Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(66)

“School?” I force a laugh. “Why’s she at school?”

Mrs. Harriwick raises her eyebrows. “Because it’s Monday?”

“What?” I say, feigning panic. “No. Are you sure?”

“Yes. Positive.” She cracks open the screen door and checks the crammed mailbox.

“Oh, my God. I thought it was Sunday.” I slap my forehead. “Okay, please do not tell Helen I was here. This is seriously embarrassing.”

“Sure. No problem. You were never here.” Mrs. Harriwick reaches into the mailbox and tries to tug the mangled letters out, but they are really stuck in there. “My goodness. We must have a new”— she pulls and pulls, rattling the metal box —“mailperson.” Finally, it all comes free in a crumpled-up wad of paper. “Now, that’s just wrong.”

“Yeah, our mail guy does that to us all the time. Okay, so.” I start backing down the steps. “I better get moving. I am going to be in so much trouble at school. See ya!”

I grab my bike, leap on it, and pedal away like crazy.





“FOCUS ON THE BREATH as you bring air deep into your lungs.” A twelfth-grade girl who calls herself Willow and smells like a garlic factory walks around the classroom while four whackadoodles and me — all of us having given up our lunch to join Meditation Club — sit cross-legged on the gritty linoleum floor. “Quiet the mind. If a thought drifts in, let it just as easily drift out.”

It’s been a challenging few weeks to say the least.

No matter how stealth I’ve tried to be, Prudence won’t give up any information about her big plans for Helen. Every time I attempt to extract even the tiniest hint from her, she laughs and says, “You’re just going to have to be patient, Coopee. But don’t worry, it’s going to be supreme.”

Which has only made me more worried.

On top of that, my efforts to intercept the Our Lady of Mercy letter have turned up nothing. I’ve ditched Study Hall every day to check on Helen’s mail but the only thing I’ve discovered is that someone in the Harriwick house is seriously into catalog shopping. They get at least three or four a day from places hawking everything from tulip bulbs to pain-relieving copper bracelets.

At least I’ve got it worked out now how to avoid Helen at school and still keep everything chill with her in the afternoons. Health is the only subject we have together, and since Mrs. Turris isn’t having us work on our projects during class anymore, that hasn’t been an ish. I just come to class smack on time and leave right when the bell rings because — as I’ve explained to Helen —“I’ve got Bio right after and I’m on Mr. Forebutt’s shit list for being late so often.”

The hallways posed some difficulty at first, but I’ve memorized Helen’s schedule and make sure I’m nowhere near her classes or locker in between periods.

The biggest challenge has been lunch. Now that she’s in the band and we’re “sort of” going out, Helen wants to eat with us all the time. Which would be great if she wasn’t Helen. But she is. And so, other plans have had to be made.

Honestly, for the first few days I thought I was totally screwed. I had to come up with all sorts of excuses to get out of lunch. I was “nauseous.” I had “lunch detention.” I needed to “retake an English exam.”

Finally, I came up with the solution. Matt and Val went to Chess Club three times a week. Why not join some clubs myself? To broaden my horizons. Or better yet, “because I’m being forced to by Mr. Tard for disciplinary reasons.” Clubs no one else in their right mind — including Helen — would ever want to join.

And so, Monday and Wednesday is Meditation Club, Tuesday it’s Astronomy Club, and Friday is Youth Alive! Club, which, to be honest, is still a mystery to me, as the nine geeks and myself just sort of sit around and talk about the news, or what’s bothering us, or what we’re “excited” about.

“Cooper, did you hear that?” Willow calls out.

“Hear what?” I say.

“Mr. Grossman wants to see you. Immediately.”

“Oh.” I shake my head. “Wow. I guess I was really deep into the meditation.”

It’s the “immediately” part that sends a chill down my spine. “Immediately” rarely means something good.

As I trek through the empty halls toward the music wing, I convince myself that this is not a big deal; that Mr. Grossman is the type of guy who likes to do everything “immediately.”

It’s not until I see Matt and Sean approaching the chorus room from the other direction that I realize they have been summoned “immediately” as well. Which can only mean we are royally screwed.

“What do you think he wants?” Sean asks as we enter the darkened chorus room and head toward the offices in back.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I lie. “Maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe he couldn’t make a copy. Maybe he wants the demo back.”

“Or maybe he’s heard about Understain,” Matt adds.

We approach the office door, which looms like a giant oak tombstone.

“Admit to nothing.” I grab the doorknob, push it open, and we step into Mr. Grossman’s office.

“Mr. Redmond,” he says, sitting at the desk with his fingers interlaced. “Mr. Gratton. Mr. Hance. Welcome.”