Beat the Band by Don Calame

guys.”
    Matt and Sean both look at me.
    “I don’t know what else to say. I’m begging you. If you won’t do it for yourselves, then do it for me.”
    Sean takes a deep breath and lets it out loudly.
    “Think about it,” I continue. “If we win this thing, we instantly become the coolest kids in school. Nobody will be able to make fun of us. There won’t be a party we won’t be invited to. The hottest girls in the school will want to shack up with us, then steal our underwear and sell them on eBay. What’s so bad about that?” I squeeze the backs of their necks. “And I promise, if any heat comes down about the demo, I’ll take the full brunt. You know I will. But I’m telling you, if you bail on this you’re going to regret it for the rest of your lives.”
    Silence. Sean’s eyes flick over and find Matt’s.
    And there it is. The holy grail of white flags. The what-do-you-think? look. It’s all over now but the “Okay, we’ll try, as long as . . .” concessions. Just so that they don’t feel like they’ve totally given it up without dinner and a movie.
    “Ahhhhh.” I feel myself grin. “You’re gonna do it. You guys .” I grab their shoulders tight and give them a little shake. “I love you, dawgs. You’re the best friends ever. You won’t be sorry. I promise. This is going to be epic.”

I DON’T BEAT THE BELL to Health class but luckily I do beat Mrs. Turris. Everyone is busy doing what you do when the teacher’s late — talking, listening to iPods, texting, reading magazines, chucking balls of paper at each other.
    I flop down at my desk and hear a squish followed by some chuckles from Andy Bennett’s corner of the room.
    “Coop’s got his period!” Andy calls out.
    I look down and see the flattened ketchup packets that were placed under the legs of my chair. See the squiggles of red on the floor and the bottom of my pants.
    I am in too good a mood to give Andy any kind of reaction. I just wipe the ketchup off with my sneaker and pretend it never happened. Andy’s amateur hour. If he was really thinking, he would have put the packets on my seat. Gotten some tan paint from art class to camouflage them. Now that would have been a prank.
    Prudence is at her desk, across the aisle from me, working the keyboard on her phone, looking like the perfect goddess she is. Her perky yabbos are doing a pretty good impression of a couple of Hostess Sno Balls below her form-fitting fuzzy pink sweater. My breath catches and my heart pounds out a thrash metal beat. I shake my head to break the spell, otherwise I might actually leap across the aisle and bury my face right into her marshmallowy goodness.
    “Hey there, you,” I say to her. “Kudos on getting into the Battle of the Bands, by the way. Looks like you and me have yet another thing in common.”
    Nothing. Which makes me smile. I like a challenge.
    “So, who do you think our biggest competition is?” I ask.
    “I don’t care,” Prudence says, her attention squarely on her phone.
    “I bet Cheeba Pet is real good. At least, they look the part.” I laugh.
    Prudence sighs, her purple-polished fingernails clicking away on her phone’s keyboard. Punching the letters harder than before.
    “Of course, if you girls want to win, you’re gonna have to get through us first. Which means you’re gonna have to beat the Bologna. Is that something you think you can handle?”
    She’s ignoring me with a vengeance. I love it.
    “Here’s a thought,” I say. “We should organize an after party. Don’t you think? With a theme. Like, I don’t know, Garden of Eden or something. You, Gina, Bronte, and Kelly could come over to my house today and we could start planning it. We could all try on some fig leaves. Tempt each other with apples. It’ll be dope. What do you say?”
    Prudence slams her cell shut and turns on me. “God! How does it feel to be such an asshole all of the time?”
    I smile, because now she’s engaged. “This is crazy. When