Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(10)

Jules nods like he’s known others with this particular problem. “Yes, that can pose some difficulty. It just so happens that I have a very nice driver with a fairly rigid shaft.”

“Oh you do, do you?” I give Jules a conspiratorial wink. “But are you willing to sell it?”

Jules stares at me blankly. “Of course. If you can afford it.”

Helen sighs and shifts her weight. Her neck and cheeks flaming.

“This wood of yours,” I say. “Does it have one of those really big heads?”

Jules leans in. “It’s not called Big Bertha for nothing.”

“Big Bertha?” I give a low whistle. “You don’t say.”

I glance over at Helen. Surely she must find at least this much funny.

Apparently not. She’s suddenly gotten very interested in the golf shoes.

“Would you like me to show it to you?” Jules asks.

I call out to Helen. “He wants to show us his Big Bertha, Helen. Aren’t the salesmen here the friendliest you’ve ever seen?”

“Coop.” Helen’s voice is barely contained. “Why don’t we just go look at the clubs by ourselves and let the salesman help someone else?”

“Because he’s helping me right now.” I look at Jules. “So, do you want to show it to us right here on the showroom floor? Or should we go in the back?”

Jules seems confused. “Um. No. Wait right here. I’ll just go grab it.”

He shuffles off, his pants sagging in the back like he’s got a big old load weighing him down.

Helen storms over to me, her arms crossed, her jaw clenched. “This is not funny, Coop.”

“What are you talking about?” I say, nearly losing it. “This is freakin’ hilarious. The dude has no clue he’s just offered to sell me his wang. What’s funnier than that?”

“You’re being mean.”

“Here we go,” Jules says, wielding a big fancy driver with an enormous silver head. He holds it out to me. “You wanted stiff. Take a feel of that.”

I grab the club and hoist in the air, waving it around a bit. “Wow. That is a stiff one,” I say. “I bet you could do some real damage with this.”

Jules nods. “Your Dad unwraps that bad boy on his birthday and I guarantee it’ll put a big smile on his face.”

“Not to mention my Mom’s,” I say.

This makes Jules laugh, though I don’t think he’s sure why.

“What do you think, Helen?” I say turning toward her. But she’s already stalking off toward the front door.

Jules watches her go, then looks back at me. “Is something wrong?”

I turn to see Helen shove open the front door and exit. “Her uncle was killed by a stray divot. Caught him right in the mouth. Choked to death. It was horrible.” I hand the club back to him. “I better go comfort her.”

I start to leave and Jules calls after me. “Do you want me to hold it for you?”

A thousand funny comebacks flip through my head. But I let it go. “I’ll think about it,” I say as I head out of the store.

I approach Helen, who’s standing at the bus stop. “What’s your prob? I was just getting warmed up in there.”

Her eyes won’t meet mine. “I’m going home.”

“What? Why? Don’t we have to discuss our project?”

“I just . . .” Helen shakes her head. “You’re really rude, you know that?”

“What? Me? That guy was a total dingus.”

“He’s just trying to do his job. He probably has kids to feed. You were wasting his time — and making fun of him.”

“Big whoop. Like I care.”

“You should care. He’s a person. Just like you. How would you feel if someone said those things to you?”

“I’d think it was pretty damn funny. Hey, look, it wasn’t like he was all, ‘Let me help you up’ or ‘Are you hurt?’ when I fell down. No, it was just, ‘What do you want to buy?’ People get what they deserve.”

Helen looks down the street, like what she wants to say next is somewhere off in the distance. She turns back to me. “You weren’t going to buy anything in there, were you? You just had us meet here so that nobody would see us together.”

My pulse suddenly quickens. “What? No.” There’s a pounding in my ears. “I was going to buy something. But not after he started treating me like a tool.”

“I bet you don’t even work with your dad. I bet you put on that outfit to try to disguise yourself. Along with the glasses. Which you don’t wear.”

“How would you know?”

“Please, Cooper. You were stumbling around like a drunk. Besides. We’ve been going to school together since fourth grade. And I’ve never seen you wear glasses. Ever.”

“Look who’s been keeping a close eye on me all these years. I don’t know whether to be flattered or creeped out. Of course, who could blame you, but still . . .”

Helen’s gaze flicks back down the road. A 66 bus is headed toward us. She hikes her backpack up. “Whatever. You don’t want to work with me, obviously. And I’m happy not to work with you so, why don’t we just go to Mrs. Turris tomorrow and ask if we can do projects on our own?”