Beat the Band (36 page)

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.

But something tells me, this is a night people will be talking about a hundred years from now.

WE BUILD THE LAST FEW BARS
of “Twist and Shout” to a grand crescendo, finishing on a wild rush of crashing cymbals and roaring guitar and pounding keyboards.

Right on cue, as the last note dies out, Matt saunters up to his microphone. “The Doctor has signed your release papers! You have been . . .
discharged
!” And with that, Matt rips the top off the tape bikini on his guitar, exposing the naked babe’s bouncers.

“Now
that’s
what I’m talking about!” Dean Scragliano calls out.

“Adios!”
Sean shouts, Frisbeeing his sombrero into the crowd, which is caught by a pretty girl who whoops and places it on her head.
“Feliz Navidad!”

We don’t get the loudest applause of the night, for sure. But we’ve definitely gained some new fans with our enthusiastic display. And I don’t hear a single “Hot Dog Helen” or “Corn Dog Coop”— not even from Andy Bennett himself, who is busy taking pictures of Matt’s guitar with his cell phone.

“Come on now!” Dean Scragliano encourages everyone, clapping his hands loudly over his head. “Give it up! These dudes have balls! Encore! Don’t put away that guitar!”

“Thank you, Arnold Murphy’s Bologna Dare,” Mr. Grossman says over the gym PA. “That was extremely . . . interesting.” He clears his throat. “Now, may I have all of the bands over to the judges’ table for the announcement of the winner?”

“How cool was
that
?” Sean says, a huge grin on his face as he shuts down his keyboards.

“Totally
uncool
-cool!” Matt cracks up, lifting the guitar over his head, sweat dripping down his face.

“That was awesome.” I give my buds a shoulder squeeze. “Talk about a ‘big junk’ performance!”

Matt and Sean laugh, pleased twinkles in their eyes.

I look over at Helen, who’s coiling up the mic cable. I want to talk to her. Make sure everything’s okay between us. But I’m suddenly feeling really shy. Unsure of myself.

I breathe deep and force my feet to move.

“Hi,” I say, when I step up beside her.

“Hi.”

“Can we . . . talk? In private?”

She nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Everyone,” Mr. Grossman calls out, still trying to wrangle the hordes. “Over here, please.”

I turn to Matt and Sean. “We’ll be right back to help with the breakdown.”

“Wait,” Sean says. “Don’t you want to see who wins?”

“Doesn’t matter.” I clap him on the back. “We didn’t let them get us down. We had a good time. And Helen kicked ass. That’s all I care about. See you in a few.”

I grab our coats, and Helen and I head outside. Just as we step out into the snow, I hear Mr. Grossman make an announcement but I can’t make out what he says. There’s a mix of cheers and groans which is cut off as soon as the heavy metal door snicks shut.

A lot of people are hanging around the parking lot — smoking and chatting and clearing the ice off their cars — so Helen and I make our way across the football field and up to the top of the bleachers.

I brush the snow off the benches and we take a seat. The cold soaking through my jeans.

“How’s your mom doing?” I say as we stare out across the winter landscape. “I didn’t see her in the audience.”

“She couldn’t make it. She wasn’t feeling up to it.”

“I’m sorry. She would have been mega-proud of you. I know I was. You were absolutely incredible, you know?”

“Thanks.” A shy smile on her face. “You too.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Helen looks at me. “No, Coop. You were. What you did tonight. Saying those things. In front of the whole school. Standing up for me. It was really brave. It meant a lot.”

“Yeah, well . . .” I feel my eyes starting to fill up. “I should have done it earlier, back in Health class. Except I wimped out. But there’s no way I was going to make the same mistake twice.”

Helen reaches over and wipes the tears from my cheeks with her thumb. Then she leans into me. Her body warm against mine. I put my arm around her. Nestle in close. Breathe her in.

I had all these things I thought I wanted to say. Questions I wanted to ask. Are we really okay? Can she actually forgive me for all the stupid, horrible things I’ve done? Does she even want to be with a loser like me now that everyone knows how amazing and totally hot she is? Sure, Andy Bennett and Prudence Nash might not let the name-calling drop, but I bet there are guys who would totally go for Helen after tonight’s display.

But sitting here now on the bleachers, comfortable in the silence, curled up together and watching the snow come down . . .

I have all the answers I need.

We stay there for a while. Watching people come and go. Car lights switching on in the parking lot. Just being with each other.

And it’s the only place in the entire world I’d want to be right now.

“There you guys are,” a voice calls from down below.

It’s Matt, standing at the bottom of the bleachers with Sean and Valerie. All of them in their winter coats.

“We’re packed up and ready to go,” Sean says.

“No thanks to you two slackers.” Valerie laughs.

Helen and I stand up. Brush ourselves off. I take her hand, supporting her as we carefully make our way down the icy steps.

“Are you guys good?” Matt asks when we reach them.

Helen smiles. Looks at me. “Yeah. We’re good.”

“Cool,” Matt says.

“Hey, so who won?” Helen asks.

“Cheeba Pet.” Sean groans. “I mean, can you believe it? After that killer show we put on? They didn’t even have the courtesy to announce a second or third place. Just one winner. That’s all.”

“Yeah, well,” Matt says. “If it had to be anyone else but us, I’m glad it was them. Now, let’s get the hell out of here.”

The five of us head out across the snow-blanketed football field. Back toward the parking lot.

“Okay,” I say. “So, this is probably as good a time as any to start discussing our next gig.”

“
Next
gig?” Sean’s eyes saucer. “Don’t you think we should just go out in our blaze of glory?”

“Oh, come on.” I put my arm around Sean. “Are you really ready to say goodbye to
El Mariachi
?” I swing my other arm over Matt’s shoulder. “To The Doctor?”

“I think I’d survive.” Matt laughs.

“Okay, but hear me out,” I say, letting go of my buds and making a “marquee” gesture. “Just picture it. Arnold Murphy’s Bologna Dare at the spring talent show. It’s much less pressure. We only have to do two or three songs. Which we can certainly polish up in the next few months. And best of all, they don’t serve refreshments. So there’s nothing for people to throw.”

“You can’t be serious,” Val says.

“Helen, come on.” I turn to her. “You’re with me on this, right?”

“I don’t know, Coop.” Helen laughs. “I think Arnold Murphy’s Bologna Dare should probably retire.”

“Absolutely,” I say. “You’re right. We retire the name. It’s too quirky. We need something slick. Something more in your face. Like Sock Monster. Or Bag of Pants.”

Nobody says anything. They just keep walking.

I look left and right at my friends. “Don’t tell me I’m the only one with faith here. So we didn’t win the Battle of the Bands. Big deal. How epic will that look in our rockumentary? ‘Nobody knew just how famous they would become.’ It’s just like The Beatles and the Decca audition.”

Still, we walk in silence.

“Just say you’ll think about it.”

“No,” everyone responds in unison.

“All right.” I nod. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Matt quickly scoops up a hunk of snow, compresses it, and chucks it at me. The snowball explodes on my chest.

I look down at the crystals clinging to my coat. “You didn’t just do that.”

“Oh yes, I did.” Matt laughs and points at me. “And there’s plenty more where that came from, if you don’t zip it.”