Relying On Ben and Jerry (Waltham #1)

Chapter Eight: Every Time a Bell Rings

I laughed. “Nor should you. Your creeping is definitely as much of an art as my dancing was.”

“Self-expression,” he agreed, and then turned around to pointedly stare at a random student’s back. When they started to fidget after a couple of seconds, we both burst out laughing despite ourselves.

I was noticing a common trend with Quinton—he was either making me laugh, or he was making me want to throw up all over the place. It was always one or the other, and both of them made me want to run in circles screaming, but I guess the predictability of it being one of them was a little comforting. I liked a little bit of order in the middle of the craziest life I will ever live.

Resisting my sudden urge to flail my arms and froth at the mouth, I picked up the worksheet and waved it in his face. “Earth to Tarantino—we have work to do, and I intend to pass the greatest curriculum in existence with flying colors.”

He gave me a bizarre look. “You like the Beatles?”

“Too much,” I informed him simply. I looked down when I felt my face heat up. “Anyway, can we start?”

“Nope,” he answered immediately, popping the p. “Now I’m curious. You’re a total conundrum, and with all of those colors, it makes me a little curious.”

“I’m not acting out,” I announced too loudly, drawing the attention of everyone within a two person area. I turned bright red and sunk back into my seat, glancing back at Quinton. “Well, I’m not.”

“I believe you,” the boy next door told me. In no way did I believe him. “Oh, I’ve got a good question for you: Do you normally use your underwear as an accessory?”

“Why does everyone keep bringing that up?” I demanded, throwing my hands up. Quinton laughed a little at my theatrics, leaning back casually in his chair as if to watch me from a better angle. The thought was a little unsettling, and certainly did not do wonders for my self-confidence.

He was still looking at me like that when he told me, “Well, it could have something to with the bet running among the males about whether you’ve worn them before. But it might not.”

I gaped at him like a fish out of water, my mouth moving even though no words were coming out. He roared with laughter.

“Your face!” he laughed, pointing. “Your face!”

I might have looked like Colonel’s nickname for me, but I still pursed my lips and stared him down, and I tried not to begin searching for a hole to curl up and die in.

“That’s not funny,” I snapped when he was almost literally ROFLMAOing. He buried his head in his hands, and when he emerged twenty seconds later, he had this silly grin on his face that made my heart all melty.

“It’s only funny because it’s not a hundred percent true,” he informed me. “Word around the locker room says that some of them sure are wondering, but as far as I know no money has exchanged hands, so it’s not technically a bet. Not unless they are wagering their dignity.”

That didn’t make me feel better, and the thought of boys actually gossiping in the locker room just wasn’t quite enough to distract me from what he just enlightened me with. I stared at him in horror.

“Why can’t they just leave my purse alone?” I demanded, clutching it to my chest. “This kind of judgment is taking a toll on poor Marvel’s nerves.”

“You named your purse?” Quinton demanded incredulously. “I can understand cars some of the time. It’s a stretch, but I can at least understand it. But purses? That’s taking it a step too far.”