They Called Me a Submarine. On Bid Day, I Stunned Them All Chapter 01

They Called Me a Submarine. On Bid Day, I Stunned Them All Chapter 01

The day before move-in—

my online boyfriend Justin rolled dice with his friends.

And he lost me.

Before I could even react, he pulled me into a GroupMe chat for incoming freshmen.

The group announcement had just been updated:

Congratulations to Finn on winning a 200-pound girlfriend!

Right after that, a photo of me from high school got posted.

In the picture, I was wearing a huge black shirt, so heavy that my neck was barely visible.

The group chat exploded.

“Holy shit, that’s not a girlfriend—that’s a submarine.”

“A bet’s a bet. Finn’s gotta do the couple challenge with her tomorrow.”

Soon, someone started a new poll:

Will Allie actually show up tomorrow night?

Justin bet five thousand that I wouldn’t.

“Finn, don’t blame me. You rolled the dice.”

“You won her.”

The guy they called Finn stayed quiet the whole time.

Then Rachel, the Magnolia sorority’s PR VP, spoke up:

“Allie, you’ll come tomorrow night, right?”

I watched the messages pile up. And I laughed.

No one knew.

I’d already gone from two hundred pounds to one hundred—just to meet him in person.

And no one knew—

in the past two months,

I’d been asked for my number more times than in all eighteen years before.

I quietly bet three thousand dollars—on myself showing up.

Then, under all the noise, I typed:

A bet’s a bet.

—

I stared at the group announcement for a full ten seconds.

Congratulations to Finn on winning a 200-pound girlfriend!

Three party emojis underneath.

Over a hundred people in the chat. Messages flew.

“Sick move, Justin. You lost that one.”

“Lost? He dodged a tank. That’s a win.”

“@Finn, Finn, say something. Give us a speech.”

Then another photo dropped.

It was from my sophomore year sports day.

I was 200 pounds back then.

My clothes was stretched tight over my body.

I was sitting in the back row of the bleachers, head down, eating bread.

Whoever took the photo was far away.

But even blurry, you couldn’t miss how big I was.

The person who posted it?

My online boyfriend. Justin.

A minute ago, he was still texting me privately.

“Baby, it’s just a joke between friends.”

“I lost a game and gave your info to Finn. It’s just a couple challenge.”

“Don’t take it seriously.”

I didn’t reply.

The chat was already losing it.

Damn, with that build, Finn’s gonna need a truck to pick her up.

Couple challenge? A piggyback ride? Straight to the ER.

They should flip it—have Allie carry Finn. Might actually be easier.

Justin sent a laughing-crying emoji.

Come on guys, go easy. Don’t make her cry.

Sounded like he was defending me.

But really, he was just feeding them more ammo.

My fingers went cold.

We’d been together online for eleven months.

When he couldn’t sleep, I stayed up gaming with him.

When he lost matches, I talked him through it until sunrise.

Before exams, I sent him voice messages every day to keep him going.

Even when I filled out my applications, I put UCLA first.

Because he said:

“Allie, let’s go to the same school.”

“When we start, I’ll show up with flowers.”

The day before move-in, he turned me into a game prize and handed me over to someone else.

Soon, someone started a new bet.

Will Allie show up to Bid Day tomorrow?

The odds kept climbing.

The pool betting I wouldn’t show passed three hundred.

Justin dropped five thousand.

“No chance. She’s too shy. You say one thing and she cries.”

I finally laughed out loud.

So he knew I’d cry.

And he still brought over a hundred people to watch.

Then a new message popped up.

Rachel: “Come on, don’t be harsh on Allie.”

“Being a little bigger isn’t a big deal. What matters is being kind.”

She was the PR VP of Magnolia.

Everyone knew her as the fashion queen.

A couple days ago, she posted beach photos in Lululemon.

Comments were full of praise.

She tagged me.

“Allie, you’re coming tomorrow night, right?”

Sounded like she was defending me.

But then she added: “No one means any harm.”

“Don’t let your appearance make you insecure.”

The chat filled with “Rachel is so kind and beautiful.”

I didn’t reply right away.

I clicked the betting link.

Three thousand. On myself showing up.

The chat went silent for two seconds—then exploded with question marks.

Justin messaged me privately.

Are you crazy?

Their mouths are brutal. Why would you go?

I looked at my reflection.

Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Curves in all the right places.

White crop top. Denim shorts. Tan skin.

I was also a fashion blogger with a decent following on Instagram.

In the past two months, I’d been asked for my number hundreds of times—

at malls, on the subway, at the gym.

One agent even cornered me for half an hour, asking if I wanted to model.

Justin knew none of this.

Because I’d been saving the best version of myself for the day we finally met.

Now I knew.

He didn’t deserve that surprise.

I didn’t let the tears fall. I typed four words in the chat.

A bet’s a bet.