Beat the Band (Swim the Fly #2)(86)

And just like that, all the dreams of rock-and-roll glory — for me and for Helen — die at our feet.





THE EXPRESSION ON HELEN’S FACE. That look of total despair. And the fact that all these jerks are responsible.

It sends me over the edge.

The rage wells up from my gut. I hurl my drumsticks down. Leap off my stool. And yank my microphone from its stand.

“Shut the hell up!” I roar, shoving the mic right up to the PA speaker. A loud piercing squeal of feedback floods the gymnasium, causing everyone to cower and cover their ears.

I hold it there a few seconds more, just to ensure that I’ve made my point. And when I pull it away, the squealing stops, and every eye in the place is on me.

“What the hell is your problem?” I holler at the crowd.

“You are!” Dean Scragliano shouts back.

I stick the mic right up to the speaker again, sending another brain-blowing screech howling over the PA.

Once I’ve regained everyone’s attention, I calmly raise the microphone back to my mouth. “Keep talking. I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

“The squealing’s more enjoyable than your mus —”

SCREEEEEEECH!

I give them a little more feedback. People’s faces scrunching up in pain. Someone punches Dean in the shoulder to keep him quiet.

“I’m going to say something here,” I announce. “So just shut it!”

A stunned hush falls over the crowd.

I take a deep breath and feel everything go calm inside, like I’m finally doing the right thing for once in my life.

“I’m not going to let you do this. It’s not fair. Helen Harriwick is an amazing person.” I look over at her and meet her eyes. “She doesn’t deserve this. She’s a great friend. And she has more talent in her left toe than any of you combined.”

“Then bring her to the dog show!” Andy hollers.

I dole out another serving of head-exploding feedback and watch as Andy cringes in pain.

“As I was saying,” I continue. “I will not sit here and watch you disrespect the girl . . .” I look over and catch Helen’s eyes again. “The girl that I love.”

There is a collective gasp from a good portion of the audience, quickly followed by a great deal of laughter.

“That’s right,” I say, turning back to the audience. “Laugh all you want. I don’t care anymore. But like it or not, we are going to finish our set uninterrupted. And even though you are not worthy of listening to her, Helen is going to sing. And you will give her the respect she deserves.” I glare out at the audience. “Or so help me, I will crank up the volume on the PA and blow your goddamn eardrums out.”

“Yeah!” Dad whistles and claps loudly at the back. “That’s right!”

I don’t know if my outburst has shocked everyone else into silence, or what, but there’s not another word from the crowd.

I turn to head back to my drums. “Knock ’em dead,” I say to Helen, who stands there with tears welling up in her eyes.

I wonder if what I said made no difference at all — if she’s still humiliated to be standing up here in front of all these people. But before I can ask her if she’s okay, she raises her mic to her lips and says, “Let’s do it.”

I return to my drum stool and find my sticks on the floor. “Haul out your big junk, dawgs. Don’t hold back. We’re gonna give these bastards a show they’ll never forget.”

Matt’s and Sean’s eyes light up. They stand tall, smiling big, like they’ve just been waiting for permission to let it all hang out and go crazy.

“Arriba!” Sean trills.

“Arriba!” Valerie echoes, raising her fist in the air.

“Yeah, okay.” Matt grins. “What the hell.” He moves to his amp, spins up the volume, and then tears into the opening riff of “Revolution.”

Helen hits the audience with her kick-ass rock-and-roll scream, then starts to sing so passionately it nearly brings tears to my eyes. She whips her microphone around on its cable throughout the rest of the set, dancing and leaping in the air, kicking her performance up to an absolutely supreme level.

And the guys . . . well, they are just going completely nuts, having more and more fun with each successive song.

Matt rips it up on guitar, doing windmills, air splits, playing behind his back, playing with his teeth, falling on the gym floor and having rock-and-roll convulsions.

All the while, Sean sweeps his elbows up and down the keyboard keys, gets his poncho spinning wildly around his neck like a Hula-hoop, and even pulls off his shoes and socks and starts playing a solo with his toes.

And me? I wail on the skins like never before. Spinning my sticks around my fingers. Tossing them in the air. Doing insane drum fills I have no right even trying.

Honestly, we still don’t sound very good. In fact, some of the crowd-pleasing stuff makes us sound downright awful. But the four of us are having such a blast, it really doesn’t matter anymore. And I don’t know if the people in the crowd just can’t believe what they are seeing, or if our insane energy is contagious, but there is a definite shift, as more and more of the audience starts hooting and laughing and cheering.

And maybe it’s seeing how much fun we’re all having. Or the fact that Helen is really going for it. Not letting anyone take this moment from her.