Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(38)

“All right, look,” I say, not wanting to quell their enthusiasm, but not about to agree to dress up like a vampire. “We don’t have to discount anything right now. We’ll go to the Salvation Army when we have some time and have a look around. Then we can decide what works and what doesn’t.”

I look over at the TV where KISS is doing their big finale. A wall of flames surrounds the entire band as they’re lifted off the stage on a riser. Sparks pinwheel everywhere, fireworks rocket into the air, and the crowd goes absolutely berserk.

An excited buzz fills my chest. Those cheers and screams. All those girls going crazy, wanting to rush the stage and tear off their clothes.

Pretty soon, that’s all going to be for us.





THERE’S A FAINT VINEGARY SMELL in the air as I take a seat next to Helen in the library. Must be some new cleaner the custodian is using. Or maybe it’s Miss Jerooni’s attempt at masking any flatus she thinks I might produce.

“Hey,” I say, placing my backpack on the floor. I’m hoping to make some real progress today on the Our Lady of Mercy form so I can put this thing to bed and get it off my vaguely guilty conscience ASAP. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.” Helen flips a page in her Health text so violently it tears the paper.

Someone’s in a mood. But I can’t let it derail me. I’ve got a ton of blanks left to fill out before this baby’s done.

“So,” I say, trying to work Helen’s school disciplinary record into the conversation. “Is this, like, the first time you ever got detention or what?”

Helen’s mouth is pinched up. “Can we skip the chitchat and just do our work today?” She flips another page, and the sharp vinegar smell wafts up at me.

I sniff the air. “What is that? It’s not me this time, I swear. It smells sort of like —”

“Sauerkraut,” Helen says.

“Yeah, that’s it. Sauerkraut. Good call. Where do you think it’s coming from?” I rock my chair back, looking under the table.

“My books. My backpack. My sweatshirt.”

I stare at her, confused.

“Some idiot got into my locker and dumped it all over my stuff.”

“Oh.” A surge of seasickness rises up inside me. What did you expect, Coop? That they were going to go in there and neaten everything up? “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

Helen shrugs. “Not your fault.”

“No, I know, it’s just . . .” My palms are clammy. Play it cool. Technically, she’s right. It’s not like I put the sauerkraut in her locker.

“Are you okay?” Helen asks. “You don’t look well.”

“What? Yeah, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” My mouth is cottony. “Of course I’m okay. It’s just, you know, I just . . . don’t get why anyone would do that.”

“Someone’s warped idea of fun. Anyway, I’d rather not talk about it anymore.”

“Sure. No. Yeah. So, uh . . .” I lean over, glancing at her book. “Where’d we leave off the other day?”

“Birth control pill.” Helen finds a paragraph in the Health book and starts to read. “The birth control pill can have certain side effects like bleeding in between periods, nausea and vomiting, breast tenderness —”

“Whoa. Wait a second. Maybe we should leave that part out.”

“What part?”

“Breast tenderness. It might give certain people, I don’t know, the wrong idea.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying, if you get up in front of everyone . . . and mention . . . breast tenderness. I don’t know. Don’t you think that everybody’s going to be picturing your breasts? And that they’re tender?”

Helen glares at me.

“No?” I ask. “Because that’s what I’m thinking. And I don’t even want to. Honestly.”

“Are you done?”

“I’m worried, that’s all. It’s like if I say, ‘Don’t think of an elephant,’ right? I mean, you said breast tenderness, and the first thing that jumped into my head was your breasts and their tenderness.”

“Right. And what about the bleeding and the vomiting? Of course, that didn’t jump to mind. Just the breasts. Which tells us a lot about where your mind is.”

“Okay. Fair enough. But if I said testicle tenderness, wouldn’t you be thinking about my testicles?”

“Eww. No. Never. Ever.”

“So you’re not imagining my testicles right now? Even when I say ‘testicle tenderness’?”

“No! Absolutely not!” Helen huffs. “If you want to know the truth, I’m thinking about this guy on television.”

“Same difference. So you’re thinking about some guy on TV’s testicles.”

“No. I’m thinking about what he ate on his show.”

“He ate his testicles?” I feel my tool bag shrink up.

“Yak testicles.” Helen smirks.

I wince. “Dude. Are you kidding me? Yak goolies? Sick. Why the hell would he do that?”

“I don’t know. He goes around the world and eats bizarre foods. It’s his show. Weird Cuisine. I guess he gets paid a lot of money.”