CHAPTER 4: CHALLENGE ACCEPTED

As I scan through the list Avery put together, my initial reaction is a strong urge to smack my head against the nearest wall.

"Avery," I groan, my interest levels plummeting, "The Bad Boy and the Tomboy? Seriously?" I glance at the rest of the titles. "After? Who comes up with titles like that?"

She answers nonchalantly, "Anna Todd did. It's pretty popular." She adds, "Well, whoever she is, I hope her story isn't about some overly good girl losing her virginity to a guy who turns out to be her one true love in the end, or something equally cliche. Ugh, I can already predict my reaction after reading it: three days of non-stop vomiting. I mean, even the title is as cliche as it gets, Avery."

"Well, you might not be far off with the vomiting part, depending on your level of innocence. But considering your track record, I wouldn't worry too much."

"Come again?"

"It'll make sense when you get to Chapter 28... and in every chapter after that."

I look at her with puzzlement, but this time, I'm not overly bothered as I review the entire list.

Here we go.

After, Fight for Her, Illegal My Ass, Addicted to Meth, and last but not least, The Bad Boy and the Tomboy.

I'll give it to her; her title choices are intriguing.

"So," I say, and as I look up, Avery's sporting a proud grin. "We have a deal, right? I read all five, you don't rub it in, and you drop the subject?" I repeat for clarity.

"Absolutely, Isabella. I promised."

I'm not a fan of the sly look Avery flashes me afterward, but I decide to let it slide for now instead of probing further.

"Get ready to eat your words, Carter," I tell her as I snatch her tablet away.

"Don't count your chickens yet, Vega. You've got a long way to go. Did I mention that After is part of a five-book series? Oops."

Now I understand what was making me uneasy before.

"Ugh, I hate you," I mutter, and all she does is flash me a grin.

Avery instructs, "Get to work, young grasshopper, and don't bother me," as she settles back onto her bed.

Regardless of whether I'll regret this or not, I enter Avery's Novel login details and begin reading The Bad Boy and The Tomboy, the first book from her list, just moments later.

...

After six days

Finally, I reach the last line of Before, concluding the After series. I've endured on an average of two hours of sleep, two bathroom breaks, two meals a day, and the crushing of thirty Sour Patch Kids packets.

Tess and I have been through a rollercoaster, but here we are, at our own version of paradise.

"It's cute," I think, "but like the eight books I read before it, it's all syrupy, unrealistic, and overdone." Nope, I take that back. The love story between Hastings and O'Connell might be the only one that didn't make me want to hurl, but even that was a stretch. Would Isaac, my older brother's best friend, really sleep with me in his bar, help commit a bank robbery, turn out to be the son of a criminal who goes to prison for killing his gang's leader, and then tattoo the words 'marry me' on his butt to profess his love for me? Yeah, not happening. As amusing as some of this was to read, it's nowhere close to being real or plausible.

Once again, I'm not sure what Avery was expecting to happen after I finished reading this junk, but my stance on romance novels remains unchanged. Nothing has shifted. Surprise, surprise!

Returning Avery's tablet, she eagerly asks, "So?"

"Exactly as I said," I pause to check my phone for the time, "six days, two hours, and forty-three minutes ago... I rest my case."

"Oh, come on! You can't be serious! After reading all that, you haven't had a change of heart? You haven't learned anything?"

"Sure, I've learned a couple of things—two, to be precise—but they're not the revelations you're hoping for."

She's been waiting for me to finish the last book for the past half-hour, sitting on her bed. Now she crosses her arms.

"Alright, then what are these two revelations?"

"One, if Mia Hastings were real, we'd probably be great friends. Two, I finally understand where your sky-high expectations of men come from. These authors wasted no time in creating the most unrealistic 'knight in shining armor' characters in literature. Finding Mr. Perfect is a big deal for you, Avery. Well, here's the breaking news: he doesn't exist in the real world, and these bland tales of flawless partners are equally unattainable."

"Oh, please. You can't tell me you didn't feel even a glimmer of hope at least once. Just once?" I sigh inwardly. Did she not hear my earlier rant? It should have made it pretty clear that she's barking up the wrong tree.

