. “So, you like motorcycles, huh?”

“Nope,” Xan answered.

She blinked at him. He was pretty used to that reaction, actually. There was little use in trying to explain. The last thing he was going to do was tell this girl his life story. Xan sometimes did try to explain, in a way, though. After all, all those kids who drove their parents’ twenty-five-year-old rust buckets didn’t do so because they liked them, did they? But his fellow students didn’t seem to get that. Keely, who was smarter than the average eighteen-year-old Westland High student tended to be, might actually get it, but he wasn’t in the mood.

“Well, that makes two of us, then,” Keely said finally, surprising him. She pulled on the helmet, settled her backpack over her shoulder, and climbed up behind him. “Ready when you are, cap’n!”

She put her arms around him, and he took half a minute to reflect on two things: one, that she felt kind of nice against him, and two, that he’d obviously gone completely out of his mind, because he never gave anyone a ride home. For some reason, Xan had just decided to say yes this time. Sighing, he pulled his own helmet on and started up the bike. It was kind of weird, having a girl he had no intention of sleeping with riding on his bike with him.

Keely shouted her address over the roar of the bike engine. He knew that part of town, all right. The pretty, picture-postcard suburbs, all the way at the far end of the city. Fortunately, there was a rather large stretch of highway between the school and there, which was relatively clear of traffic at this hour. Or at any hour, really; that was the kind of town they lived in. Despite the annoyingly large gaps from one place to another, it wasn’t very big population-wise, and everyone knew everyone else. Xan hated living there, but since he had a good thing going, helping his uncle, he hadn’t left.

“I’ve changed my mind!” Keely shouted to him a few minutes later, as they were racing down the highway. “I love this thing! Go faster!”

Now Xan did grin. That was the one thing he actually did like about his motorcycle. He picked up speed, cruising by the only other vehicle on the highway-a beat-up old blue Toyota. Keely tightened her grip on him, but judging by her laughter and shrieks of delight, she wasn’t a bit afraid. My kind of girl, he thought, even if she is against the rules. How she’d gotten to be the ‘against the rules’ type was a bit of a mystery, though. Sure, her bravado was only to cover up her insecurities, but then, so was everyone’s. Xan supposed she was an outcast for the same reason he was: the in-crowd wasn’t worth the bother.

He had to slow down when they reached her neighborhood. You just didn’t roar through a street lined with nearly identical white houses, all with brightly painted shutters, emerald-green lawns, and perfectly shaped topiary. What’s really amusing, Xan thought, is that she looks even more out of place here than I do. Especially in front of her house, which was the epitome of adorable, with light pink shutters and flower boxes-although no flowers-beneath the windows. It might be relatively warm, this far south, but it was still a bit too early for flowers.

“Home sweet hellhole,” Keely said cheerfully, as she shook back her hair. “I know it looks really wholesome and all, but it’s really possessed by Satan and will one day kill us all in our sleep.”

“Pleasant thought,” Xan said dryly.

Keely stumbled off the bike, as graceful as she always was. “Well, I guess I owe you one, now.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Xan told her. “I’d better get going.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes looking elsewhere, down the street a ways. Curious in spite of himself, Xan turned and followed her gaze. He scowled when he saw Brad Faraday, the one person he’d actually consider going to jail for murdering. She can’t possibly like him, he thought, looking up at Keely. I thought she was smarter than that ... She didn’t look like a girl with a crush. Her expression was calculating, and he got the sinking feeling that she was planning something. Keely frowned, then looked down at him, and started smiling again, this time sheepishly.

“It’s a long story,” she said, as if she’d read his mind. “Know how I’d get his attention? Assuming I wanted to, of course.”

Xan’s eyebrows raised. “Become something he covets,” he answered. “Again, assuming you wanted to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She tilted her head, studying him, and he got the feeling she was sizing him up. Then she shrugged. “Well, thanks again for the ride. See you at school tomorrow!”

And then she whipped around and trotted up to the house. Maybe not that much of a good girl, he thought, watching the way her hair swung as she yanked open the front door. Proof that a girl doesn’t need sex and alcohol to be hell on wheels. Xan shook his head, flipped down the visor of his motorcycle helmet, and started his bike up. He tried very hard to feel disgruntled, but he found himself grinning instead. Maybe he’d have to play anti-social again next theater class, so he’d end up with another detention. That way Keely would have a ride home.

