Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(4)

Yes! Smart, clean, friendly, non-threatening Sam. He’s my backup man. My backup plan. A lightness fills my chest. A flicker of hope. Come to Cooper. Come on. Cooper Redmond. Cooper Redmond.

“And . . .” She gets the paper unfolded and reads. “Prudence Nash.”

Damn it. It’s like I’m sinking in quicksand and all my lifelines keep snapping.

Mrs. Turris smiles at Prudence. “There you go, dear. You can go see the nurse now.”

“That’s okay,” Prudence says, tossing me a screw-you smirk. “I feel much better.”

I wink at her to let her know I understand she’s disappointed.

Prudence rolls her eyes.

It’s the dance we do. Like birds before they mate. She hates me now, but someday soon, at some party or something, she’ll succumb to the Cooper charm, and we’ll fall into each other’s arms, making out like a couple of horny cave people. We’ll retreat to one of the bedrooms and chew and claw each other’s clothes off. And then, finally, I’ll get a full view of the serpent tattoo that snakes down the small of her back. The one I’ve only gotten teasing glances of when she squats to pick something up off the floor and her low-rise jeans ride just a little lower.

Mrs. Turris reads out Sam’s and Prudence’s topic but it doesn’t register. I’m still stuck on Prudence’s tattoo. I’m imagining what it will be like to spend the rest of my life examining every inch of it.

“This is so exciting.” Mrs. Turris laughs. She’s got the kind of round, trusting face you’d see on a pancake box. “I love placing things in Fate’s hands. It always turns out for the best in the end, I think.”

Okay, I may yurp.

I sigh loudly. Several of my comrades stifle chuckles.

Mrs. Turris pays no attention and grabs another slip of paper from her torture box.

I’ve pretty much given up trying to will the outcome of this. My Jedi mind control is obviously on the fritz today. I don’t even care who I get twinned up with anymore. Like it even matters. It’s just stupid Health. Sure I need to pass to graduate, but how hard is it going to be to swing a D-plus? Really. I’ll even take Stoner Sneep. Bring it on. Give me the worst you’ve got, Mrs. Turris. Give me boogers-in-the-nose Gerald Tyrell. Toss me Tara ten-chins with the wandering eye and steel-wool mullet.

I breeze cheese in Fate’s face. How do you like that, teach?

“Cooper Redmond . . .”

Here we go, people. I maintain my chillaxed pose: slouching posture, one arm dangling carelessly over the back of my chair.

Mrs. Turris does an on-purpose, anticipation-inducing, Academy Awards-y delay.

Whatever. Let her have her fun.

Nothing can faze me at this point.

“And Helen Harriwick.”

Except.

Maybe.

That.

The class bursts with laughter.

Hot Dog Helen? Are you twisting me? I hadn’t even considered this. I didn’t even notice she was in the class. She makes herself that invisible.

My skin prickles with heat and my head swims, but I keep my face blank. Need to be caszh. Can’t appear weak.

But come on! Jesus Christ!

Prudence has her hand clasped over her mouth. Her eyes dart over to me and they are filled with evil glee.

Matt and Sean have matching “yikes” expressions plastered on their mugs. They’re trying to be all sympathetic, but I can see both of them stifling laughs.

I turn around and find Helen, who’s skim-milk skin has gone blotchy with clouds of pink. She is staring hard at her Health textbook, pretending the hysteria has nothing to do with the fact that she’s the school’s most taunted pariah.

Thanks a ton, Mrs. Turris. Fate can eat me. There is no way this is “for the best.”

Okay. I need to breathe. To think. How can I get out of this? There has to be a way. I just need to concentrate.

Maybe Jell-O hawkin’ Andy would be willing to flip stinky Nicky. But as soon as I think this, I see the mirthful tears coursing down his cheeks and I already know he’d never go for it.

Nothing could be worse than this.

Absolutely nothing.

“And your topic shall be . . .” Mrs. Turris announces like a judge handing down a life sentence. She has suddenly grown thirty feet tall, sprouted horns, and is engulfed in flames. Her voice is distorted and timpani-low as she reads my conviction. “Contraaaaceptioooon.”

The room erupts in a nuclear explosion of whoops and howls. Gina and Kelly actually do a double fist bump, exploding their nugs in celebration.

I try to keep calm but my head is still spinning.

I swear I see Mrs. Turris look up to the heavens and cackle.

“The various forms of, including condoms, the pill, and diaphragm. Cost, reliability, effectiveness, ease of use . . .”

The desks, the chalkboard, the windows, the laughing mouths of Kelly, Bronte, Prudence, and Gina all swirl around me. I can only catch snippets of their jeers: “field research . . .”, “Corn Dog Coop . . .”, “Put some condom-ments on that wiener. . . .”

The last thing I see is Helen, books clutched to her chest, fleeing the classroom.

And then the darkness collapses around me, and right before the world disappears, I hear Andy’s voice calling out, “Theebedda — theebedda — theebedda — that’s all folks!”