Relying On Ben and Jerry (Waltham #1)

Chapter Twenty-One: The Negative Effects of Peer Pressure

“What?” I demanded.

“Well, you can stick with a maybe if you want,” Quinton told me, sounding cautious now that he was realizing what he had started. “I mean, a lot of people have been maybes, and some people that’ll be yeses won’t show and no’s will, so don’t worry about it. Ask your parents and tell me later.”

“Or,” Peter said, “she could just stop being a wimp and agree now.”

“Think about it, Lena,” Kline picked up the baton, looking dreamily into the air. I looked, too, but there was nothing to be seen but dust particles. “Imagine it now with me. A giant house party only topped by television’s interpretations. Rave lights like in the chorus room in between the Alma Mater and the Star-Spangled Banner. Red plastic cups filled with straight Pepsi because you don’t want to be the dweeb carrying it around in a can. No parents. No tonsils. It’s all a win-win situation to me.”

“To me it’s a recipe for disaster,” I told her. “And pervs. A lot of pervs.”

“They’ll be dancing,” she offered hopefully, smiling invitingly. I narrowed my eyes at her.

“I don’t dance,” I replied. “I can only successfully perform swing and the Charleston, neither of which bump me up on the social ladder, mind you. I’d prefer not to show off my moves in a room of judgmental eyes.”

“Then don’t dance. Do the awkward white girl thing and sway or something.”

“Swaying is all the rage in Milan,” Norma offered.

“Do they even dance in Milan?” I whispered back, shocked.

“I think we’re getting off-topic,” Quinton chimed up from my other side, and I shocked myself back into awareness, probably turning bright red again because I suddenly realized that I could feel his body heat on my side, and oh my goodness that was rather amazing. My heart started pumping all fast and I instinctually wanted to lean over and see if he smelled good. I didn’t understand where these urges were coming from, but I’ve always been sure that I was this super stalker in my past life or something, and sometimes I got those tendencies.

I blinked and looked back at Kline, narrowing my eyes at her. “Don’t pressure me.”

“I’m not pressuring you,” she explained to me patiently. “I’m forcing you. You’re going.”

“I am?” I asked.

“See? You said so yourself—you’re going. We’ll be there, Quinton. Even if Lena has to be tied up and dragged there,” she told him, smiling brightly.

“Wait, what?” I demanded, but Peter was already nodding, and Quinton was already kind of starting to move away, pretending not to notice that Colonel had turned completely around so that his back was facing him, sitting half on the bench and half off to achieve such a feat. Quinton looked between me and Kline and Peter, grimacing a little, suddenly looking really uncertain like maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

“You’re sure?” he asked me, sounding disbelieving, and I shrugged.

“I don’t know what I’m agreeing on,” I told him honestly, and Kline giggled.

“You just agreed to a night of embarrassing oneself, dancing in a sea of sweaty strangers, and tasting beer and trying not to lose your lunch!” Kline told me cheerfully, pumping her fists into the air happily. “Woo!”

“What is even going on right now?” I asked Norma. “My head is spinning and it kind of hurts. Did someone knock me out?”

“No,” she told me, but she didn’t say anything else either. I turned around and glanced up at Quinton, shrugging.