As he turned, he glanced quickly up the street, but Brad had gone inside already. It brought Xan back to earth, though. The long-standing feud between himself and Brad Faraday could be dangerous to innocent bystanders. Keely might be a bit mischievous, but she was a sweet kid; he wasn’t about to get her stuck in the middle of this. Not after what had happened last time. Even though Xan had been the one to wind up in trouble and Brad had gotten away clean.

Time for work, anyway, he thought, as he headed back down the highway. It’ll be the accounts tonight. He helped his uncle with the financial aspects of the garage as well as the actual work. Preparation, his uncle said. Xan knew plenty about managing his finances now, thanks to his uncle. He was set for college, due to all the work he did in the garage, and he had extra money from the construction jobs he did on the weekend; he liked to build things more than fix them. It was his plan to finally get his own car, and close the door on that part of his life forever. Maybe he’d wait a little bit longer, though. The memory of Keely’s shrieking laughter made him smile, and Xan could always use some of those.

---

Keely tossed her backpack on her bed and grabbed the portable phone hanging above her bed. She hit the speed dial for Mardea’s number, then plopped onto the bed and began unlacing her boots, waiting for her friend to answer. Her heart was pounding so hard, she’d been amazed that Xan hadn’t commented on it. I’ve lost my mind, she thought, kicking her boots off and springing to her feet. First I’m making impossible-to-win bets, then I’m going right up to Xan and asking him for a ride home. Hell, she’d practically demanded he give her a ride home. Keely stumbled into her bathroom, unbothered by the fact that Mardea hadn’t picked up yet, and opened the medicine cabinet above the sink.

“’Lo?” She could barely hear Mardea’s voice over the music in the background.

“Turn that down, Dea!” Keely grabbed a bottle from the cabinet, tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder, and struggled to open it. “I have something to tell you.”

“Okay, okay,” Mardea said, and a second later the music faded. “Don’t have a coronary, Keely. What’s up?”

While Keely explained what had happened, she dumped a dose of anti-anxiety pills onto the counter. She didn’t usually take them until bedtime, but it wouldn’t hurt her to take them now; it would just make her a little drowsy. I really am pathetic, she thought, when she’d finished relating the whole thing to Mardea. And how am I supposed to win this stupid bet when I can’t get my mind off the guy I’m not supposed to be chasing after? Keely swallowed her pills, then almost choked on her water when she realized that Mardea was laughing.

“What?” Keely demanded.

“I knew it!” Mardea crowed. “I’ve seen you looking at him ... and I knew that was who you were talking about today, too. I mean, seriously ... Brad Faraday? Girl, you’d end up strangling that arrogant sleaze.”

Keely sighed. “True enough,” she agreed. “But a bet is a bet. Besides ... you can’t tell me it wouldn’t be worth it. Just picturing the look on Gina’s face is bliss.”

Mardea’s wicked laughter echoed back at her. “Forget her! I just want to see Brad Faraday dumped by Dork-Girl!”

Chapter 2: Pizza and Perfume Ads

Keely had a dilemma. What she wanted more than anything-even more than she wanted to win her bet-was to get a ride home from Xan again. She had no classes with him today, though, and so no way of knowing if he’d be staying for detention or not. Currently she didn’t have detention of her own, but what if he did? And if it turned out that he didn’t, and she missed the bus because she was waiting for him, how was she going to get home? I’m beginning to understand why my parents keep bugging me to get a license, Keely thought, sighing. That would make this a little bit easier, at least.

She supposed she could call Mardea for a ride. Dea was on her side in this, and had even refrained from telling Shauna and Bridget about it. The whole trying to spend more time with Xan because she had a major crush on him thing. Shauna probably wouldn’t care too much, but Bridget would go on at length about why someone like Xan would never look twice at someone like Keely. Keely’s mother, who was a psychologist, said that Bridget was just projecting her own insecurities onto everyone else. Keely was not about to let her friend’s desire to be abjectly miserable twenty-four-seven get in the way of her own happiness.