"It was false hope, plain and simple," I state before shifting the conversation. "Anyway, now that the ordeal is over, we had a deal. So, drop it."

People have been harping on me about my preference for casual dating over serious relationships since high school. I know I sound irritated, but I've had my fill of this nonsense.

"Is that all you're going to say? After all that, you still think it's cheesy and unrealistic. That's your entire takeaway from this whole week?" She queries, still not buying my answer.

"I know exactly what you're doing, and repeating the same question over and over won't magically change my response from a minute ago or unveil some hidden revelation. I've only had this conversation with you once, Avery, and that was the first and last time. I believe I made myself quite clear back then. So, to directly answer your question, yes, that's all I have to say, and it's worth noting that even the comments from other readers support my view."

"What do you mean none of them were real?" she replies instantly. "Macy had never been in a relationship before she met the Cahill brothers." You were raised in a way that is similar to both Tessa and Hardin. Ruby doesn't care what other people say. Meth didn't turn to drugs until he met Haley. Even you said that you and Mia would be great friends, and we both know that's because you're both badass to the core. You have something in common with all of those 'unrealistic' characters. If you really think about it, there aren't that many differences between you two."

"Except they all got their closure in the end," I retort briskly, fully aware she can't dispute that obvious fact.

"Isabella, you never know," she sighs. "Anything's possible."

"And even if it did happen, you know I'd never admit it anyway. Avery, it's been eighteen long years, and, well, truth is, he hasn't reached out to me or any of us. I gave up on that idea ages ago."

She falls silent this time because she knows I'm resolute. However, she won't let it rest, seizing this rare moment of me opening up, a vulnerability she exploits. Instead of shifting to a lighter topic to ease the mood, she persists in discussing the one subject I'd rather avoid.

"I understand," Avery finally speaks in a softer tone, recognizing that she's committed to this path and must be careful about her words and approach. "Isabella, you're nothing like him, truly. The only commonality is your shared last name. Why can't you see that?"

I heave a sigh at her words, suppressing my urge to explode. He doesn't deserve my anger, even for a second, and Avery has been an unwavering source of support all these years. She's not just my best friend; she and her family are practically an extension of my own. I refuse to unleash my fury on her.

"I'm going to review my schedule again," I tell her, opting not to respond directly. Anything else, and I might utter something regrettable. "Classes start tomorrow, and I don't want any surprises. You might want to do the same."

I retrieve my laptop, pop in my EarPods, crank up the music on my phone, and access my schedule on the university's student website, determined to avoid discussing the man who shattered my expectations of men.

But to my chagrin, Avery yanks out one of my EarPods, suspending my escape plan after just a few minutes.

"What's going on?" I inquire, bewildered.

"Show me."

"Show you what?"

"Prove that he's truly broken you to the core. Prove, I mean really prove, that what he did still gnaws at you. Don't just tell me."

"Could you please explain where you're going with this? Because I'm completely lost."

Avery settles onto my bed, gingerly plucking the other EarPod from my ear, and closes my laptop.

"UP is brimming with guys who'd make your heart race, and I'm certain one of them will rock your world in all the right ways. Want to demonstrate your theory conclusively? Give one of them a genuine chance. And if, by the end of the semester, you two haven't developed real feelings for each other, I'll do whatever you want in return."

I blink repeatedly at this seemingly mad person sitting before me and instinctively place the back of my hand on her forehead. I'm convinced she's coming down with something, but Avery merely chuckles lightly and removes my hand from her soft skin so she can use it to feel her own temperature.

"I'm dead serious, Isabella. I don't care how you go about it. You can even employ the strategies those female protagonists used in those novels you detest if you believe it will help." She almost laughs again. "Just do it, for heaven's sake. Not only for yourself, but also for me, because I can't stand idly by and watch my friend miss out on some of life's greatest pleasures because of some jerk who didn't deserve her. When I say this, Isabella, I mean it: you're nothing like him, and perhaps, just maybe, this is your path to discovering that for yourself."

