Beat the Band (11 page)

“You live near the Barrytown Library?” I say, feigning innocence.

Mrs. Turris laughs. “You’re going to tell me that you went ten miles out of your way to the Barrytown Library? Instead of the Rockville Public Library, which is right in town? And where I told you to go?”

I shrug. “We prefer Barrytown, right?” I look at Helen to chime in with some support here. “They have better lighting.”

“Coop, just stop,” Helen says, defeated.

Oh, great. Sell me right out, why don’t you? What happened to trusting the person you’re supposed to be partners with?

Mrs. Turris’s mouth is squinched up into a tight anus. “You’ve left me no choice, you two. I’m going to have to insist that you both report to the school library after dismissal two days a week until the project is completed. Shall we say, Mondays and Wednesdays?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t do that,” I say. “I’ve got band practice after school.”

“And I’ve got cross-country,” Helen adds.

“Okay. Let me clarify something for you.” Mrs. Turris levels her gaze at us. “When I said ‘insist’ I
meant
‘insist.’ So whatever your previous obligations are, they’ll have to be rescheduled. And you’ll want to make sure you sign in with Miss Jerooni, because I’ll be checking in with her. If you skip even a single day, two projects will become three, will become four, will become five. And the like.”

I exhale. “So, you’re giving us detention?”

“More like
in
tention.”

“I don’t understand,” I say.

“Oh, you will, Cooper.” Mrs. Turris smiles. “You will most definitely understand before the end of the semester. I’ll make sure of that.”

“I CAN’T GO WITH YOU GUYS,”
Matt says, placing his books into his locker.

“What are you talking about, dawg?” I dial the combination on my lock and snap it open. “The Corner Market at lunch. That was the deal. I’ve got detention with Helen today. I need your help with my plan.”

“I just . . . can’t.” Matt won’t meet my eyes. “I told Val I’d join chess club. She said it’d look good on my college applications.”

“Chess club?” Sean laughs. “You don’t even like chess.”

Matt shrugs. “I don’t hate it.”

“No, but you like being a pawn.” I peer at him. “Dude, isn’t chess club, like, three days a week?”

“Just at lunchtime.” He shuts his locker door. “I had no choice. It was either that or I couldn’t do the band after school. I had to make a compromise. During school time in exchange for after school time.”

I feel my eyes bulge to the point where if they weren’t attached to my head they’d flop from my skull. “Okay. Are we going to have to do an intervention, Matthew? Because, seriously, it’s hard to sit around and watch one of my best buds getting systematically castrated.”

“Relationships are about give-and-take, Coop. Of course, you wouldn’t know that, having never been in one.”

“If that’s what a relationship is, I’ll never
be
in one.” I flip through a notebook, looking for a paper I printed out in the computer lab. “Just wait. Ten years from now, you’ll be the dude with the squawking, doughy wife and six barfing brats hanging on to your legs, and I’ll be the happy bachelor, bouncing from growler to growler, feeling pity for you, but knowing that I told you so.”

“Yeah, well, I happen to want to have kids someday,” Matt says.

Which makes me laugh. “Ah, yes. Babies. The worst of the STDs. Make sure you and Sean address
that
in your Health report. It’s the disease that keeps on growing and can’t be cured with ointment.” I find the page, fold it in half, and chuck the notebook back into my locker.

“Anyway,” Matt says. “I’m doing this for you. You could show a little gratitude once in a while.”

I get that dropping feeling in my gut, like maybe I’ve pushed this too far. “Okay, I’m sorry,” I say. “I do appreciate it. I’m just used to the way things were before. The Three Musketeers, you know. It’s totally cool. Sean and me will hit the store on our own. We’ll catch you later.”

It’s a five-minute bike ride up to the Corner Market, which, oddly enough, isn’t even on a corner. The store sells pretty much all the basics — candy, chips, soda, Twinkies — as well as a decent selection of vegetables, cold cuts, milk, cheese, and canned goods.

“So,” Sean says, looking around. “What are we getting?”

I pull the folded-up paper from my back pocket, the results of my research during study hall.

“All right.” I unfold the page and scan the article on flatulence. “I want some heavy duty gas producers. Radishes, celery, prunes. Beans, of course.”

“Of course,” Sean echoes.

“But what I really need is some serious stink.” I run my finger down the page and find what I’m looking for. “Here.” I read,
“Foods that are thought to produce excessive flatulence include cabbage, broccoli, kale, and other vegetables belonging to the cabbage family. These foods will also have a tendency to intensify the pungency of the flatus.”

Sean smiles. “That sounds like something out of World of Warcraft.” He makes his voice deep. “You have been granted the pungency of the flatus, my son. Go forth and use it well.”

“Oh, yes,” I say. “I will wield the flatus with deathly precision. And shall lay waste to mine enemy.”

I CONVINCE SEAN TO SKIP
eighth period shop class and hang with me in the Hole as I attack the fart food with a plastic fork and knife. The cashier dude at the market was dope enough to open my can of beans, but I had to be super careful carrying it back to school, storing it on the top shelf of my locker until I was ready to feast.

“I’m still not sure I get this plan,” Sean says, cringing as I chew a broccoli stalk with my mouth wide open. The farticle I read stated specifically that eating with your mouth open and swallowing air as you go will create the mightiest explosions.

“It’s simple,” I say. “Until I can figure out a way to get Mrs. Turris to split us up — and I will — I don’t want anyone seeing me and Helen in close proximity. If I start ripping noxious ass blasters, you can be damn sure Helen’s going to want to work at separate ends of the library. And who knows — if it’s bad enough, she might just run screaming from the room.”