“Hey! Keely!”

That was a male voice. Male voices didn’t generally call her name, and she was pretty certain this one wasn’t in her head. Xan, she thought, grinning broadly. Because really, who else could it be? She whirled around, planting her hands on her hips, and opened her mouth to say hello. It wasn’t Xan, though, who’d call her name. What the hell? Keely thought, as Brad Faraday came trotting up to her, somehow managing to not trip over the flopping laces of his light blue Tims. Did I miss something here? She knew for a fact that she was the only girl in the school with her rather unique name, so he couldn’t be calling someone else. Which proved to be true when he came to a stop before her.

“Something I can help you with?” Keely asked, blinking up at him. He was kind of cute, she supposed, in a boy-band member sort of way.

“Just wanted to, you know, make sure you were okay,” Brad explained. Seeing her puzzled expression-or perhaps just enjoying hearing himself talk-he added, “You were with Dayton yesterday, weren’t you? You want to watch out for him.”

Keely stared at him blankly. “Why?”

“He’s bad news,” Brad told her. “Don’t you know why he was held back before the ninth grade? He was in juvi.”

She hadn’t realized that a short spat in juvie made someone dangerous; maybe he’d just been into shoplifting. Keely remembered the first time she’d seen Xan, actually. She’d been huddled under a picnic table in the quad, afraid her tormentors were waiting for her just beyond, when a narrow face with gray-green eyes and a faint smile peered in at her. He’d been tall and painfully thin, as if he’d just hit a major growth spurt; his hair had been a bit shorter, but no less messy, and he hadn’t yet been old enough to ride his motorcycle. He’d also been the one to pull her out from beneath the picnic table, dust her off, and help her inside. Keely wondered if he even remembered that.

“Look, just be careful, okay?” Brad forced a smile, as if he’d had all he could take of being near Dork-Girl.

What the heck was that all about? Keely thought, watching him walk away. I didn’t even think he knew my real name. Even though he’d lived a few houses down from hers since they were in nursery school. He must really hate Xan, she thought, shifting her backpack back up onto her shoulder and heading up the steps into the high school. There’s no other reason he’d risk Dork-Girl cooties. It did explain why he’d stood there and stared at the two of them yesterday. Well, sort of.

That was when it hit her. Become something he covets, Xan had said. If he really disliked Xan as much as he seemed to, then Brad would do anything he could to make him miserable. Including warning even Dork-Girl away from him. Keely was pretty sure there was a scientific term for that-her mother had probably told her several dozen times-but it was enough to just sum it up as a pissing contest. That was when she knew what she had to do, and fortunately for her, it just happened to coincide with her plans to wrangle a ride home from Xan. Lucky, Keely thought, bouncing cheerfully up the last few steps. Fortune is still on my side!

---

“Why not?”

Innocent as a kitten. That had been his first impression of Keely McKenzie, when he’d found her huddled beneath a picnic table, frightened out of her wits. A chubby, strawberry-blonde kitten in a long, patterned hippie skirt, brightly colored scarves that she’d tied around her waist, and an old Jerry Garcia t-shirt. Xan had assured her that it was safe and helped her out from beneath the table. He’d half fallen in love with her shy smile, but the next day, when he’d gone to find her, Mardea Richards had already taken her under her wing. Xan had just moved on, but he’d never really forgotten it. He wondered if Keely remembered.

At the moment, she was not looking like an innocent kitten. More like a devious kitten that had discovered a way to get to the fish bowl. There was a part of him that could not believe that she was asking this of him. She stood there in her badly torn jeans, her beat-up Docs (the laces today were electric yellow), and a faded shirt that might have had The Doors on it, he wasn’t sure. Typical Keely, except she was looking at him as if he’d denied a request to borrow a pencil. I wish she wouldn’t look at me like that, Xan thought, scowling. She shouldn’t look disappointed in me ... she’s the one who’s asking me to do something I don’t want to.

“You need me to explain it to you?” Xan shook his head and turned to his motorcycle. “Honestly, Keely, I thought you were smarter than this. Faraday is an asshole.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Keely said. He could practically hear her planting her hands on her hips. “There’s more to it than that.”

