Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(69)

“HOLY CRAP!” Matt shouts.

“Get down!” Sean screams.

I dive off my drum stool and hit the deck, covering my head.

But it’s all unnecessary, because there’s only the one explosion.

The dark smell of burnt firecrackers permeates the air. My eyes are in shock from the flash, but it doesn’t take twenty-twenty to see that the basement is chock with black smoke.

I can’t make out anyone, but I can hear people hacking up their lungs.

“Now, how the hell did that happen?” Dad grouses.

“Is everyone okay?” I call out.

There’s a chorus of rasping “Yeahs” and “Fines” punctuated by coughing and wheezing. I tag the voices in my head. Dad, Helen, Matt, Valerie, Sean.

A second later, the smoke alarm starts to scream. A never-ending, eardrum-piercing shriek.

“Where are the windows?” Valerie calls out. “We have to open them up and get this smoke out.”

There’s the sound of scuffling as we all start running around. I hear someone trip over one of my cymbals, sending it crashing to the ground.

“Shit!” Matt shouts.

There’s a loud “Oof!” as someone else runs into God knows what.

I reach out in front of me, trying to navigate through the dark fog. I’m doing well avoiding running into anything when my hands grab something soft and spongy.

“Hey!” Helen shrieks. “Watch the hands.”

“Oops. Sorry,” I say, though not as sorry as I probably should be. I’m pretty positive that was second base right there. Though I don’t know if it actually counts when it’s an accident.

“Are you sure you can’t see?” Helen laughs.

“I’m trying to find the window. I swear. Why? Where did I grab you?”

“Never mind,” she says.

I don’t see why I should waste such a golden opportunity. So, I lower my hands in hopes that I might make it to third while I still have the excuse of sightlessness. My fingers blindly grope around at waist-level in the direction of Helen’s voice. I’m getting nothing but air and so I shift to the right a little.

Bingo. My hand brushes something that’s most definitely a jeans fly, and then I give a nice gentle squeeze.

“Whoa!” Sean hollers. “Who’s palming my junk?”

I yank my hand away and wipe the hell out of it on my pant leg. I’m tempted to cry out but I manage to keep my trap shut. Crap. My first time to third base and it’s Sean’s meats? That is so not cool.

“Hello?” Sean says. “Please tell me that was a girl.”

I quickly turn and stumble my way over to the windows. It’ll be a cold day at the earth’s core before I fess up to chalicing Sean’s baggage.

Even with six of us it takes a while to get all the windows open, but we finally do. The alarm still blares, but hopefully the room will clear soon.

“Shut the door, quick,” Dad says as we all tromp up the basement stairs. “I don’t want it smelling up here.”

I sniff the air as he closes the door. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Dad pulls off his do-rag and blows his nose in it. “All right.” Sweat beads on his forehead. “Let’s open all the windows in the house. We’ll spray some air freshener when it’s all aired out. I don’t want to have to explain this to your mother.”

I move over to Helen. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I think so.” She rubs her eyes. Even with dark smears on her cheeks, she still looks cute. I try hard not to, honestly, but I glance down at her chest anyway. Remembering the feel of her in my hands. Wondering if I’ll ever get a chance to do that again, without the cover of smoke.

“Chop, chop.” Dad claps his hands. “Stop standing around. Let’s get to work. We’ve got to get some cross-ventilation going. Keyboards and Vocals, you take the upstairs bedrooms. Coop, Guitars, and Groupie. Get everything open down here. I’ll see if I can find some fans.”

Sean takes off his sombrero and poncho and throws them on the couch. Matt removes his doctor’s coat and chucks it on the coffee table.

We race around the house flinging open all of the windows. I throw open the front and back doors for good measure.

“Dude,” Matt says, running up to me in the family room. “There’s a hell of a lot of smoke billowing out of the basement windows. I think something might have caught on fire.”

I poke my head out of one of the windows and see the streams of smoke spiraling into the air. My chest tightens.

“Dad!” I shout. “We’ve got a problem!”





ME, MATT, AND DAD RACE down the stairs.

The heat belts me in the face instantly. The black haze from the flash pots has nearly cleared, but now gray smoke drifts from the flames that lick at my drum kit.

“My drums!” I run over to them, trying to stomp out the fire that’s threatening to consume my rock-and-roll dreams.

Someone grabs my arm and yanks me back. “Don’t be a moron,” Dad yells. “You get burned alive and your mom’ll divorce me for sure. Go outside and snake the garden hose down here. Hurry!”

“Shouldn’t we call the fire department?” Matt asks, all shaky.