I shake my head at her proposition, realizing she gleaned it from those romance novels. I adore Avery with all my heart, but unlike the characters she's read about, I can't do this. I'm content with my casual hookup lifestyle, and the occasional conversation about sex is as 'romantic' as I'll allow my non-existent love life to get.

"I'm fine, Avery," I respond aloud. "Thanks for the idea, but no."

"Isabella, I realize that by suggesting this, I'm delving even further into your private life. I get that, and I also comprehend that this is the one subject you refuse to discuss. But, girl, just do it. You're one of the bravest, most formidable people I know—Mia Hastings has nothing on you. If nothing comes of it, at least you'll have put your theory to the test. "Sorry, Avery," I still utter, despite her kind words, "but unless you plan to use the Cha-" I halt myself when I realize what I nearly said. "You wouldn't."

But the wicked grin on her face and the mischievous glint in her eyes say the complete opposite.

"Oh, but I would," she declares, and her grin expands until she resembles the Cheshire Cat.

Alright, Isabella, don't fret. You can use your wit to navigate this situation.

I assume my most confident stance and sit up tall, attempting to appear somewhat intimidating. Well, it'll have to do.

"Avery," I utter with a disappointed sigh and a disapproving stare, "are you truly willing to use your one and only Challenge Card of the year on something so trivial? Come on, I thought you had better judgment than that."

This infamous Challenge Card Avery and I devised was both the most ridiculous and the most ingenious idea we'd ever conceived. Each year, just as back then, we bestow one another with a single, intangible Challenge Card, permitting either of us to challenge the other in any matter not involving criminal activities. The challenge can be issued at any time, and if the challenged party refuses, they must undertake the challenge.

"The tradition began towards the end of fifth grade, our last year in Riverdale before we moved to Skokie," I reminisced. Avery and I loathed doing our daily math worksheets, so we concocted the Challenge Card.

"Nice attempt," is all Avery retorts.

"Well, that shows how masterful I am at getting what I want."

Okay, flashback pause. I can sense your judgment from here: you're probably thinking I was scared, a pushover, or maybe even timid. Honestly, I simply didn't possess the time or patience for drawn-out challenges, especially when I felt confident the outcome would favor me. At that time, I struggled with long-term commitments because of him, and I thought that would be the case for the rest of my life. But I didn't mind. I knew it, my mom knew it, my brother knew it, and even my best friend knew it. That's why, back then, I went with the obvious response to counter Avery's previous one. Now, let's return to the past.

"Alright, Avery," I said with a sigh. "Let's just state the obvious, shall we? We both know this is a futile exercise, and we both know why. So, what's the point of arguing about something we both know the outcome of?"

She simply shrugged and replied, "I believe in miracles," and I glanced away briefly.

"Yeah, well, I used to believe in things like that, but I stopped a long time ago."

I turned back to her, and as I did,

 she left my bed and crossed her arms. When she began tapping her foot rhythmically, I understood that she wouldn't relent, regardless of what I said. Her mind was made up, and nothing would alter that.

"Either do this, or be her sidekick for the entire year, which, believe it or not, was the worse choice. And well, Mamma didn't raise any quitters."

"Fine," I finally concede as I rise and extend my hand for the official handshake. "If you're truly set on wasting both our time on the inevitable, then so be it. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Who knows, Isabella Vega? You might end up eating your words by the end of this," Avery retorts with a wink before we shake hands to initiate the challenge.

We release each other and contemplate the next crucial element of this theory test.

"Now I just have to find the lucky guy," I quip sarcastically.

"That," she replies as she slings her backpack over her shoulder, "is something you'll need to think long and hard about." When I arch an eyebrow, she continues, "Let me select a guy whom I believe would be genuinely interested in you, for all the right reasons. I want to prove you wrong on this one. I want to demonstrate that you're not broken and that you're stronger than your fears. So, once I find the perfect candidate—based on my judgment, of course, because..."

"We'll see about that," I interject, but Avery isn't concerned because she's already heading off to her night shift at the library.

She closes the door, leaving me standing in the stark reality: I have nothing to prepare for because my theory is bound to prevail, just like all the previous "experiments."

I, Isabella Vega, can't fully commit to anyone due to my fear of making commitments and becoming just like him.