Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(6)

“Hell no!” I say. “Do I look like an idiot?”

“Then what?” Sean says.

“We can just do our own thing. Split up the material and do two separate lessons. I’ll tell her next time I see her.”

“Yeah, well.” Sean talks with a full mouth of sandwich. “You think you’ve got it bad? Guess who’s in my Math class?”

“Oh, let me take a stab,” I say. “Tianna?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sorry, but having your ex-girlfriend in one of your classes doesn’t even compare to my sitch.”

“But I’m going to have to see her every day.”

“It’s not even close, Sean. My problem is a million times worse.”

Valerie appears out of nowhere holding a tray loaded down with a salad, a brownie, a cinnamon bun, and lemon meringue pie. As if somehow the roughage balances out the desserts. How she manages to stay looking so skinny eating all the crap she does is amazing. If she were anyone else, I’d think she was yurking it all up, but Matt says her whole family’s like that — her mom, dad, and her little brother, George — so it’s got to be lucky genes, plain and simple.

Val sits down next to Matt. “Hey, guys,” she says. “What are we talking about?” I used to find that French accent of hers so hot, but now all it does is grate on me.

“Nothing,” I say.

To which Matt adds, “Coop got paired with Helen Harriwick for a Health class project.”

“Yeah.” Valerie takes the lid off her salad. “I heard about that.”

“You heard about it?” My stomach drops. “What’s it, on YouTube already?”

Valerie shrugs. “Kelly told me at our lockers.”

“Oh, really?” I say. “Did she tell you how she and Gina did a touchdown celebration when it was announced?”

“You should be the one celebrating.” Valerie gestures with her plastic fork. “Helen’s on the honor roll every semester. It’ll probably be the only A you get in your life.”

“That’s hysterious, Val,” I say. “But you can stop talking now, because we’ve already heard everything you’re going to say from your man-clone.”

“What?” She looks confused.

“Don’t listen to him,” Matt says. “He’s just ticked off because he thinks everyone’s going to associate him with Helen for the rest of his life.”

“I don’t think. I know.”

“Why do you even care about other people’s opinions?” Valerie asks, setting her salad aside untouched and tucking into her pie.

I cock my head. “Why don’t you ask my corn-covered shirt? And while you’re at it, maybe you should ask Helen that question, too. Then get back to me.”

Matt suddenly looks down intently at his tray. “S-T-F-U,” he mutters.

I turn to see Helen’s ponytail-pulled moon face approaching. I’m hoping she’ll just walk on by, but she stops right at the head of our table, her books hugged to her bulky sweatshirt-clad body. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, like she’s been crying all morning. Which she probably has.

“Here’s your chance,” Sean mutters.

Helen starts talking, her lips barely moving. It’s impossible to make out what she’s saying because she’s talking so softly. Meaning I’ll either have to lean in close to hear her, or ask her to repeat herself, both of which will draw more attention to her standing here.

I surreptitiously scan the cafeteria to see if anybody is catching this. Miraculously, everyone seems to be otherwise engaged. Could it be that the winds of luck have shifted since this morning?

“I’m sorry, what?” I say.

“We need to meet to talk about the Health project,” she says a little louder, her eyes cast downward.

I’m tempted to point out that we could have done this during class if she hadn’t ducked out, but I don’t trust Sean not to pipe up about the fact that I passed out soon after.

“Oh, yeah.” I cough. “About that . . .” Go ahead, Coop, buddy. Kick her while she’s down. Give her the old boot to the belly. Why should you have to suffer too?

I look into her swollen eyes. There’s such sadness there. Aw, Christ. I take a breath. Close my eyes. Shake my head. “Let’s, uh . . . How about . . . after school?”

“In the library?” Her voice is high and thin, like a badly played flute.

Maybe it’s my imagination but she looks . . . What? Relieved? Which makes me feel like a prize jerk. I should just get this over with. Tell her we aren’t going to work together. But I can’t do it. Not here. Not now. “Uh, no. Not the library.” Not here at school. Not at the mall. Nowhere we could possibly be seen by anyone we’ve ever known ever. “How about . . . Golf Town?”

“Golf Town?” She frowns.

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s a golf shop. Out on Douglas. Next to a plumbing supply place.” The only reason I know this is because my father brought me to this strip of stores in the middle of nowhere to pick up some part for one of our sinks last year. “I have to buy a birthday present for my dad.” He’s never golfed in his life, but how would she know? “A club or a putter or something. Two birds with one stone, you know?”