Fat Girls Are Not A Bet Chapter 02
A second later, Ethan called.
I didn’t pick up.
He called three times in a row, then sent a string of voice notes.
“Olivia, can you please stop throwing a tantrum?”
“I already told them you weren’t coming. Now you’re suddenly betting on yourself to show up? Are you trying to embarrass me in front of everyone?”
“And I already put ten grand down that you wouldn’t come. If you actually do, I don’t just lose the money—everyone’s going to think you played me.”
“You’ll be paired up with Adrian temporarily, do three tasks. Sounds simple, but do you have any idea how they’re going to heckle tomorrow?”
“Olivia, I’m saying this for your own good. Don’t throw yourself in front of all those people to get laughed at just because you’re pissed.”
I laughed, furious.
He treated me like an object he’d lost in a bet, and now he was blaming me for making *him* look bad.
I opened the file with their game rules.
Three couple’s challenges.
One: feed each other cake in front of everyone.
Two: hold hands, take a photo, post it in the freshman Discord.
Three: the guy carries the girl bridal-style for ten seconds.
Someone had already started holding a moment of silence for Adrian.
“Who came up with number three? Are they trying to murder Adrian?”
“Adrian’s six-foot-five, but even he isn’t lifting three hundred thirty pounds.”
“It’s fine, worst case he loses another year off his life. Ha.”
The one they called Adrian hadn’t said a single word this entire time.
His profile picture was solid black. His bio was empty.
But everyone in the chat seemed wary of him.
They tore into me like they were competing for a prize, but whenever his name came up, they only heckled from a safe distance. Nobody actually pushed him for a response.
I was about to leave the chat when my best friend Mia FaceTimed me.
The second I picked up, she was furious.
“Olivia, does Ethan have brain damage?”
“He gambled his girlfriend off to a friend? Does he think you’re a raffle prize at a party?”
I blinked.
“How do you already know?”
“The screenshots of your DMs are all over our high school group chat!”
Mia was seething.
“That guy who posted your photo—I’ve already got his name locked in. Once school starts, I’ll find a chance to deal with him.”
I couldn’t help laughing.
Seeing me still able to laugh only made her ache for me more.
“So what’s your plan? Post a gorgeous new photo of yourself and slap them all across the face?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I opened my closet, eyes drifting over the dresses hanging inside.
“What’s the point of posting a photo of myself now?”
They’d just say the photo was Photoshopped, stolen off someone else, or shot from a flattering angle.
As long as they didn’t want to believe it was me, they could come up with a hundred reasons.
I wanted them to see me in person.
I wanted them to *really* regret it.
Mia caught on instantly, her eyes lighting up.
“You’re actually going?”
“Of course. I already bet three grand on myself to show up.”
“Then you absolutely have to go!”
She smacked the table.
“Not just go—you have to look so good you strike them all speechless.”
“Didn’t Ethan bet ten grand you wouldn’t dare come? First take his money, then post everything he’s been doing to you on the school anonymous gossip board and let the rest of the students judge him!”
She’d barely finished when there was a knock at the door.
My mom came in carrying a plate of sliced fruit.
She saw the gown laid out on my bed and paused.
“Party tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
She hesitated a few seconds, then asked carefully, “Meeting that boy you know from online? Ethan?”
I fell silent.
For Ethan, I’d spent a full year losing weight.
At my worst, I ate a few leaves of lettuce a day. At night my stomach would cramp from hunger; I could only sleep clutching a hot water bottle.
Later my checkup came back bad, and a nutritionist forced me to stop the extreme methods. That was when I started eating normally, cutting sugar, doing strength training.
Three hundred thirty pounds.
One-ninety.
One-fifty.
Finally, one hundred and ten.
My mom had gone with me through seven changes of clothing size, and she’d watched me step onto the scale countless times, my eyes red but refusing to let myself cry.
She knew how much I’d been looking forward to tomorrow.
What she didn’t know was that the excitement had already rotted through.
My mom set the fruit down.
Before she left, she stroked my hair.
“Olivia, no matter what anyone says—whether you’re thin or heavy, pretty or not—you’re always Mom’s baby.”
The moment the door shut, my nose stung.
Then my phone buzzed.
In the chat, Adrian had finally spoken up.
He ignored all the heckling. Just one short line.
“She’s not a bet.”
The chat went silent.
A few seconds later, he messaged me.
“You don’t have to come tomorrow if you don’t want to.”
Ethan immediately jumped in.
“Adrian, it’s just a game, don’t take it seriously.”
Adrian didn’t respond to him.
But I stared at that line—*she’s not a bet*—and for the first time, I clicked on his profile.
I don’t know why.
Something about him felt familiar.