Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(62)

The doorbell rings again and I go into panic mode. Why the hell didn’t I call her and cancel? When did I become so stupid?

“Would you get that, Coop?” Dad hollers from the bathroom. “I’m dropping bear bait in here.”

The only thing I can find is my old rubber wolfman mask and paws at the back of my closet. It’s pathetic but they’ll have to do. At the last minute, I throw on my faux fur coat and play the story over in my head as I make my way to the front door: “This is part of my persona. The werewolf pimp. I’m going to see how it goes while we play.”

As I grab the knob and open the door, I remember something. We aren’t rehearsing today. Which blows that tale right out of the water.

Helen smiles and raises her eyebrows when she sees me. “My, what big hands you have, Grandma,” she says.

“Hi.” I wave my wolf paw, getting a nose full of that familiar rubber-petroleum smell from the mask.

She laughs. “Should I have brought my little red riding hood outfit?”

Oh, Lord. Don’t go there, brain.

Too late. There she is. Red cape and hood. And nothing else.

I wonder if this will ever stop. If I will someday regain control of my thoughts when it comes to babes. And Helen in particular. Does Dad’s brain go reeling off like this every time he sees a cute girl? Does Mr. Spassnick’s?

Ew, God. I don’t want to think about it.

“Come on in,” I say, stepping aside.

She brushes by me, and it’s like the slightest touch from her causes me to lose my breath.

“So, what’s the deal?” Helen asks. “Are you having Halloween withdrawal?”

I shut the door as a new lie forms in my mind. Something about losing a bet to Matt and Sean. Having to wear this costume all day long. But just as I’m about to speak, the story barbs in my throat.

My shoulders deflate like a punctured bike tire, all my resolve escaping. “You promise not to laugh too hard at me?”

“Sure,” she says, suppressing a laugh. “Why? Is there something funnier than this?”

I slowly pull off the wolf hands and remove my mask.

Helen claps her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no.” I have to give her credit. She’s trying desperately not to crack up, but her body is shaking from the effort. “What — what happened?”

I shake my head. “We wanted to spruce up our image a little. It was only a test run but . . . things went sort of . . . wrong.”

“We? No way. Do Matt and Sean look like this too?”

“Not exactly. Same skin. Same teeth.” I flash my gleaming white Chiclets at her.

She shades her eyes. “Holy cow.”

“Just different color hair,” I say.

“You’re very silly, you know that?”

I nod.

“To tell you the truth.” Helen takes a step back, regarding me. “You’re kind of cute like this.”

Hello! I was thinking maybe she’d feel sorry for me, but if she actually goes for this kind of thing, who am I to question the strange ways of the female?

“You think?” I ask, standing a little taller.

“Absolutely.” She laughs. “I bet we could rent you out for kiddie parties and make a fortune.”

Oh. I see. That kind of cute.

“Thanks for the confidence boost,” I say.

“Aw, don’t be sad.” Helen moves toward me and slings her arm over my shoulder.

Even through my fur coat she feels amazing. If I had any stones at all I’d lean in and kiss her right now. But I can’t. Not looking like this.

“Besides,” she continues, “this isn’t a tragedy. I happen to have had some experience with this kind of thing.”

“Really? You’ve looked like this before?”

“No,” Helen says. “But my mother has. Sort of. She did something similar when she wanted to start dating after my dad left. It took us a week to finally find the right formula. Count yourself lucky. You get the benefit of our experimentation.”

“Oh, my God. If you could fix this I would love you forever.” The phrase leaps from my lips before I can snatch it back.

Helen’s neck instantly flushes.

My cheeks and ears get hot.

We both laugh, nervously. Pretending I didn’t just say those words. That everything is normal here. That the air isn’t suddenly charged with something . . . different.





“WOULD YOU RATHER BE BLIND or deaf?” Helen asks.

The two of us are sitting on my bedroom floor, playing “Would you rather?” as we search my iTunes library for a few more songs to add to the band’s set list in case we’re asked to do an encore.

After my baking-soda bath, which Helen steadfastly refused to join me for — even though I told her I wouldn’t be able to scrub my back — I did several dish-detergent shampoos, followed by a series of mouthwashes involving grapefruit juice and black tea.

All in all, I look a thousand times better. My hair is still greenish, but in a pretty dope kind of way. And my teeth and skin have been toned down to acceptable shades of white and pale yam.

Helen wanted me to hold off telling Sean and Matt her cleaning secrets until tomorrow, just so that she could see what they looked like, but I couldn’t risk having them still be pissed at me and bail on any more rehearsals.