Relying On Ben and Jerry (Waltham #1)

Chapter Thirty-Five: Different

Before you read: CHECK OUT THE PICTURE OF LENA FROM HER FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL!! This was drawn by TwiceTheCharm, and it’s my first fan-art and it’s GORGEOUS! Thank you AGAIN!!! :D

http://egoamores.deviantart.com/art/First-Day-Of-School-315936911

 

IT IS EXACTLY WHAT I IMAGINED SHE LOOKED LIKE, TOO! AHHHH!

 

Okay, I’m done. ;D

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“Ow!” I cried when my mother tugged the brush roughly through my hair, reaching one hand up to my scalp as I glared at her through the mirror. “Are you trying to make me bald?”

“When was the last time you brushed your hair?” my mother demanded, distraught, panicked. “Lena, sweetie, it’s hopeless. There’s almost nothing I can do with it. Your knots have knots.”

“I actually think that’s kind of impressive,” I said, nodding. She hit the back of my head, scowling.

“Why aren’t you panicking?” she asked me. “I’m freaking out, and I’m not the one that got asked out on a date!”

I didn’t have the heart to point out that my mom was just completely crazy. It didn’t take much to freak out pure crazy.

I shrugged, not quite knowing what to say. “I’ve had a week to think about it, I guess. Anyway, I’m about ninety-three percent sure that it’s going to end up being either a joke or a dare, so it makes it easier not to panic.”

She gaped at me.

“What?” I demanded.

“Lena Mallory,” she said, “you are a total moron.”

I looked at her, surprised. “What?”

“You think that boy would only ask you out because of a joke or a stupid dare?” she asked me incredulously before throwing her arms up, rolling her eyes. “I can’t even begin to understand you, Lena. It’s not just the wear-clothes-that-don’t-match thing; it’s just . . . you.”

“What about me?” I demanded, indignant. I turned to look at her, my eyes narrowed. “If I do say so myself, I think I’m a pretty legit person, thank you very much.”

She hit me on the back of the head. Again. “You are your dares! You think the world revolves around dares!”

“I do not,” I replied, scoffing. “I happen to know that the majority of my life is not based on it.”

“But enough of it is?”

I gestured in an exaggerated fashion around my room, littered with a collection of my strangest wardrobe additions, and rolled my eyes.

She laughed once before screwing up her face all serious again. “Okay, fine, but that’s all your fault. You’re the one that accepts the dares.”

“I can’t say no to people,” I told her, grimacing. “It’s always been that way.”

“Would you have said yes if he asked you without daring you?” she demanded, her eyebrows shooting up to the point they nearly ripped off of her face and hovered above her in the air. I wriggled uneasily in my desk chair, where she was primping me and making me look all nice and pretty—her words, not mine—and I rolled one of the extra hair curlers in my fingers. Yeah, that’s what I said. Hair curlers.