Relying On Ben and Jerry (Waltham #1)

Chapter Four: Can't Read My Poker Face

I knocked three times, said “Eggplant”, and wiggled the doorknob.

It opened soundlessly, and revealed the disheartened eyes of a certain homicidal tabby.

“What’s wrong, kitty?” I asked Watson, and he mewed discontentedly, his face showing sass that I guess could have been a scowl. I grinned. “Did Dad lock you in here again?”

Watson glared at me for a moment before slipping out into the hallway and scampering off soundlessly, on a mission.

I rolled my eyes and turned to my room, still overrun with boxes but now showing a little piece of me through it all. My bookshelf sat on the wall beside the window with titles of all sorts of science-fiction and dystopian titles, and posters from Star Trek movies and superheroes of all kinds were plastered over the walls. My Star Trek: The Wrath of Kahn poster signed by Leonard Nimoy was positioned next to The Hunger Games’ movie poster, and The Dark Knight poster with Heath Ledger on it next to that. My room looked like ComicCon vomited. And I loved it.

My bed was posted in the opposite corner from my bookcase, resting against the wall bordering Felton’s room, which I knew I was going to learn to regret but couldn’t bring myself to care enough to move a bed the weight of seventeen elephants because of it. I kept the room the light purple I found in it, since it kind of matched my purple sheets and the white curtains hung over my windows. Overall, my room was looking pretty snazzy, but it wasn’t quite looking like home yet.

I wandered over to my stereo nestled in the corner, chancing a glance over my shoulder like someone was going to be standing there and watching me. I turned the volume all the way up and pressed play before scrambling to the door and kicking it shut. I stood in the middle of the room, waiting for the music.

Lady Gaga came on, and I danced like Quinton trying to dislodge Watson from his pant leg.

“Can’t read my, can’t read my, no you can’t read my POKER FAAACE!” I cried, flailing and jumping and using the entire room to my advantage. I could hear Felton already pounding on the wall and yelling to get me to turn it off, but all I did was cross to the stereo and turn it up louder to drown him out, the music so loud it shook the window but I didn’t even care. I twisted and did the moonwalk, getting into it as I laughed at myself and did the most ridiculous of things. I pulled some moves from a past dance class in hip-hop when I was ten before I pulled off a back flip, straightening up with my back straight and my hands held up high, a big grin on my face.

My eyes met Quinton’s, but he was the only one laughing.

He was nearly doubled over with his hands gripping his sides, watching me from a window in his house that was only slightly obscured by the bare branches of the tree between it, just enough that he could see me completely through my very open blinds. He looked like he had been watching me for at least a minute due to the tears rolling down his face from the force of his laughter, but it took me a moment to realize that he had totally been creeping on me.

I stared at him for a moment in complete horror as he went into hysterics.

Then I dropped down to the floor so quickly that my body couldn’t even react to catch myself in time, and my face had a very harsh introduction with the floor.

There was hardly a way possible for me to explain my thoughts at the moment without waving my arms senselessly and screaming gibberish while I foamed at the mouth. Little to no other way. But I could feel the horror, the embarrassment, all of those terrible emotions gripping my stomach and twisting it painfully, making my skin heat up as my face felt like it was about to burst.

I army crawled to the window and yanked the blinds closed, only inching back up onto my feet when I was hundreds of percents sure that my neighbor could no longer see me. I slapped my hands to my face, trying to wake me up.