Beat the Band (26 page)

“Sorry.” Matt shoulders his duffel bag. “I need a break. I’m going to soak in a bath for the next twelve hours before Val sees me looking all jack-o’-lanterny. I’ll loofah myself until I bleed if I have to. And brush my teeth with coffee grinds.”

“Yeah, I’m out too.” Sean unwraps the candy bar. “I need to give my hands a rest from last night.”

“That’s what she said,” Matt calls over his shoulder as he heads out the door.

“You guys are so last month with that.” Sean pockets a few extra snacks before grabbing his backpack and taking off. “See you later.”

I lie back on my bed and contemplate calling Helen to tell her practice is canceled. But to tell the truth, I’m actually looking forward to seeing her. In fact, I’ve been looking forward to it ever since she left my house after dinner last night.

I figure we can use the time to do some work on our Health project. I know I should be worried about what she’s going to say when she sees me looking so ridic, but I have a feeling she’ll find it funny. And who knows? Maybe I’ll be able to play on her sympathy and parlay it into an all-afternoon chimney sweep.

Yeah, okay. And what happened to staying clear? Staying focused?

Oh, shut up. It’s just a daydream. Dreams are harmless.

For the next hour, I imagine all the different ways the two of us could end up naked together.

And then the doorbell rings.

Suddenly all my confidence melts away.

I leap from the bed and race around my room trying to find something to disguise myself with. Hoodie. Ski jacket. Baseball cap. Nothing I find covers me up enough.

The doorbell rings again and I go into panic mode. Why the hell didn’t I call her and cancel? When did I become so stupid?

“Would you get that, Coop?” Dad hollers from the bathroom. “I’m dropping bear bait in here.”

The only thing I can find is my old rubber wolfman mask and paws at the back of my closet. It’s pathetic but they’ll have to do. At the last minute, I throw on my faux fur coat and play the story over in my head as I make my way to the front door: “This is part of my persona. The werewolf pimp. I’m going to see how it goes while we play.”

As I grab the knob and open the door, I remember something. We aren’t rehearsing today. Which blows that tale right out of the water.

Helen smiles and raises her eyebrows when she sees me. “My, what big hands you have, Grandma,” she says.

“Hi.” I wave my wolf paw, getting a nose full of that familiar rubber-petroleum smell from the mask.

She laughs. “Should I have brought my little red riding hood outfit?”

Oh, Lord. Don’t go there, brain.

Too late. There she is. Red cape and hood. And nothing else.

I wonder if this will ever stop. If I will someday regain control of my thoughts when it comes to babes. And Helen in particular. Does Dad’s brain go reeling off like this every time he sees a cute girl? Does Mr. Spassnick’s?

Ew, God. I don’t want to think about it.

“Come on in,” I say, stepping aside.

She brushes by me, and it’s like the slightest touch from her causes me to lose my breath.

“So, what’s the deal?” Helen asks. “Are you having Halloween withdrawal?”

I shut the door as a new lie forms in my mind. Something about losing a bet to Matt and Sean. Having to wear this costume all day long. But just as I’m about to speak, the story barbs in my throat.

My shoulders deflate like a punctured bike tire, all my resolve escaping. “You promise not to laugh too hard at me?”

“Sure,” she says, suppressing a laugh. “Why? Is there something funnier than this?”

I slowly pull off the wolf hands and remove my mask.

Helen claps her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no.” I have to give her credit. She’s trying desperately not to crack up, but her body is shaking from the effort. “What — what happened?”

I shake my head. “We wanted to spruce up our image a little. It was only a test run but . . . things went sort of . . . wrong.”

“
We?
No way. Do Matt and Sean look like this too?”

“Not exactly. Same skin. Same teeth.” I flash my gleaming white Chiclets at her.

She shades her eyes. “Holy cow.”

“Just different color hair,” I say.

“You’re very silly, you know that?”

I nod.

“To tell you the truth.” Helen takes a step back, regarding me. “You’re kind of cute like this.”