Xan snorted. “Sure there is. If you want a date to the prom with someone like him, get it yourself.”

He got on his motorcycle and reached back for his helmet, but stopped when Keely put a hand on his arm. Startled, he looked up into those blue, blue eyes, and knew he was in for trouble. The look of disappointment was gone; instead, she gave him that sheepish, shy smile that had made his fifteen-year-old self want to scoop her up and cuddle her. Actually, Xan thought, it’s kind of having that same effect on my nineteen-year-old self, too. That was what made him think of her as a kitten. She could go from a mischievous pain-in-the-ass, poking her nose where it didn’t belong, to a small, vulnerable creature that needed love and protection, in a very small space of time.

“I started this out wrong,” Keely said quietly. “It’s not what you think it is ... look, can we just ... go somewhere and talk?”

“I really can’t,” Xan hedged, looking away from her so he wouldn’t feel that desire to cuddle her. “I need to grab something to eat before work.”

Keely brightened. “Great! We’ll get some pizza. My treat!” She paused, and he looked back at her. “You do like pizza, don’t you?”

“I’m a nineteen-year-old guy,” Xan reminded her. “That’s like asking if I like ... oh, never mind. Get on.”

He looked away and pulled on his helmet, so he wouldn’t have to see her grin of delight. Xan felt her settle behind him and shift around. When she had her helmet on and her arms around him, he started up his bike and drove out of the school parking lot. She was warm and soft against his back, and it felt really nice. I’m in for so much trouble, he thought. I never go through this much trouble for a girl I’m not having sex with. Even though he was hungry, the last thing he wanted was to sit in a booth with a sticky table top, amid a crowd of chattering teenagers.

To his surprise, Keely shouted directions to him, ones that he knew for a fact didn’t lead to the most popular pizza place in their small town. Her directions took them to a small, cobbled plaza in the older part of town, with a few small shops, an arcade, a pizzeria, and a magazine stand. As Xan brought his motorcycle to a stop, he couldn’t help but stare a little. Keely took off her helmet and slid off the bike right away, but he waited a minute, watching her. For a girl who wanted to go to the prom with the school’s most popular jock, she was really out of touch with where the in crowd hung out.

“Here.” Keely fished a camouflage wallet from her backpack and gave him a twenty. “Get an extra-large, okay? I like pepperoni, sausage, and ham on my half.”

And before he could say anything, she’d scampered off to the magazine stand. Pepperoni, sausage, and ham, Xan thought, as he turned and headed into the pizzeria. That’s absolutely disgusting. Not to mention a heart attack waiting to happen. Sure, he’d heard of worse combinations, but that was pretty gross to him. He was a simple guy; extra cheese and pepperoni, and he was good to go. That was what he ordered on his side of the pizza, along with a pitcher of Coca-Cola. Xan grabbed napkins and straws from the dispensers on the counter, then took a seat at one of the small, circular tables tucked to the side of the pizzeria.

Keely came back a few minutes later with a stack of magazines. There was a Cat Fancy magazine, a Nintendo Power, and a National Geographic featuring penguins on the front, all of them seeming to him like the sort of magazines she’d buy. It was the other two-a Glamour and a Cosmo-that he found puzzling. Xan would never have taken her for the type to read those magazines. Even more peculiar, the first thing she did when she sat down was open one of them and start flipping through it, pausing once in a while to tear out a page.

“Perfume ads,” Keely explained, setting another on her pile. She wrinkled her nose. “They stink. And they make the magazine stink. I can’t read it if the smell is giving me a headache.”

Xan couldn’t help raising his eyebrows. “I’m kind of surprised you read them at all.”

“There’s some interesting stuff in them,” Keely said, looking a little defensive. “Health stuff and ... well, you know.”

“I see.” Xan reached over and picked up the Cosmo, glanced at the cover, then set it back down. “I can definitely see how really hot foreplay would be interesting.”

Keely turned bright red and started stuffing the magazines away in her bag. “You never know ... the information might come in handy someday.”

