Beneath the bet

Chapter 7 - Noah

The charity ball was surreal. Everyone was amazed by Charlotte—the whispers, the shocked faces, the double-takes. She owned the night, even if she didn't seem to realize it. But for me, everything felt a little off. Sure, I was standing there with the girl everyone was suddenly fascinated by, but the entire evening felt like I was walking on eggshells, trying not to break the fragile connection we'd somehow rekindled.

But once the ball ended, the real party began. Jacob and Grace's house was packed by the time we got there, the kind of party where the music is too loud, the drinks are too strong, and everything starts to blur around the edges.

It didn't take long for the alcohol to start flowing—really flowing. I wasn't sure who cracked open the first bottle, but soon enough, there was a steady stream of people pouring shots, passing beers, and mixing whatever they could find in the kitchen. Grace had one of those laughters that made everyone join in, and before I knew it, I was knocking back shots with Jacob and the rest of the guys, trying to push away the awkwardness that had settled in from earlier.

I glanced over at Charlotte, who was standing with Daniel near the kitchen. She had this dazed look on her face, like she couldn't quite believe she was here, at a party like this, dressed the way she was, with people actually noticing her for once. Daniel was cracking jokes, clearly trying to keep her spirits up, but soon someone handed her a drink, then another, and before long, she was as much a part of the chaos as the rest of us.

I kept watching her from the corner of my eye. There was something about seeing her like that—so carefree, so different from the quiet, shy girl I remembered. She was laughing, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, her hair falling loosely around her face. I couldn't help but smile, but there was also a gnawing feeling in my gut. Maybe it was because this whole thing had started out as some stupid bet, some cruel game, and now here we were, acting like nothing was wrong.

After a couple of hours, the party reached that point where people were either dancing, yelling over the music, or stumbling around, completely wasted. The place was a mess—empty cups littering every surface, music booming so loud that you couldn't hear yourself think, and half the people there were swaying on their feet.

By this point, Charlotte was absolutely hammered. I watched her down some weird mix of vodka and fruit juice, her head tipping back as she laughed uncontrollably at something Daniel said. She was swaying slightly, clearly far past her limit, but she seemed... happy? Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but she looked freer than I'd ever seen her. Like, for once, she didn't have the weight of the world on her shoulders.

I wasn't exactly sober either. The room spun a little as I leaned against the wall, trying to stay upright. Grace came over at one point, handing me another drink and giving me that mischievous smile she always had when she was up to something.

"Looks like your plan worked," she slurred, nudging me with her elbow.

I frowned, not really sure what she meant. "What plan?"

She rolled her eyes, laughing. "You and Charlotte, duh. You're acting like you're actually into her now." Her words were laced with something I didn't like, something cold and mocking.

I glanced back over at Charlotte, who was now sitting on the couch, her head tilted back, eyes half-closed. She looked completely out of it, her laugh still bubbling up every now and then as Daniel tried to keep her upright.

I shook my head, a wave of guilt washing over me. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," I muttered.

Grace's laughter rang out. "Oh, please. You know what this is. It's just fun, Noah. Don't overthink it."

But I was overthinking it. All of it. The stupid bet, the way I had treated Charlotte for years, the way tonight had unfolded. It all felt wrong, like I was trapped in some bad joke that I didn't want to be a part of anymore.

Before I knew it, I was walking toward Charlotte, my head buzzing with alcohol and confusion. She was still laughing, her head now resting on Daniel's shoulder, and when she saw me, she smiled—a big, drunk, goofy smile that hit me harder than I expected.

"Noah!" she slurred, reaching out for me like I was her best friend. "Come sit with us! Daniel's telling me about the time he fell down the stairs. It's so funny."

I chuckled despite myself, sitting down beside her. Her head lolled onto my shoulder, and I could smell the faint scent of vodka on her breath mixed with the floral perfume she was wearing.

"You okay?" I asked, though it was pretty clear she was far from okay.

"Mm-hmm," she murmured, her eyes half-closed. "I'm having fun. So much fun."

I wasn't sure what to say. The room felt too loud, too hot, and I was suddenly very aware of how close we were. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this.

Daniel gave me a look over Charlotte's head, one that said Take care of her. I nodded, not really sure how to do that in a room full of drunk teenagers. As the night dragged on, people started crashing on couches, floors, wherever they could find space. Charlotte was barely able to keep her eyes open, her head now resting heavily on my shoulder. I glanced down at her, feeling that familiar knot in my stomach tighten. She looked so vulnerable, so different from the girl who had walked into the ball earlier, confident and composed.

I gently nudged her. "Hey, Charlotte, maybe we should get you home?"

She groaned, her hand reaching out to clutch my arm. "Nooo, I don't want to go. I'm fine."

But she wasn't. She was far from fine.

I exchanged another glance with Daniel, who was looking just as concerned as I felt. "She needs to sleep this off," he muttered.

"Yeah," I agreed, feeling the weight of the night pressing down on me. Maybe I'm the one who needs to sleep this off, I thought bitterly.

We managed to get Charlotte up and into one of the empty bedrooms, where she collapsed onto the bed, mumbling incoherently. As I pulled the blanket over her, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd messed up. Not just tonight, but everything. All of it.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Not with her, leaving her to sleep, I realised that the real problem wasn't the party, or the alcohol, or even the stupid bet.

The real problem was me.