Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(22)

I look over at Matt, who shrugs like Sean’s got a point here.

Sean retrieves his sneaker, then plops down on the dugout bench to pull it on.

I take a deep breath. “Okay. Look. Just hear me out for a sec. I’m totally sorry I wasn’t upfront about this. Seriously. It was wrong. I know. And I’ll never do it again. I promise. But you’re looking at this the wrong way. We’ve been handed an opportunity to be rock stars in our school. I mean, look at the reaction you got just for getting into the Battle of the Bands.” Of course, I don’t mention the reaction I got from Dean Scragliano. But we can deal with that later. “Just think about all the babes who’ll be hurling their thongs at us when we’re rocking out onstage.”

“Maybe just hurling,” Matt says. “When they hear how bad we sound.”

Matt seems way more chillaxed than Sean. Which is good. I think I can turn him. As long as Valerie doesn’t get in the way. And if Matt signs on, Sean’ll tag along.

“So what if we can’t play right now?” I start to pace. “We’ll get better. It’s just gonna take some practice. My dad said he’d help us out. He had a band in high school and they were like superstars.”

“No. I’m not listening to this. You’re just doing your whoopty-doopty-loopty-doos again.” Sean twirls his hands in the air like a crazy man. “Spinning things around. Making yourself come out all sweet and clean.”

I keep my voice calm. “We’ve been presented with the chance of a lifetime here, boys. We talked about forming this band two years ago. But talk is cut-rate. I took action. That’s what’s so great about us being friends. I need your talent and smarts, and you need my good looks and screw-the-consequences attitude. Otherwise we’d never do anything. It’s like you’re little baby ducklings that I have to scoot into the water. Because I know you can swim. I have faith in your greatness, even if you don’t have it in yourselves. I mean, think about all my other plum plans. You’ve never regretted joining in.”

“Oh, no?” Matt says. “What about the time you convinced us to jack that coffin lid from the funeral home Dumpster and use it as a toboggan?”

“Okay. So one time things didn’t go . . . exactly as planned.”

“Really?” Sean says, sarcastically. “How about when you had us jump off your roof using an umbrella as a parachute?”

“Christ! Are you guys gonna live in the past forever? I’m talking about the here and now.”

Sean points at me. “And then there was that time when we were six and you talked me into eating all that Play-Doh to see if my duke would come out different colors.”

Matt and I glance at each other and bust up.

“Now that was dope,” Matt snorts. “It came out like a rainbow roll.”

Sean suppresses a smile. “More like a tie-dyed PayDay.” His face isn’t nearly as red as before. Which is good.

“Okay, look,” I say, sitting down between Matt and Sean, one arm around each of them. “I’m gonna lay it on the line, dawgs. This Helen thing is going to kill me. Everyone calling me Corn Dog all the time. Getting slammed in the hallways. Doused in niblets. I mean, forget about rounding any bases, I just don’t think I can handle this much longer. Mentally. I’m serious. I might even have to get my family to move. Which would totally suck, because I’d miss you guys.”

Matt and Sean both look at me.

“I don’t know what else to say. I’m begging you. If you won’t do it for yourselves, then do it for me.”

Sean takes a deep breath and lets it out loudly.

“Think about it,” I continue. “If we win this thing, we instantly become the coolest kids in school. Nobody will be able to make fun of us. There won’t be a party we won’t be invited to. The hottest girls in the school will want to shack up with us, then steal our underwear and sell them on eBay. What’s so bad about that?” I squeeze the backs of their necks. “And I promise, if any heat comes down about the demo, I’ll take the full brunt. You know I will. But I’m telling you, if you bail on this you’re going to regret it for the rest of your lives.”

Silence. Sean’s eyes flick over and find Matt’s.

And there it is. The holy grail of white flags. The what-do-you-think? look. It’s all over now but the “Okay, we’ll try, as long as . . .” concessions. Just so that they don’t feel like they’ve totally given it up without dinner and a movie.

“Ahhhhh.” I feel myself grin. “You’re gonna do it. You guys.” I grab their shoulders tight and give them a little shake. “I love you, dawgs. You’re the best friends ever. You won’t be sorry. I promise. This is going to be epic.”





I DON’T BEAT THE BELL to Health class but luckily I do beat Mrs. Turris. Everyone is busy doing what you do when the teacher’s late — talking, listening to iPods, texting, reading magazines, chucking balls of paper at each other.

I flop down at my desk and hear a squish followed by some chuckles from Andy Bennett’s corner of the room.

“Coop’s got his period!” Andy calls out.

I look down and see the flattened ketchup packets that were placed under the legs of my chair. See the squiggles of red on the floor and the bottom of my pants.