Hello!
I was thinking maybe she’d feel sorry for me, but if she actually
goes
for this kind of thing, who am I to question the strange ways of the female?

“You think?” I ask, standing a little taller.

“Absolutely.” She laughs. “I bet we could rent you out for kiddie parties and make a fortune.”

Oh. I see.
That
kind of cute.

“Thanks for the confidence boost,” I say.

“Aw, don’t be sad.” Helen moves toward me and slings her arm over my shoulder.

Even through my fur coat she feels amazing. If I had any stones at all I’d lean in and kiss her right now. But I can’t. Not looking like this.

“Besides,” she continues, “this isn’t a tragedy. I happen to have had some experience with this kind of thing.”

“Really? You’ve looked like this before?”

“No,” Helen says. “But my mother has. Sort of. She did something similar when she wanted to start dating after my dad left. It took us a week to finally find the right formula. Count yourself lucky. You get the benefit of our experimentation.”

“Oh, my God. If you could fix this I would love you forever.” The phrase leaps from my lips before I can snatch it back.

Helen’s neck instantly flushes.

My cheeks and ears get hot.

We both laugh, nervously. Pretending I didn’t just say those words. That everything is normal here. That the air isn’t suddenly charged with something . . . different.

“WOULD YOU RATHER BE BLIND
or deaf?” Helen asks.

The two of us are sitting on my bedroom floor, playing “Would you rather?” as we search my iTunes library for a few more songs to add to the band’s set list in case we’re asked to do an encore.

After my baking-soda bath, which Helen steadfastly refused to join me for — even though I told her I wouldn’t be able to scrub my back — I did several dish-detergent shampoos, followed by a series of mouthwashes involving grapefruit juice and black tea.

All in all, I look a thousand times better. My hair is still greenish, but in a pretty dope kind of way. And my teeth and skin have been toned down to acceptable shades of white and pale yam.

Helen wanted me to hold off telling Sean and Matt her cleaning secrets until tomorrow, just so that she could see what they looked like, but I couldn’t risk having them still be pissed at me and bail on any more rehearsals.

“Blind,” I say. “Definitely.”

She stares at me in disbelief. “So you’d never get to see another sunset. Or watch another movie. Or see the faces of your wife and kids.”

“Better than never hearing music or people’s voices. I get freaked out when things are too quiet. What about you?”

“I’d rather be deaf. Because then you can still read books and get around places and see when someone’s sad. Your turn.”

“All right.” I run through some options in my head. Sex in an airplane or submarine? On the beach or in the forest? Three guys or three girls?

“Well?” Helen says, breaking the spell.

“Um . . . okay.” I blink hard to clear the slate and think about something completely unrelated to sex. “All right. How would you rather die? Falling off the tallest building in the world or being tied up and torn apart by feral squirrels?”

Helen laughs. “Building. No question.”

“Seriously? But all that time you’re falling you’d be thinking about what it’s going to feel like when you hit the ground.”

“And what would I be thinking about as the squirrels were gnawing off my eyelids?”

“Good point,” I say. “Still, not a big fan of heights. I’d choose squirrels and hope someone found me before they ate too much of my bod.”

“No fair.” Helen swats my shoulder. “You didn’t say there was a chance somebody might find you before you died.”

“Would that change your answer?”

Helen squints one eye, thinking. “No. Squirrels are cute but they have really sharp claws. And pincer teeth. It’d be too painful. Even if someone did finally rescue me.”

We’ve been going back and forth like this for the last hour. Helen started the whole thing by asking me if I’d rather eat a soft-boiled duck fetus or a still-beating cobra heart. I chose the fetus because at least it was cooked but I told her I’d probably hurl either way. From there we moved on to monkey brains or maggot cheese. Then it was on to the old standards. Lose an arm or a leg. Have webbed feet or wings. Be a giant or a midget.

