Chapter Two-The Bet

     I swear I didn't want to do it.

     It wasn't my idea...I swear it was all Chris' fault.

      I mean how was I supposed to know that it would get this far?

      How could I have ever gotten into this deep shit?

     Well, I guess the only way to begin where all these problems emerged is to introduce myself. My name is Justin. Justin Timberlake. I'm just a normal guy who goes to St. Lamarr High School. No, I'm not smart like Lance, shit I could never even dream of taking half the classes that he takes. Sure I can catch a football, but I am no JC Chasez. I'm not strong like Joey. I can't tell jokes that are half as good as Chris'.

     So basically...I have no talent whatsoever.

     Well...I guess I do have one. But if any one of the guys were to find out, they would rip my ass apart and eat me alive.

     So what do I like to do?

     Well...I like to sing. And I like to write songs.

     I know, I know. Pathetic, right? Imagine me, Justin Timberlake, singing in front of the school like those chorus nerds...if the guys ever found out...they wouldn't want out with me and then I would be left eating my lunch with a bunch of band geeks.

     And life as I know it will end, and I will be a certified loser for life.

     But no one will ever...ever know that.

     So...back to me. I'm a hot guy and I know it. I know I have basically every girl in this school around my finger.

     I know it may sound cocky, but is it really cocky if you know that it's true?

     And that's the exact same statement that got me into all this shit.

     But keep this in mind...it was all Chris' idea.

     I swear.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~

     So it was your average Monday morning. JC was bragging about his football game last Friday, Lance was frantically trying to finish his AP Calculus homework (which wasn't due 'till Thursday...sometimes I wonder why we hang around him), Joey was hitting on a bunch of cheerleaders, and Chris was making even more Borat impressions.

     "So anyway, I thought it was all over. Over. Kaput. Done. But then...I saw the perfect opportunity. I dodged and I passed, and I sprinted 'til I swore I felt my heart stop and before I knew it--" JC stood up, put his hands in the air and waved, "TOUCHDOWN BABY YEAH!"

     The crowd around us all clapped and JC sat back in his seat with a smug look on his face.

     "It was nothing really, it's all for the school," JC said, attempting to sound modest, but we all know that he is anything but modest. He puffed his chest out, proudly displaying the number 17 on his jersey.

     Chris looked at JC and patted his back. "I saw it myself and it was NICE."

     I rolled my eyes, quietly thinking to myself, "If I hear one more Borat impression I swear I'm gonna rip that stupid pink hat off Chris' head and burn it in the next bonfire. "

     But apparently I'm the only one who thought that, and I didn't want to say anything, because I didn't want to be a party pooper. Joey smirked, as if it was the first time he heard Chris say this impression, but soon his attention was grabbed by a tiny brunette in a short skirt.

     "DAY-UM! Look at that girl's ass! Now that's what I call a bebegonwallow!" he drooled.

1) a phrase created by Mr. Joey Fatone after a drunken night at a party.

2) An ass that is plump and juicy

3) an ass that one wants to tap.

     Like I said, a typical Monday morning.

     Chris playfully smacked Joey's shoulder. "Man...you would never believe it, but I tapped that ass on Saturday."

     Joey, obviously stunned, opened his mouth in amazement. "No way man!"

     Chris shook his head cockily. "Yeah, you got that right. Remember that party we went to on Saturday? Well let's just say that bebegonwallow had a little to much to drink."

     "'Atta boy!" Joey grinned, high-fiving Chris.

     I looked at Chris dubiously. "You actually fucked her? Do you even know her name?"

     Chris shrugged. "Who cares? Why Justy Poo? Jealous much?"

      I laughed. "Jealous? Of you? You got to be kidding me. What's there to be jealous of?"

     "The fact that I know you haven't gotten laid in like a century," Chris mocked, and then looking over, quickly exclaimed, "Quick J! Duck!"

     I glanced over and saw Blair, and immediately followed Chris' order, glad that I dodged her.

     Blair was the essential bitch of my school. Her father earns a big banking firm, and she was spoiled and rich. She made those girls on Super Sweet Sixteen look poor. She also happened to be my ex-girlfriend. We broke up three months ago, but she just couldn't get over me. She always tries to start stuff, and I intentionally avoid her, I don't like confrontation. Don't let her petite stature fool you. Behind those catlike green eyes lies a total bitch who could rip you apart with words. She was obsessive, and compulsive, and after two months of dating her, I finally said sayonara to her skinny ass.

     And let me tell you, breaking up with her was the hardest thing I ever had to do.

     Well, not the breaking up part, that was relatively easy, it's aftermath that caused the most trouble.

     She would start rumors about my new girlfriends, she would try to intimidate my new girlfriends, she would basically tried to kill any of my girlfriends with her short, perfectly manicured hands. I couldn't walk around school for a month without her angerly shouting out, "Dick!" or "Cockface!"

     Yes, if you looked under the word "bitch" in the dictionary, you would see Blair van der Woodley's picture.

     So after scanning the crowd, and unsuccessfully finding me, Blair stomped out of the cafeteria.

     "Coast is clear, J," JC whispered.

      I slowly rose to my seat. "Thanks Chris."

     He waved his hand. "No problem, J. But where were we?"

     I groaned. I should've known. Chris Kirkpatrick can never let a subject rest. "Look Chris, all I'm saying is, I can get any girl in the school to sleep with me."

     Chris looked at me for a minute, and a grin slowly made his way across his face. "Really? Then I want you to prove it."

     "How?"

     "Well Mr. Timberlake. I have a proposition for you. You say you can get any chick in this school? Well, if you can get a girl in bed in a month, than I'll be your slave for a year. That's right. Chris Kirkpatrick will do whatever you tell him to do. Laundry? I'll be there. Homework? I'll do it."

      "And if I lose?" I inquired.

     "Then I guess you'll be wiping my ass for the rest of the year," he smirked.

     I thought about it. It seemed reasonable, this wasn't going to be hard, it almost sounded too easy. "What's the catch?" I asked suspiciously.

     "Well, not just any girl...you have to with her," Chris said, pointing to a girl at a different table.

     "With her?" I asked, scrunching my nose.

     This was not my type at all. Frizzy brown hair? Braces? Glasses? I felt my body shudder.

     "Yes, with her. You didn't think I was just going to pick the sluttiest blonde in school? Wait. You already dated her. I mean, the second sluttiest girl in school. This is supposed to be a  challenge. Why, you chicken J?"

     I shook my head, this way going to be harder than I thought, but I could do it because I am Justin Timberlake, and I don't know one heart who I couldn't melt. Yes, I had my work cut out for me, because this girl was not my type. But I was up for a little challenge.

     "Prepare to be kissing my ass, Kirkpatrick."