Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(63)

“Blind,” I say. “Definitely.”

She stares at me in disbelief. “So you’d never get to see another sunset. Or watch another movie. Or see the faces of your wife and kids.”

“Better than never hearing music or people’s voices. I get freaked out when things are too quiet. What about you?”

“I’d rather be deaf. Because then you can still read books and get around places and see when someone’s sad. Your turn.”

“All right.” I run through some options in my head. Sex in an airplane or submarine? On the beach or in the forest? Three guys or three girls?

“Well?” Helen says, breaking the spell.

“Um . . . okay.” I blink hard to clear the slate and think about something completely unrelated to sex. “All right. How would you rather die? Falling off the tallest building in the world or being tied up and torn apart by feral squirrels?”

Helen laughs. “Building. No question.”

“Seriously? But all that time you’re falling you’d be thinking about what it’s going to feel like when you hit the ground.”

“And what would I be thinking about as the squirrels were gnawing off my eyelids?”

“Good point,” I say. “Still, not a big fan of heights. I’d choose squirrels and hope someone found me before they ate too much of my bod.”

“No fair.” Helen swats my shoulder. “You didn’t say there was a chance somebody might find you before you died.”

“Would that change your answer?”

Helen squints one eye, thinking. “No. Squirrels are cute but they have really sharp claws. And pincer teeth. It’d be too painful. Even if someone did finally rescue me.”

We’ve been going back and forth like this for the last hour. Helen started the whole thing by asking me if I’d rather eat a soft-boiled duck fetus or a still-beating cobra heart. I chose the fetus because at least it was cooked but I told her I’d probably hurl either way. From there we moved on to monkey brains or maggot cheese. Then it was on to the old standards. Lose an arm or a leg. Have webbed feet or wings. Be a giant or a midget.

I’m glad Helen wanted to hang out even though we weren’t having rehearsal. Sitting here right now, I wish the weekend could last forever. That Monday would never come and we wouldn’t have to go back to school — and I wouldn’t have to do acrobatics trying to avoid her all the time.

“All right,” Helen says, twirling a strand of hair around one of her fingers. “Enough ‘would you rathers.’ Let’s do some ‘if you coulds.’ I’ll go first. If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?”

“You mean, at this very moment? Or my life in general?”

“Your life in general.”

“That’s too intense. I don’t know.” Of course, a bunch of things cross my mind but nothing I can tell Helen without her slapping me across the face. “A million dollars without having to eat one of your disgusting foods, I guess. So I could buy some new drums to replace my taped-up ones. And my dad wouldn’t have to worry about his job and the bills all the time. And my sister wouldn’t have to fill out all these loan forms so she can go to college next year. And my mom could go to Greece like she’s always wanted to.”

Helen smiles. “That’s nice.”

“Mostly to get the drums, though. I just added all that other stuff so I wouldn’t look like a dingus.”

Helen laughs. “Yeah, yeah. I’m so sure.”

“What about you?” Like I even have to ask. “What would you change?”

“My mom,” she says without a beat. “I’d have her get better.”

Oh. Right. I was way off on that one.

“You thought I was going to say all the stupid school stuff. But that’d be wasting a good wish on something that’ll be over when I graduate.”

“Does my face give me away that easy? Because I’m a damn good poker player and I’d swear I don’t have any tells.”

“Oh, really? Let me know when you’re ready to lose your shorts and I’ll take you on.”

“Do you play for shorts?” I laugh. “Because I usually bet cash. But if you want to play for clothes, count me in.”

“You don’t want to play me for money or shorts.”

“What is it? Do my eyes shift? Does my mouth twitch?”

Helen shakes her head. “If I told you, I wouldn’t be able to read you anymore. What fun would that be?” She points at my laptop screen. “Ah-ha! I knew we’d find some good music on here eventually.”

I look to see what she’s referring to. It’s my meager collection of U2 songs. “Really? I actually haven’t listened to them much. I don’t even remember where I got those.”

“Yeah, well, you’re missing out.” She clicks on a song, “With or Without You,” and taps up the volume. “I’ve seen them in concert three times. They’re amazing. I love this song.”

“I don’t know, I —”

Helen grabs my arm. “Shh. Listen.”

She closes her eyes as she breathes in the music.

I hear the song. It’s slow and lush and sweeping. But really, all I can concentrate on is her warm hand on my skin.