Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(11)

“Works for me. If that’s what you want. I don’t know what your big ish is with me, but fine. I can take the rejection.”

“Right. Put this on me. That way you don’t have to feel bad about yourself.”

“I don’t feel bad about myself, okay? ’Cause I’m here. You’re the one who’s leaving.”

The bus pulls up and opens its doors. “That’s right. I am leaving. Golf Town. How could I have been so stupid?” And with that, she steps up onto the number 66.

She must know that I’m waiting for the 66 too, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to ride the same bus as her. Better to wait the fifteen minutes and take the next one.

As the bus takes off, I stand there thinking how perfectly that all played out. It was actually way easier than I thought it was going to be. And tomorrow, I’ll be free as a bird.





“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Mrs. Turris says, her chair creaking as she leans back. “It’s out of the question.”

Me and Helen are standing around the teacher’s desk after class. I’ve got that tied-the-game-and-lost-it-in-overtime feeling in my chest. I knew that with all Mrs. Turris’s talk about Fate that she wouldn’t be easily convinced, but I was hoping that Helen’s insistence might sway things in our favor.

“These projects aren’t just about alcohol or drugs or contraception. They’re about being able to work cooperatively. They’re about interpersonal communication. Like it or not, there’ll be times in life when you will have to work with somebody you don’t get along with. And you won’t be able to just give up.”

Mrs. Turris starts organizing papers on her desk, clearly having rested her case. Time for me to step in and work some of my Cooper magic.

“Mrs. Turris,” I say, giving her a chill, let’s-talk-about-this smile. “It’s not that we can’t work together —”

“Good.”

“It’s just that we feel the topic you gave us is so . . . big, and . . . important, really, that it deserves two separate lessons. You know, one from the guy’s point of view, and one from the girl’s. We’re just thinking of what’s best for the class here. It has nothing to do with not wanting to work together. We’re good friends, Helen and me.” I sling my arm around her for emphasis. I feel her body go rigid, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead she forces a smile. “We’ve been going to school together since fourth grade, for God’s sake. That’s not the ish here.”

I let go of Helen’s scarecrow-stiff shoulder. I don’t want her frozen grin blowing our story.

Mrs. Turris studies me. She’s not giving me anything by way of a clue. I can’t tell if I’ve hooked this fish or if I’m going to come up empty-handed. She drums her fingers on her desk.

“Okay,” she responds. “You’ve intrigued me. I like the idea of two lessons from the different perspectives.”

“Great!” I say, letting out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding. “You won’t regret this.”

A quick glance at Helen and, I don’t know, but I think I see some newfound respect in her eyes.

“But . . .” Mrs. Turris says, the word like a sucker punch to my solar plexus. “Since you two are such great pals,” she taps her salmon-painted lips with a pencil, “I don’t see why you shouldn’t work together on both lessons. You can present the male perspective on contraception one day and the female perspective the next. It’s a fabulous suggestion, Cooper. It’ll be more work, for sure — a great deal more actually — but two good friends like you should be able to get it done without a problem.”

Helen glares at me.

“But that doesn’t mean you have extra time,” Mrs. Turris continues, an uppercut to the chin. “You two are really going to have to buckle down. Now, hurry along. You’re already late for your next class.”

Out in the nearly empty hall, I walk as quickly as I can without breaking into a full jog. But Helen catches up to me, matching my step no problem.

“Nice going,” she says. “Now, not only do we have to work together, but we have to work together twice as much.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t hear you chiming in with any brill ideas.”

“Like I had time before you jammed your foot down your throat.”

“It would have worked if you hadn’t acted like I was a skeeve when I put my arm around you.” This is not my normal pace, and I’m out of breath before we reach the stairs. But I force myself to keep my breathing even. I’m not about to let Helen sense any weakness. “She totally picked up on that.”

“What do you expect?” Helen’s not even huffing. “You could have told me what you were going to say before we went up there to talk to her.”

I stop at the bottom of the steps. For emphasis. But also to rest. “It’s called improv, babe. I was working with the pitch we were thrown.”

“Well I don’t do improv. I need advance notice before . . . things like that.”

I hold my hands up. “You know what? Just stop. You have nothing to complain about. You’re getting the better deal here. By far.”

“Oh, really?” Helen snorts. “And how do you figure that?”