Xan had to swallow his laughter; he didn’t want her to think he was making fun of her. She set her bag down on the seat next to her and jumped into an explanation of her request so fast, he didn’t realize at first what she was talking about. When he caught on, he sat back in his seat, ignoring the hard plastic chair back even though it dug into him, and eyed her speculatively. A bet, he thought, frowning. I don’t think I like the sound of that. It was a really foolish thing to do, and pretty immature, too.

Keely changed the subject when the pizza came out. Xan watched, fascinated, as she shook Parmesan cheese onto her pizza, then proceeded to eat it with a knife and fork. She asked him questions while they ate, avoiding the subject of her bet, and he found she was actually very nice to talk to. Keely asked him questions of the non-offensive sort, like where he worked. Xan told her about his uncle’s garage, but left out the construction on the weekends; even his uncle didn’t really know about that.

“So you’re a mechanic, then?” Keely asked.

Xan watched her chase her straw around with her tongue until she caught up with it, then spoke. “Yeah,” he said. “For now, at least. I work there, and in return, I get one of the apartments in the building my uncle owns. It’s a nice setup.”

“So what do you do for fun, then?” Keely wanted to know. “I mean, obviously you read fashion magazines, since you know so much about them, but...”

“Watch out,” Xan warned. “Two can play that game.” He ended up smiling though, unable to resist. “I like music ... play the guitar, a bit of keyboard … a few other things. And I like to read.”

That started them on a discussion of the publishing industry. Keely complained emphatically about the high price of books, and how cheaply many of them were made. Xan couldn’t disagree; he couldn’t stand paying more than eight bucks for a paperback, only to have the ink come off on his fingers, and the binding fall apart when he was barely halfway through the book. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a conversation with someone and really enjoyed himself.

More than that, the pizza was good. Really good. Way better than that crap they served at the In Crowd’s favorite hangout. By the time they were finished, they’d demolished the whole pizza, and almost three full pitchers of soda. Xan was going to be late for work, but he figured his uncle would understand when he explained. I’m impressed, he thought, watching Keely as she set the pizza tray back on the counter. I’ve never seen a girl eat pizza like that. No self-conscious nibbling with Keely, or proclaiming she was full after half a slice; she had thoroughly enjoyed herself.

“Best pizza in town,” Keely said, as they headed back to his bike. She was licking traces of sauce from her fingers.

“You are really ... weird,” Xan said, staring down at her.

Keely peered up at him through a veil of strawberry blonde lashes. “So I’ve been told,” she said. “Weird how?”

“You’re very ... unconventional,” Xan explained. “The clothes and the pizza place and everything, that I get. But the magazines and the betting you can get dates with Brad Faraday ... that doesn’t fit.”

“Date,” Keely corrected. “Singular.” She frowned at him. “I’m not a puzzle piece, you know. It’s not like I’m supposed to fit perfectly anywhere. I like to gamble. I hear the word ‘bet’, and I can’t say no. And I happen to like my magazines, thank you very much!”

She let out an indignant huff and stomped off towards his motorcycle, but somehow Xan knew she was just playing around. Indeed, she was giggling by the time he reached her side. Such a quirky little kitten, he thought, as he settled on the seat of his bike. The chubby little runt of the litter with the weird color splotches and one notched ear. Keely climbed up behind him, put on her helmet, and wound her arms around him; motions he was already becoming used to. Xan found he didn’t even mind his bike so much, because she enjoyed it so much.

---

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Keely thought. I did a bang-up job of explaining that one. It had sounded so childish to her, when she’d tried to explain it to Xan. But she couldn’t back out now; it was against her nature. Besides, he hadn’t said ‘no’ yet. He could still agree to help her, and then she’d be able to spend more time with him. I need to talk to Dea about the terms of this bet, Keely decided. Did she have to get the date and attend it? Or could she just get the date, then drop Brad on his ass and go with Xan instead? Now that was a pleasant thought.

Keely’s mind was full of worries during the ride home. Like had Xan thought she was a pig, eating half an extra-large pizza by herself? It wasn’t something she did often or anything; it was just that once in a while she liked to really enjoy herself where food was concerned. And did he think she was shallow because she read magazines like Glamour and Cosmo? Unlikely, Keely thought. Xan isn’t like that. Still, the thought went through her mind. Normally she wasn’t a very self-conscious person, but when she was around Xan she found herself pausing now and then, wondering if what she’d done or said was a bit too weird.

