Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(84)

There is silence. I wish I could see her face. Gauge her reaction to all of my words. But the only things I have to go on are the sounds on the other side of the door. And now with her so quiet, I don’t even have that.

Finally, Helen takes a long, deep breath. And lets it out. “You haven’t . . . ruined us,” she says. “It’s just . . . going to take a bit of time. That’s all.”

“Of course,” I say, feeling the heaviness start to lift from my chest. “I completely understand. I’d feel exactly the same way.” Finally I can get enough air into my lungs. “But . . . will you open the door at least?”

“I don’t know. I’m in my band outfit.” I can hear the hesitation in her voice. “I feel . . . kind of stupid.”

“But don’t you still want to play?”

“Oh, Coop. I don’t think I can face everyone. Not now.”

“Helen, no. Come on. Remember what you said. Don’t let the bad guys win here. Don’t let them steal this from you. Once you get up there and start singing, everyone’s going to be totally blown away. And they’ll all fall for you. Just like I did.”

“You really think so?”

“How could they not? You’re the best singer I’ve ever heard. And besides, we’re in this together, remember?”

There’s another long silence. I can sense her weighing my words.

And then . . .

“Okay,” she says. “But I have to fix my makeup. How much time do we have?”

I check my cell phone. The Wicked should be wrapping up their set right about now. “I think we’re on in the next few minutes. How much time do you need?”

“Five minutes, maybe. If Valerie can help me.”

“All right. Do what you have to do.” I pocket my cell. “If the time comes, we’ll just start the intro to the first song and keep playing it until you can get to the stage.”

“Okay,” she says shakily.

I start to go, but at the door I turn back. “Helen?”

“Yeah?”

“I meant what I said, you know. About . . . I really do love you.”

She’s quiet for a while, and my heart starts beating faster. But then I hear her. “I know. I believe you. See you out there.”





THE WICKED ARE WRAPPING UP their final song as Matt, Sean, and I enter the gym. Each one of the girls is dressed in a painted-on, pastel-colored racing-style jumpsuit: Prudence in pink, Kelly in baby blue, Gina in green, and Bronte in yellow. And even though I’m beyond pissed at them, they still look unbelievably hot. Which is why they’ve always gotten away with everything they’ve gotten away with, I guess — until now.

The gym is chock with students, parents, and teachers, all dancing and swaying and clapping to the music. Kelly does a pick drag up her guitar and Gina does a drum fill and then hits her crash cymbals to end the tune. The audience breaks into wild whoops and catcalls and applause.

The three of us make our way through the crowd toward our equipment.

I clap Matt on the shoulder as we get to our stage. “You gonna be okay?”

“Me? Sure.” He puts on his doctor’s coat and stethoscope, lifts his guitar, and slips the strap over his head. “How about you?”

“I feel pretty damn good, actually.” I slip into my smoke-drenched fur coat, dangle the chains around my neck, slide on my “ruby” ring, and don my purple Stetson. “The school is finally going to see how incredible Helen is. Let’s make this great for her.”

“Okay,” Sean says, flipping his keyboard and amp switches. “Levantemos la azotea!” He grabs his poncho and sombrero and completes his El Mariachi transformation.

“Right.” I point at Sean with a drumstick. “What he said.”

“Our final band of the evening,” Mr. Grossman announces over the gym’s PA, “is Arnold Murphy’s Bologna Dare. Please make your way to the north end of the gym.”

The mass of people turn around and herd their way toward us. There are so many bodies out there, it’s like the entire town showed up. Which is surprising, considering the weather outside.

Seeing everyone’s faces in the gym makes every muscle in my body tighten, the saliva in my mouth drying up. I pray this goes well. That I didn’t just convince Helen to come out here to be slaughtered. That people really do see how incredibly talented she is.

All of a sudden this means so much more than it did before.

I try to shake the tension out of my arms. Flex my fingers. I tilt my head to one side, then the other, stretching out the muscles in my shoulders.

I look over to the doors, hoping that Helen will step through them any second now.

As soon as everyone has gathered around, Mr. Grossman points to us from the judges’ table, giving us the go ahead.

“Okay,” I say, filling my lungs to capacity and slowly letting the air out. “Here we go, boys.” I sit up tall on the drum stool and clack my sticks together, counting us in, “One, two, three, four . . .”

Sean starts in with the keyboard intro to Journey’s “Separate Ways (Worlds Apart).” Obviously, another one of his keys has died on him, because there’s a very noticeable silent pause each time he comes around to that note. He glances over at me, a look of distress in his eyes, but all I can do is shrug and start in with the drum beat.