Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(78)

I move behind my drums and grab my sticks. “Okay, then. Let’s run the set.”

I count us in, and we proceed to trip and stumble through our eight songs.

Then we trip and stumble through them again. And again. And again. Helen sounds absolutely stagg, it’s just us “musicians” who are having all the difficulty.

Matt looks pale. “Are we sure we want to go through with this?”

“I don’t know,” I say, feeling like an empty wind sock. “We sound pretty sloppy.”

Sean plunks at one of the yellowed keys. “Maybe we should re-quit.”

“No,” Valerie protests. “Don’t say that. You can’t give up. You’re just getting used to the new instruments. That’s all.”

“Val’s right.” Helen puts her mic back into the stand. “We need to do this.” She fixes us with her gaze. “You guys have put too much work into this band to give up now. We all have.” Helen takes a deep breath. “Look. You think I’m not terrified? Getting up in front of the entire school when I know what they all think of me? But here’s the thing. Every time the fear starts to set in, I tell myself, ‘Helen, you’re not in this alone. Your friends are behind you. And you love singing. Don’t let that get stolen from you.’”

Her words nearly knock me off my stool. I’ve been so focused on myself — on how embarrassing it would be for me to be seen with her — that I never actually thought about how incredibly ballsy it is for Helen to be doing this in the first place.

She grabs the mic from the stand and unfurls the cable. “We’ve been given a second shot here. Let’s take advantage of it and prove to everyone we have no fear.”

Matt straightens up, smooths his hand down the lapel of his lab coat. “You’re right. We’re in this thing together. It’s way less terrifying than when you’re on your own.”

“Yeah,” Sean says, adjusting his sombrero. “They can take our manager. They can burn our instruments. But they can not take our friendship. Vamanos mis amigos!”

Everyone looks at me, waiting for my verdict. This means way more to Helen than I realized. I can’t bail on her now. Not after all the crappy things I’ve already done to her.

“Okay.” I nod, feeling slightly queasy. “Let’s do this thing!”

A collective cheer goes up as I count us in once again and we tear into our first song.





THE BIG NIGHT HAS FINALLY ARRIVED, and I have to say, I’m feeling pretty chill. It took a while yesterday, but by the time our rehearsal was over, we were sounding almost half-decent. Helen was right. Once we shook off the jitters, we were able to make the songs come alive. I know Dad doesn’t think we have much of a chance of winning, but with Helen’s killer voice, and the added adrenaline rush we should get from playing live, I think we might just surprise everyone tonight.

“Come on, hurry it up,” Dad calls out as we bring all the equipment up from the basement. He looks up at the cold gray sky. “We want to get on the road before Frosty starts dumping on us.”

Matt, Sean, Val, and Helen have all come by to help get ready. We pack three cars — our station wagon, Matt’s mom’s Buick, and Sean’s parents’ Volvo — with the drums, amps, guitars, keyboards, stands, microphones, cables, and PA system. And even though Dad tries to hurry us along, by the time everything’s loaded, the flurries are coming down with a vengeance.

“Are you sure they’re still going to have this thing?” Matt’s mom says as we head out my front door, everyone bundled up in their winter coats. “It seems dangerous to be on the road.”

“It’ll be fine,” Dad assures her. “Just follow me. I’ll make sure I hit all the cars and pedestrians to get them out of your way.”

Matt and Val go in his mom’s car with his grandpa Arlo and Mrs. Hoogenboom, Sean rides shotgun with his father, and Helen joins me in the backseat of our car. Mom starts in with Christmas carols as soon as we’re out of the driveway.

“God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay,” she sings.

“No, Mom,” I say. “It’s Undress these married gentlemen, their long things on display.”

She turns and looks at me over her shoulder. “Now I know you’re pulling my leg.”

“I think he’s right, honey,” Dad says. “Renouncing nice behavior, their dingle-dangles sway.”

I laugh as Mom gives Dad a stern look.

“To save us all from Satan’s power when we were gone astray,” Helen sings, picking up the song.

“That’s right.” Mom croons, “O tidings of comfort and joy. Comfort and joy. O tidings of comfort and joy.”

Helen looks over at me and smiles. She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.

“How are you doing?” she asks.

“Good,” I say. “You?”

“Nervous.” She takes a deep breath. “But no fear, right?”

“You’re going to be great.”

We get to school and Dad pulls up to the gym doors, the car skidding a few feet on the slushy pavement before it comes to a full stop.

Dad’s out of the wagon first, playing traffic cop and waving the other two cars into position next to ours.