Beat the Band (16 page)

“Yeah. Here. Take it. It’s long distance.”

“Long distance?” he says, all confused. He grabs my Nike and holds it up to his ear. “Hello? Valerie? Where are you?” Matt scrunches up his nose. “Jesus, dude, your phone stinks. Hello? Hello? There’s no one there.”

“That’s ’cause you’re holding it upside down.” I grab the shoe, spin it around, and hand it back to Matt.

“Valerie?” Matt says into the sneaker.

Sean doubles over, cracking up.

Finally, Matt’s awake enough to realize he’s holding a sneaker instead of a phone. “You ass,” he says, throwing the shoe on the floor. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem is you falling asleep, dude,” I say. “Sean and I are trying to figure out what kind of outfits we should wear for the Battle of the Bands. We’d appreciate your fully conscious input.”

“Outfits?” Matt rubs his eyes. “Why would we wear outfits?”

“Because it’s rock and roll.” I point to the KISS concert on the television just as one of the costumed dudes is spewing blood out of his mouth.

Matt shakes his head. “Dude. I don’t think so.”

“Look,” I say. “We can’t just get up there in jeans and T-shirts. We’ll look like a bunch of tool bags. Like everyone else. I mean, if it was only me, I’ve got my own edgy look going, but you two are, I don’t know, sort of . . . vanilla. No offense.”

“Vanilla?” Sean says.

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with vanilla. It’s the perfect base for everything. We just need to dress it up a little. Throw in some chocolate. Nuts. Marshmallow. Graham crackers.”

“You want to make us Rocky Road?” Matt asks.

“Something like that. So the band has a rock-and-roll personality.”

“I don’t get it,” Sean says.

“It’s simple, dude.” I start to pace. “We come up with a theme. And then we all dress up in that theme. It’ll help with the stage fright, too. ’Cause you’ll be pretending to be someone else.”

“Like ninjas?” Matt asks.

I teeter-totter my head. “I don’t know about that, but —”

“Or pirates!” Sean shouts.

Matt glares at him. “Oh, Jesus. Don’t start that stupid debate again, Sean.”

“Why? Because you don’t want me to prove you wrong?
Again?
”

“Look, there is no way a pirate could kick a ninja’s ass. Just because you keep saying it over and over again, doesn’t make it true.”

“I don’t just
say
it. I state the facts.” Sean grabs a candy bar from our stash on the nightstand and tears it open. “Pirates are cunning. Pirates have swords. Pirates have muskets. One shot and the ninja is dead.” He takes a bite of his candy bar for emphasis.

“I have two words for you.” Matt gets to his feet and snags a bag of barbecue potato chips. “
Training
and
stealth.
It wouldn’t even be a fight.”

“Who gives a crap?” I say. “We’re not dressing up as pirates
or
ninjas. We want to look cool. Not like we should be working in a comic book shop.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Sean points at me. “Pirates
are
cool. Way cooler than ninjas. I think we might want to consider a pirate theme.”

“What about a vampire?” Matt asks. “They’re cooler than pirates.”

“That’s true,” Sean says. “And girls dig vampires.”

“All right, look,” I say, not wanting to quell their enthusiasm, but not about to agree to dress up like a vampire. “We don’t have to discount anything right now. We’ll go to the Salvation Army when we have some time and have a look around. Then we can decide what works and what doesn’t.”

I look over at the TV where KISS is doing their big finale. A wall of flames surrounds the entire band as they’re lifted off the stage on a riser. Sparks pinwheel everywhere, fireworks rocket into the air, and the crowd goes absolutely berserk.

An excited buzz fills my chest. Those cheers and screams. All those girls going crazy, wanting to rush the stage and tear off their clothes.

Pretty soon, that’s all going to be for us.

THERE’S A FAINT VINEGARY SMELL
in the air as I take a seat next to Helen in the library. Must be some new cleaner the custodian is using. Or maybe it’s Miss Jerooni’s attempt at masking any flatus she thinks I might produce.

“Hey,” I say, placing my backpack on the floor. I’m hoping to make some real progress today on the Our Lady of Mercy form so I can put this thing to bed and get it off my vaguely guilty conscience ASAP. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.” Helen flips a page in her Health text so violently it tears the paper.

Someone’s in a mood. But I can’t let it derail me. I’ve got a ton of blanks left to fill out before this baby’s done.

“So,” I say, trying to work Helen’s school disciplinary record into the conversation. “Is this, like, the first time you ever got detention or what?”

Helen’s mouth is pinched up. “Can we skip the chitchat and just do our work today?” She flips another page, and the sharp vinegar smell wafts up at me.

I sniff the air. “What
is
that? It’s not me this time, I swear. It smells sort of like —”

“Sauerkraut,” Helen says.

“Yeah, that’s it. Sauerkraut. Good call. Where do you think it’s coming from?” I rock my chair back, looking under the table.

“My books. My backpack. My sweatshirt.”

I stare at her, confused.

“Some idiot got into my locker and dumped it all over my stuff.”

“Oh.” A surge of seasickness rises up inside me.
What did you expect, Coop? That they were going to go in there and neaten everything up?
“Jesus, I’m sorry.”

Helen shrugs. “Not your fault.”

“No, I know, it’s just . . .” My palms are clammy. Play it cool. Technically, she’s right. It’s not like
I
put the sauerkraut in her locker.

“Are you okay?” Helen asks. “You don’t look well.”

“What? Yeah, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” My mouth is cottony. “Of course I’m okay. It’s just, you know, I just . . . don’t get why anyone would do that.”