I shove a heaping forkful of coleslaw into my mouth. When you’re on a mission to save yourself, you’d be surprised how much raw broccoli, raw cauliflower, cold baked beans, prunes, celery, radishes, and cabbagey coleslaw you can choke down.

“I’m glad
I’m
not going to be in that library,” Sean says, pulling the leaves off the celery for me. “Your regular H-bombs could clear a circus tent. I hate to think what kind of stench all this fuel is going to create.”

“You want me to crack you off a taster?” I say.

“Hell no!”

“Too late.” I smile, popping a cauliflower floret.

Sean reels back as he’s smacked in the face with my silent sampler. It’s a fine bouquet laced with the smell of rotten eggs, runny cheese, dead skunk, and just a hint of pruney sweetness. “Whoalee crap!” He screws up his face, covering his nose and mouth with the crook of his elbow. “You bastard!” He starts to gag and laugh at the same time. “That’s worse than a Saint Bernard beefer.”

“Thanks,” I say. Coming from Sean, that’s a major compliment, his house being the orphanage for every stray pet in Lower Rockville. “And that was just a gentle breeze. Imagine what the full tropical storm’ll smell like.”

“No thanks.” Sean’s eyes are watering. “Jesus Christ.” He rubs his nose hard. “And it’s got a long finish, too. Poor Helen. She’s going to be knocked unconscious.”

Miss Jerooni is sitting at her desk when I arrive at the library. She’s reading some beat-to-hell paperback, her tiny face nearly swallowed up by the giant gray frizz that surrounds her head. If a chipmunk suddenly poked its nose out of all that fuzz, you wouldn’t be surprised. You’d be like, “Oh, huh. Miss Jerooni has a chipmunk living in her hair.”

“Hi, Miss Jerooni,” I say, bending over her desk to autograph the sign-in sheet. I can feel the squeezing and grumbling in my gut as the vicious vegetable-bean brew percolates.

Miss Jerooni glances over her book, nods acknowledgment, but says nothing. The only sound in the library are her lovebirds, Fanny and Alexander, gently peeping in their cage behind her.

I smile, then turn away and squeak out a little gurker for Miss Jerooni’s sniffing pleasure.

Helen’s already here, of course. Planted right in front, where every cheerleader and jock in the school can see us sitting together as they pass by in the hall on their way to and from practice.

She’s piled a stack of books on the table and is busy marking them up with her limitless supply of Post-its, when I pull up a chair.

“Hi,” she says coldly.

There’s no time to waste. I have to jam the stink wedge between us immediately.

“Good afternoon,” I reply, relaxing my ass gasket and bearing down. I lift my right butt cheek a bit and . . .

BRRRRROOFFF.

It’s not the lion’s roar I wanted but it was definitely audible.

Helen’s gaze shoots up from her book, her eyes wide.

The desired tangy stench follows almost immediately. Wow. Now that’s some concentrated evil. My eyes start to burn.

Helen wrinkles up her nose, the smell obviously having made the short journey over to her.

“Sorry. My stomach’s been acting a little funny since lunch.” It’s hard to keep a straight face — even harder than keeping reign over my bowels. That sucking-lemons expression she’s making is hysterious. “So, how do you want to organize this? Should we just go alphabetically, like in the book? Or by effectiveness?”

Helen clears her throat. “I was thinking . . .” She raises her hand to her nose, all nonchalant, pretending she’s not trying to block my zesty odor. “There’s a chart here that breaks them down by types, convenience, availability, protection against STDs . . .” She reaches for one of the books with her free hand, keeping the other close to her nostrils.

I contract my stomach muscles, giving a nice forceful push.

THRRRRAAAAP!

Yes! Now that’s what I’m talking about. That one actually caused my chair to rattle.

“Cooper, what the hell?” Helen shoots me a wave of hate.

The smell rapes my nose. Holy crap, that is
nasty
. Talk about the pungency of the flatus.

Miss Jerooni looks up from her book. “Is everything okay over there?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I think I just had some bad ham at lunch.”

Miss Jerooni’s whole face suddenly shudders, my foul fog having floated to the front of the room. “My goodness,” she says, then rushes over to crack open a window.

Helen stares at me, looking none too pleased.

“What?” I say. “You think this is fun for me? It
hurts
.”

I’m going to have to remember this trick next time Sean and Matt sleep over.

Helen shakes her head, then casually lifts her shirt over her nose and mouth to use as a respirator.

“Look,” I say. “If it’s bothering you so much, move to another table. You said you were going to do all the work on your own anyway.”

“That deal was off as soon as we got detention,” Helen replies. “If Mrs. Turris finds out I’m doing everything, I don’t even want to imagine the trouble we’ll get into.”

“Well, then, just tell me what you want me to do and then you can move.”

“No. It’s fine,” she says, her voice all nasal. “Let’s just keep working. We’ll start off with the barrier methods.”

I’m afraid the barrier method won’t work in this particular situation, Helen.

I execute another hard internal thrust, my eyes rolling back into my head as I give in to the nearly orgasmic release of the wonder wind.

RUM-BUM-BUM-BUM-BUM-BUM.

It’s like the sound of a sputtering boat engine.

“Jesus Christ,” Helen says.

“Oh, God. I’m really sorry. This is so embarrassing.” I swear, the air around us is turning a greenish yellow.

Miss Jerooni makes a little retching sound. “Young man. Please control yourself.” She bolts up and opens another window. “Perhaps you should visit the lavatory.”

“No.” I hold up my hand. “I’m feeling better. I think the worst part has passed.”