Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(52)

Helen spins the microphone around in fast circles on its cord, catching it in her hand just as the music ends.

I’m in a haze of confusion as the last crash of the cymbals dies out. If this were an alternate universe — one where Helen wasn’t roundly despised by everyone at school — I’d be jumping for joy. She sounds great. She looks great. She’s exactly what our “alternate-reality” band needs.

But since this is the real world we’re talking about — where this band is supposed to save me from her corrosive reputation — I’m feeling like I want to scream.

Dad claps ecstatically as he walks over to us. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Finally we sound like we’ve got a pair.”

Put a stop to this, dude. Before it’s too late.

Helen laughs, out of breath. “That was fun,” she says, her face glowing.

“Wow,” Sean says. “You were totally stagg.”

“Amazing,” Matt adds. “You should go on American Idol.”

“It’s been so long since I sang anything.” Helen looks at me shyly. “I didn’t know I could still do it.”

“That was . . . insane,” I say, a swirl of emotions filling my chest — awe and anger, annoyance and elation, attraction and repulsion — all at the same time. “You’re incredible.”

She smiles. “Thanks.”

“I’d put it to a vote,” Dad starts.

I open my mouth to protest but my throat is plugged with the thick stew of feelings roiling around inside me.

“But frankly, I don’t give a tiger’s tit what these chucklenuts think,” he finishes. “You’re hired.”

“Dad!” I say. At least I think I say it. But no one is paying any attention to me.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Helen’s beaming. “Are you sure? I mean it was really fun, but . . . Are you sure?”

“Surer than sure.” Dad turns to us and glares. “And if anyone has a problem with it, they can take it up with my hairy ass.”

Sean and Matt are all, “Yeah, of course,” and “Absolutely. Are you kidding me?” while I sit on my drum stool, completely stunned.

How can they just stand there and agree to this? Can’t they see what an absolute, complete nightmare this is going to be?

My heart beats hard in the center of my skull. A cold sweat blankets my entire body.

There will be no running of the bases, I can tell you that. This is not just a rain delay. It’s a freakin’ nuclear missile dropped right in the center of my baseball stadium.





“I CAN’T BELIEVE OUR BAD LUCK,” I say, jostling through the bodies in the crowded hallway. “Why did she have to be any good?”

“Tell me about it,” Sean replies. “Now Helen’s going to be the one who gets all the hottest babes.”

I look at him sideways.

“And to top it all off,” Sean continues, “I just found out Tianna’s got a new boyfriend.”

“Let it die, dude. We have way bigger problems on our hands here.”

“But it means she lied to me when she said she wasn’t ready to be in a relationship.”

“Which is just another one of the thousand reasons you should be glad you’re not together anymore.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugs. “On the upside, Helen is an amazing singer. Which makes us look that much better. Did you know she was in Grease in eighth grade? I looked it up in our junior high yearbook. I knew she had to have done something before.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care if she was on Broadway,” I say. “We have to find somebody else.”

“Why? At least she gives us a chance to win. Which would mean that many more groupies.”

“Don’t you get it? We’re not going to win. Because the boos are going to be so loud no one will hear us. Having her in the band defeats the whole point of being in the Battle of the Bands in the first place. We are not going to look cool with Helen Harriwick fronting us.”

“What if we put together a persona for her?” Sean says. “Like a bank robber or something? She can wear a ski mask and nobody’ll know it’s her.”

“Never mind,” I say. “I’ll figure something out.” He doesn’t get it. No one does. When I tried to explain to Dad how bad this was going to look for me, he just laughed and said there was no I in band.

The first bell rings, and Sean glances at his watch. “Dang. I’ve got to get to English. Ms. Murkin makes us read love poems in front of the entire class when we’re late. I’ll catch you in Health.” He trots off down the hall and disappears around the corner.

“Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof!” a voice barks up behind me.

Before I can turn around to see who it is, my History textbook is batted out of my hand. It skitters across the floor, the papers I had tucked inside fluttering in the air like giant moths.

Dean Scragliano and Frank Hurkle tear past me, laughing like hyenas. They kick the book back and forth like they’re playing in the FIFA World Cup.

“Goddamn it.”

Sniggers and whispers fill the corridor as a prickling heat dances up my neck.

I pluck up the trail of papers that leads to my textbook, which is splayed open in a classroom doorway. It’s in sad shape. Several of the pages are accordioned, and the cover is scratched to hell. Mr. Chumley’s going to have a panda when he sees what I’ve done to his brand-new History book.