“Someone’s warped idea of fun. Anyway, I’d rather not talk about it anymore.”

“Sure. No. Yeah. So, uh . . .” I lean over, glancing at her book. “Where’d we leave off the other day?”

“Birth control pill.” Helen finds a paragraph in the Health book and starts to read.
“The birth control pill can have certain side effects like bleeding in between periods, nausea and vomiting, breast tenderness —”

“Whoa. Wait a second. Maybe we should leave that part out.”

“What part?”

“Breast tenderness. It might give certain people, I don’t know, the wrong idea.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying, if you get up in front of everyone . . . and mention . . . breast tenderness. I don’t know. Don’t you think that everybody’s going to be picturing your breasts? And that they’re tender?”

Helen glares at me.

“No?” I ask. “Because that’s what I’m thinking. And I don’t even want to. Honestly.”

“Are you done?”

“I’m worried, that’s all. It’s like if I say, ‘Don’t think of an elephant,’ right? I mean, you said breast tenderness, and the first thing that jumped into my head was your breasts and their tenderness.”

“Right. And what about the bleeding and the vomiting? Of course,
that
didn’t jump to mind. Just the breasts. Which tells us a lot about where your mind is.”

“Okay. Fair enough. But if I said testicle tenderness, wouldn’t you be thinking about my testicles?”

“Eww. No. Never.
Ever.
”

“So you’re not imagining my testicles right now? Even when I say ‘testicle tenderness’?”

“No! Absolutely not!” Helen huffs. “If you want to know the truth, I’m thinking about this guy on television.”

“Same difference. So you’re thinking about some guy on TV’s testicles.”

“
No.
I’m thinking about what he
ate
on his show.”

“He ate his testicles?” I feel my tool bag shrink up.

“
Yak
testicles.” Helen smirks.

I wince. “Dude. Are you kidding me? Yak goolies? Sick. Why the hell would he do that?”

“I don’t know. He goes around the world and eats bizarre foods. It’s his show.
Weird Cuisine.
I guess he gets paid a lot of money.”

“You couldn’t pay me enough to eat yak’s testicles.”

“Right. You wouldn’t eat them for a million dollars?”

This stops me. A million bucks? Now we’re getting into interesting territory. “Do I get it all at once? Or do they pay me like the lottery? Over twenty years.”

“All at once. But you have to eat both of them. And you have to chew them”— Helen looks skyward, thinking —“eighteen times each.” She laughs.

I cringe. “Aw, man. That’s vile.” Helen’s got this happy twinkle in her eye that I haven’t seen before. “Did the guy say what they tasted like?”

“Like a combination of liver and oysters. But more gristly.” She raises her eyebrows. “Sounds appetizing, huh?”

I feel my stomach clench. “And you
watch
this show?”

“Every week. So? Would you do it?”

“For a million bucks? Yes. I would.”

“On national TV?”

“Hold the phone. You didn’t say that.”

“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

I think it over a moment. I’d get major crap from everyone at school, but so what? I’d be a millionaire. I could just flash my mud flaps at them from my limo. “Yes. On national television. What about you?”

She laughs. “
No
way.”

“Why not?” I say.

“Because they’re yak testicles. And the whole world would see me eating them.”

“So? I mean, seriously. At this point, does it really matter?”

The words are barely out of my mouth when Helen’s face shuts. It’s like this curtain blew aside for a few moments, and now she’s grabbed it and drawn it tight.

I feel my entire body flush. “I didn’t mean that. I just —”

“Whatever,” Helen says. “Forget it.” She glances at the clock. “Damn it. We’re never going to finish our lesson plans for this week.” She closes her eyes for a second. Takes a breath. Then opens them and looks at me. “Look, you probably don’t want to but . . .” Helen’s neck goes pink. “Would you maybe be able to meet tomorrow after my cross-country practice? Just for an hour or two?”

I look into her deep hazel eyes and open my mouth to tell her no. That I couldn’t possibly do it. That there’s no way.

So I’m completely floored when what comes out is, “Sure. Okay. Can we meet at your house?”

SEAN BOUNCES UP TO MY LOCKER.
“Hey, look what I found.” He reaches into his pants pocket, pulls out a stack of old Pokémon cards, and starts shuffling through them with a dumb smile on his face. “Dragonite. Mewtwo. Charizard. Remember how we used to go nuts for these things?”

“Dude, what the hell are you doing? Put those back in your pocket.” I turn away from him fast, chuck my stuff into my locker, and take a furtive glance around to make sure no one is witnessing this. Thankfully, there’s nobody directly beside us, and everyone in the halls seems to be in their own worlds.

“Why?” he says, still holding the cards.

“You don’t bring that stuff to school, dawg.” I keep my voice low. “Not if you want the babes to take you seriously.” I shut my locker door and start walking.

Sean tails me. “Okay, Mr. Know-Everything. Then why did me and Gina Lagotta have, like, a forty-five minute conversation about Pokémon in Biology today when she’s never even given me the time of day before?”

My stomach drops. “Do not tell me you were showing those cards around school.”

“So what if I was? It’s not like I’m the only one who ever collected Pokémon stuff. Gina still has her Pikachu doll.”

I pick up the pace as we make our way down the stairs. I can’t get out of this school and away from any prying ears fast enough. “Jesus, Sean, don’t you get it? It’s okay for her, because she’s a
girl
. She
wants
people to think she’s cute. Exactly what you
don’t
want her to think about you. Girls aren’t attracted to little baby boys, Sean. They want mature cool dudes. Why do you think all the hot babes date guys in college? You’ve got to get with the program, dawg, or you’ll never attain rock god status.”