Relying On Ben and Jerry (Waltham #1)

Chapter Fifteen: That Awkward Moment When . . .

“One month, dude,” Kline said.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I know.”

“Just think ’bout it, Tomatoes,” Colonel told me wonderingly, staring off into the distance. “If you could get through this much, I reckon there’s a good chance you’ll be makin’ it at least another month.”

“The faith you all have installed in me warms my heart,” I announced sarcastically.

“But you know what that means, right?” Peter demanded.

“I’ll get heart burn?” I guessed.

Norma shook her head and wrapped her arm around my waist, squeezing my ribs in a sideways hug. “No, silly—it means it’s time.”

“Oh, lordy,” I replied, narrowing my eyes. “Time for what?”

“Time,” Kline said, “for the greatest thing in your life.”

“I get to meet Ryan Reynolds?”

“You get to go,” Peter announced, throwing his arms out, “to the promise land!”

“The place where the cool kids go,” Norma prompted.

“Also the place where I go about buyin’ my guns,” Colonel informed me casually, smiling.

“I have a feeling this place is going to be a winner,” I remarked wryly, with little to no emotion. I knew this group well enough to know that I certainly could not trust them with my life—or even a secret. I glanced around at their patient faces, willing to go on with this for as long as possible before I cracked under the pressure, and sighed heavily, throwing my arms up. “I surrender. Now tell me where you want to take me.”

“We’re takin’ you to Harvard Square, Tomatoes,” Colonel boomed, grinning widely. “You’ll be walkin’ the streets like some of the coolest old guys that have even gone and existed. Well, that’s more ’long the lines of Boston in itself, but Harvard Square’s got some neat places goin’ for it.”

“Like really smart people,” Peter said.

“I want to go and buy one,” Kline sighed. “I would like to get perfect grades on my homework. Harvard kids know everything.”

“I think that’s a bit of a misconception,” I tried to tell her, but Norma silenced me by raising a finger, hushing me as effectively as if she had shoved a sock in my mouth.

“You can ask a Harvard kid anything,” she informed me, “and if they don’t answer you correctly, I’ll break dance in front of everyone.”

“That is a deal I am willing to make,” I told her, now chipper, holding up my pinky. She rolled her eyes and locked her pinky with mine, making the most sacred of oaths that didn’t involve blood. I nodded once and let her pinky go, turning back to our group of friends all huddled in the front hall of the school in a tight circle against the wind that kept blowing in when the doors opened. I shivered in my thin white cotton pajama top that fit me like a dress, the dyed pink shells in my hair clinking together as I moved. I had a black leather belt streaked with a rainbow of colors hanging loosely off of my hips and blue and gray striped leggings down to my black pumps. I chewed on my bottom lip, covered in light pink lipstick.