Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(26)

It’s a five-minute bike ride up to the Corner Market, which, oddly enough, isn’t even on a corner. The store sells pretty much all the basics — candy, chips, soda, Twinkies — as well as a decent selection of vegetables, cold cuts, milk, cheese, and canned goods.

“So,” Sean says, looking around. “What are we getting?”

I pull the folded-up paper from my back pocket, the results of my research during study hall.

“All right.” I unfold the page and scan the article on flatulence. “I want some heavy duty gas producers. Radishes, celery, prunes. Beans, of course.”

“Of course,” Sean echoes.

“But what I really need is some serious stink.” I run my finger down the page and find what I’m looking for. “Here.” I read, “Foods that are thought to produce excessive flatulence include cabbage, broccoli, kale, and other vegetables belonging to the cabbage family. These foods will also have a tendency to intensify the pungency of the flatus.”

Sean smiles. “That sounds like something out of World of Warcraft.” He makes his voice deep. “You have been granted the pungency of the flatus, my son. Go forth and use it well.”

“Oh, yes,” I say. “I will wield the flatus with deathly precision. And shall lay waste to mine enemy.”





I CONVINCE SEAN TO SKIP eighth period shop class and hang with me in the Hole as I attack the fart food with a plastic fork and knife. The cashier dude at the market was dope enough to open my can of beans, but I had to be super careful carrying it back to school, storing it on the top shelf of my locker until I was ready to feast.

“I’m still not sure I get this plan,” Sean says, cringing as I chew a broccoli stalk with my mouth wide open. The farticle I read stated specifically that eating with your mouth open and swallowing air as you go will create the mightiest explosions.

“It’s simple,” I say. “Until I can figure out a way to get Mrs. Turris to split us up — and I will — I don’t want anyone seeing me and Helen in close proximity. If I start ripping noxious ass blasters, you can be damn sure Helen’s going to want to work at separate ends of the library. And who knows — if it’s bad enough, she might just run screaming from the room.”

I shove a heaping forkful of coleslaw into my mouth. When you’re on a mission to save yourself, you’d be surprised how much raw broccoli, raw cauliflower, cold baked beans, prunes, celery, radishes, and cabbagey coleslaw you can choke down.

“I’m glad I’m not going to be in that library,” Sean says, pulling the leaves off the celery for me. “Your regular H-bombs could clear a circus tent. I hate to think what kind of stench all this fuel is going to create.”

“You want me to crack you off a taster?” I say.

“Hell no!”

“Too late.” I smile, popping a cauliflower floret.

Sean reels back as he’s smacked in the face with my silent sampler. It’s a fine bouquet laced with the smell of rotten eggs, runny cheese, dead skunk, and just a hint of pruney sweetness. “Whoalee crap!” He screws up his face, covering his nose and mouth with the crook of his elbow. “You bastard!” He starts to gag and laugh at the same time. “That’s worse than a Saint Bernard beefer.”

“Thanks,” I say. Coming from Sean, that’s a major compliment, his house being the orphanage for every stray pet in Lower Rockville. “And that was just a gentle breeze. Imagine what the full tropical storm’ll smell like.”

“No thanks.” Sean’s eyes are watering. “Jesus Christ.” He rubs his nose hard. “And it’s got a long finish, too. Poor Helen. She’s going to be knocked unconscious.”

Miss Jerooni is sitting at her desk when I arrive at the library. She’s reading some beat-to-hell paperback, her tiny face nearly swallowed up by the giant gray frizz that surrounds her head. If a chipmunk suddenly poked its nose out of all that fuzz, you wouldn’t be surprised. You’d be like, “Oh, huh. Miss Jerooni has a chipmunk living in her hair.”

“Hi, Miss Jerooni,” I say, bending over her desk to autograph the sign-in sheet. I can feel the squeezing and grumbling in my gut as the vicious vegetable-bean brew percolates.

Miss Jerooni glances over her book, nods acknowledgment, but says nothing. The only sound in the library are her lovebirds, Fanny and Alexander, gently peeping in their cage behind her.

I smile, then turn away and squeak out a little gurker for Miss Jerooni’s sniffing pleasure.

Helen’s already here, of course. Planted right in front, where every cheerleader and jock in the school can see us sitting together as they pass by in the hall on their way to and from practice.

She’s piled a stack of books on the table and is busy marking them up with her limitless supply of Post-its, when I pull up a chair.

“Hi,” she says coldly.

There’s no time to waste. I have to jam the stink wedge between us immediately.

“Good afternoon,” I reply, relaxing my ass gasket and bearing down. I lift my right butt cheek a bit and . . .

BRRRRROOFFF.

It’s not the lion’s roar I wanted but it was definitely audible.

Helen’s gaze shoots up from her book, her eyes wide.

The desired tangy stench follows almost immediately. Wow. Now that’s some concentrated evil. My eyes start to burn.