I’m glad Helen wanted to hang out even though we weren’t having rehearsal. Sitting here right now, I wish the weekend could last forever. That Monday would never come and we wouldn’t have to go back to school — and I wouldn’t have to do acrobatics trying to avoid her all the time.

“All right,” Helen says, twirling a strand of hair around one of her fingers. “Enough ‘would you rathers.’ Let’s do some ‘if you coulds.’ I’ll go first. If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?”

“You mean, at this very moment? Or my life in general?”

“Your life in general.”

“That’s too intense. I don’t know.” Of course, a bunch of things cross my mind but nothing I can tell Helen without her slapping me across the face. “A million dollars without having to eat one of your disgusting foods, I guess. So I could buy some new drums to replace my taped-up ones. And my dad wouldn’t have to worry about his job and the bills all the time. And my sister wouldn’t have to fill out all these loan forms so she can go to college next year. And my mom could go to Greece like she’s always wanted to.”

Helen smiles. “That’s nice.”

“Mostly to get the drums, though. I just added all that other stuff so I wouldn’t look like a dingus.”

Helen laughs. “Yeah, yeah. I’m so sure.”

“What about you?” Like I even have to ask. “What would you change?”

“My mom,” she says without a beat. “I’d have her get better.”

Oh. Right. I was way off on that one.

“You thought I was going to say all the stupid school stuff. But that’d be wasting a good wish on something that’ll be over when I graduate.”

“Does my face give me away
that
easy? Because I’m a damn good poker player and I’d swear I don’t have any tells.”

“Oh, really? Let me know when you’re ready to lose your shorts and I’ll take you on.”

“Do you play for shorts?” I laugh. “Because I usually bet cash. But if you want to play for clothes, count me in.”

“You don’t want to play me for money
or
shorts.”

“What is it? Do my eyes shift? Does my mouth twitch?”

Helen shakes her head. “If I told you, I wouldn’t be able to read you anymore. What fun would that be?” She points at my laptop screen. “Ah-ha! I knew we’d find some good music on here eventually.”

I look to see what she’s referring to. It’s my meager collection of U2 songs. “Really? I actually haven’t listened to them much. I don’t even remember where I got those.”

“Yeah, well, you’re missing out.” She clicks on a song, “With or Without You,” and taps up the volume. “I’ve seen them in concert three times. They’re amazing. I love this song.”

“I don’t know, I —”

Helen grabs my arm. “Shh. Listen.”

She closes her eyes as she breathes in the music.

I hear the song. It’s slow and lush and sweeping. But really, all I can concentrate on is her warm hand on my skin.

And her beautiful face.

Christ, she’s gorgeous. Why the hell doesn’t anyone else see this?

It’s hard to catch my breath. My heart’s like a crazed windup toy in my chest. I want to kiss her so bad. I try to lean in, but it’s like I’ve got a bungee cord attached to the back of my head that keeps me restrained.

Suddenly, Helen’s eyes open. She knows what I’m thinking. She has to. I’m sure of it.

“What?” she asks.

“I want . . .” I say, trying again to lean forward. “I want . . .”

“You want what?” Her eyes give me nothing by way of a clue.

“I want”— I blink hard —“to dance with you.”

The hell? Are you kidding? Dance? Here? In my bedroom? I don’t even know how to dance! That’s not what I want at all.

“Seriously?” Helen looks at me suspiciously. But also with a slight smile.

No, no, no! Kiss you! Kiss you! Goddamn it. Why don’t my thoughts and mouth sync up anymore?

“Um . . . yeah,” I say, encouraged by the glint of hopefulness on her face. “You seem to like to dance. At least, when you’re singing.” I swallow, my mouth drying up. “And . . . you like this song. So . . .”

Helen’s smile grows.

And then, everything shifts. And dancing is exactly what I want to do right now.

I get to my feet and hold out my hand before I lose my nerve.

She laughs, but reaches up and takes my hand. “Sure. Okay.”

My palms start to sweat. I wipe them on my jeans before putting my arms around her waist. She places her hands on my shoulders. And we sway gently in time to the music.