Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(75)

“I don’t know,” I say. “Makes sense to me. It’s like, everything’s out of control so you get mad because it all sucks. Doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

“Feels that way sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, you’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, so . . .”

She glances up. “Thanks. And thanks for coming by. It was sweet of you.” She lowers her gaze.

“So what are you going to do now?” I ask.

She shrugs. “What’s there to do? I’ll get over it. Or not. I mean, look, there’s only four hundred and fifty-seven actual school days left until I graduate, right?”

“You’re counting the days?”

“Not really. Not anymore. I was last year, for sure. I downloaded a counter onto my computer. I guess I never took it off.”

“What about going to a different school?” The question isn’t one millisecond out of my mouth when I feel my stomach clench, remembering the Our Lady of Mercy application. But then I relax, recalling that she never heard from them.

“Sure, I’ve thought about it. A lot. But then the bad guys win, right?” Helen looks at me, her head tilted and her eyes a bit narrowed. My gut grips up again. “It’s funny you’d ask that, though.” She stands and moves over to her desk. Flips through a small stack of mail and finds an envelope. Oh, shit, she got the letter. How could I have missed it? Okay, just stay chill. “I received this last week. It’s totally bizarre.” She pulls a page from the envelope. Oh, God. I think I’m going to puke. “It’s an acceptance letter from Our Lady of Mercy.”

My lungs constrict. It’s hard to get a full breath. Is she remembering all those questions I asked her? My unexpected chattiness? Still, would she be able to put it together so fast? She didn’t see the application. She doesn’t know the questions on it. But what if she takes the time to follow the bread crumbs all the way to my doorstep?

I get a sudden urge to confess everything. About Prudence and Bronte and Gina and Kelly. About the pranks. About the application form. Laying it all out for her.

Yeah, right. Just going over it in my head, it sounds so awful. It’s too much. She’d never forgive me. Ever.

No. I just have to remain calm. I know nothing about this. She’ll never make the leap. Unless I give a hand by acting all suspish.

“Huh,” I say, feeling majorly carsick. “What’s bizarre about that?”

She stares at me. “I didn’t apply.”

“Well . . . maybe they made a mistake. Or, you know, maybe they have scouts. Like in sports. Maybe they saw your grades and said, hey, we’d like her at our school.” Maybe I should just shut up now before I dig my own grave.

Helen’s expression grows cold as she studies the letter. “No. It says they’ve reviewed my application form.” She tosses the papers back on her desk. “Somebody must have filled one out with my name on it and sent it in.”

You better tell her now, dude. Before she figures it all out on her own.

Why? What does it matter? Either way she’s going to hate my guts. Why throw myself into the fire before I have to?

Because it’ll be better coming from you. She’ll respect your honesty.

Ha! What a crock! That’s what parents say to their kids so they won’t try to get away with stuff. No. I can’t risk Helen never wanting to speak to me again. I like her too much.

The other voice in my head is stunned into silence. Neither of us can believe I admitted it. But it’s the truth. I don’t want to lose her. Besides, how would she find out? Sure, the dots are all there, but it’d take a hell of a lot of connecting to see the whole picture. It’d be stupid to implicate myself. Never confess to anything, remember?

I take a breath. Keep my composure and say, “Why would anybody do that?”

“To get me to leave the school.” Helen plops down next to me. “Don’t you get it, Coop? People like Prudence and her friends think they can just maneuver people like pawns. If you give into it then it never stops. I’ve been able to deal with it. Not always as gracefully as I’d have liked but . . . I don’t know. What about the next girl they target? What if she’s not as strong as I am? I don’t even want to think about it.” She shakes her head. “What I’d like to know is where they got all the information to actually fill out an application.”

I turn away. Remembering how she was able to read my thoughts when we were playing “If you could.”

I need to change the subject. Find something else for us to talk about before she sees the guilt on my face. My gaze drifts around her room. Helen’s got several U2 posters framed and hung on her walls: I could get her talking about her favorite band. A chair in the corner with an old teddy bear sitting square in the middle: Or ask who gave her the stuffed animal. Some running trophies on her desk: Maybe guide the conversation around to cross-country.

It all seems too jarring. Like I’m not listening to her.

And then I get an idea.

“Can I ask you something?” I say.

“Sure.”

“How did this all start?”

Helen rubs her hand along the plush of the carpet.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”