She was disappointed when they pulled up in front of her house. Keely moved slowly and reluctantly, pulling off her helmet, then climbing off the back of the bike. Not all of it was feigned, of course; she was clumsy to begin with, and she struggled to get off that thing.

“Don’t hurt yourself, kitten,” Xan said, in a teasing tone of voice. “Hard to go to prom with a broken leg.”

Keely perked up. “Does that mean you’ll do it?” she asked.

“Well...” Xan paused, looking thoughtful. “It’s not usually the type of thing I get involved in. But it’s been a while since I’ve stirred up some trouble.” He shrugged, looking completely nonchalant. “Besides which, you’re going to try it even if I don’t agree to help you. Someone should hang around, keep that bastard in line.”

“Very astute,” Keely said, grinning; she definitely would try even if he didn’t agree to help. “And so you know, I’ll give you half the bet money. Since you’re doing half the work.”

“Good,” Xan said. “I’m going to need it, after we do a little something about your look.”

Here Keely stopped, frowning. My look? she thought, looking down at the frayed bottoms of her jeans, and her beat-up Docs. He can’t mean my clothes, can he? That didn’t seem like the Xan she (sort of) knew at all. Without thinking, she planted her hands on his thigh and glowered up at him. He turned his head, gazing back at her with those gray-green eyes, completely serene and slightly amused, judging by the half-smile on his face. Keely swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of how close she was to him, but she went on determinedly.

“Is there a problem with my look?” she demanded.

“Not so far as I’m concerned,” Xan replied, his smile broadening slightly. “But I do have a reputation to uphold, as far as the kind of girl I hang out with. And it is that reputation you need to get Faraday’s attention, right?”

Keely backed off. “Good point,” she admitted. “What do you propose we do about my ... look?”

“Meet me after school tomorrow,” Xan told her. “And if you get detention, I’m going to tell Mardea to smack you. I’d do it myself, in fact, but I make it a point not to hit women.”

Keely grinned. She took a step back as he pulled his helmet back on and started up his motorcycle. Mardea’d do it, too, she thought, watching him drive away. She’d always smacked me when I screwed up good opportunities. When Xan was completely out of sight, she turned and headed into her house. It was as she was yanking off her boots-she’d gotten yelled at yesterday for not taking “those nasty things” off before going up to her room-that she realized something. He called me kitten, Keely thought. He gave me a nickname! A cute one!

She raced past the kitchen, yelling a quick ‘hello’ to her parents, then dashed up the stairs. In one motion, she kicked the door shut and flung her backpack aside, then she leapt up onto her bed. Still bouncing, Keely grabbed the phone from above her bed and quickly dialed Mardea’s number. Of all her friends, Mardea understood best why she was so crazy about Xan.

“Dea!” Keely cried, as soon as she’d heard Mardea’s familiar “’lo”. “He called me kitten!”

Chapter 3: The Makeunder

There was only one thing more shocking than Keely McKenzie being on time for Theater class, and that was that she’d beaten him to his bike, as well. There she stood, her dyed-black hair in disarray from the wind, looking much the same as she always did, except that today her nails were a blindingly bright shade of orange. Her backpack was at her feet, her hands were on her hips, and she was staring expectantly in his direction. Kitten, he’d called her. He hadn’t meant to; it had just sort of slipped out. At the moment, Xan found it hard to picture her as any creature so vulnerable as a kitten.

Other students, heading for the buses or their cars, glanced curiously at Keely as they passed. She ignored them. The stares doubled as Xan approached her, and a few people tripped over their feet or came to actual stops. Well, at least we’re off to a good start, he thought wryly, as he came to a stop in front of Keely, folding his arms across his chest and giving her a look for a look. She had no ability to stare him down; a smile tugged immediately at the corners of her mouth, and she looked away, giggling. Xan stepped past her and climbed onto his bike, then paused, looking down at her hands.

“Your nails are orange,” he