Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(29)

I’d offer to be her cute chubby lamb, but I’m starting to feel like the shock of Prudence’s revelation may have compromised my sphincter seal. I’m going to have to end this conversation before my unsteady bowels end it for me. “Can we talk about this later? I should probably get back in there before —”

“Helen’s been threatening to transfer to Our Lady of Mercy for two years now,” Prudence says, completely ignoring me. “Frankly, we’re all getting a little sick of hearing about it.”

Someone’s coming down the hall. It’s Andy Bennett. Perfect timing.

Now, generally, Andy is the last person in the world I want to see. But right here, and right now, there isn’t another person I’d rather have approaching us.

“I’m thinking that maybe we could just help Helen make up her mind,” Prudence continues. “You know, give her a bit more incentive to transfer to a new school. You think you’d be up for that, Coopee?”

“Sure,” I say, but my mind is too preoccupied with my immediate plans to be paying close attention.

“Well, well, well.” Andy and his walrus whiskers step up beside me. “What are you beauties doing wasting your time with this beast?”

He claps me on the shoulder and I give him a big grin as I ease out a nice long-drawn-out S.B.D.

The moist-manure stench is almost instantaneous.

“Jesus Christ, Andy!” I leap away from him. “What the hell? Were you eating lunch with Miss Jerooni today?”

Andy freezes, completely confused. Until, all of a sudden, he’s blinking hard.

The girls shriek, clapping their hands over their noses and backing away from him.

“What the f*ck’s wrong with you, Andy?” Bronte shouts through her hand.

“That wasn’t me!” Andy’s head swivels like crazy. “I swear.”

I point at him. “He who denied it, supplied it.” I take off down the hall before the girls have time to put all the pieces together. “Run for your life!” I call over my shoulder. “Before he sneaks off another one.”

The girls squeal and scatter in the other direction, leaving Andy alone, confused, red-faced, and holding the beef bag.





I HAMMER MY CYMBALS, Sean rakes his hands up and down the keys on his Casio, and Matt thrashes like crazy on a three-quarter-size Torino Red Squier Mini guitar, as we bring our very first song to a hard-driving ecstatic conclusion.

“Yes!” Sean shouts, thrusting his fist in the air.

Valerie and Dad sit side by side on the old gray sofa with stunned looks on their faces. Completely silent.

Were we that good?

Or were we that bad?

My drums were pretty loud, so I had a hard time hearing the other instruments. But it felt good.

Dad finally blinks. “Wow,” he says. “That was . . .” He blinks again. “Wow.”

A burst of laughter escapes from Valerie’s lips.

Oh, crap. So we sucked.

Valerie buries her face in her hands. “Oh, my god. Désolé! Désolé! I’m sorry!” God, that accent can be so grating sometimes. She tries to hold in her laughter for a second, but then rolls over on the couch and starts cracking up.

My skin prickles with embarrassment. Why’d she have to come here, anyway? I thought they made a deal. Chess club for girlfriend-free afternoons.

“That was awesome,” Sean crows with a big clueless grin on his face. “Did we not rock the hell out of that, or what?”

“Muzzle it, Sean,” I say, my cheeks flaming. “We were crap.”

Sean looks suddenly bitch-slapped. He glances at Matt for confirmation of my assessment but Matt just stares at the floor.

“No, no.” Dad stands and runs his hand down his face. “This was . . . um.” He starts to pace. “This was a starting point.” He scratches his head. “I mean, yes, we have some work to do —”

This sends Valerie — who’d finally begun to compose herself — back into fits. “I’m sorry. Seriously, I just . . . Didn’t you guys have to hand in a demo? I mean, what was on that?”

Dad and me lock eyes.

“It was an older recording,” I say. “We haven’t played together in a while.”

Dad raises his hand. “Let’s not lose our heads here. There were a lot of positives. I mean, Coop, you were giving it your all. And Matt, you were, you know, showing some real energy there.” Dad strums an air guitar furiously. “And Sean. You definitely . . . were standing up straight and tall.” Dad’s eyes slide off to the side. “I just . . . I don’t think you guys are as bad as you sound.”

Oh, God. I want to crawl inside my bass drum.

Valerie wipes the tears from her eyes. “No. He’s right. Absolutely. There were moments I could almost tell what song you were playing.” Her body shudders with suppressed laughter. “What song were you playing?”

“‘Satisfaction,’” Sean blurts.

“‘Twist and Shout,’” I correct.

“But I thought”— Sean shuffles the sheet music on the ironing board he’s using as a keyboard stand —“Didn’t we say . . . ?”

“The Beatles.” Matt sighs.

“Oh.” Sean lowers his head. “I knew we should have had someone sing.”