Beauty and the Bully (22 page)

Duncan stood unmoving, eyeing him for a moment. “We have a gig. There will be at least seven naked women there.”

Stew blinked. Then he stood, picking up his tray. “Okay, well, I can practice pretty much any night, any time. We should definitely work through some of the new rodent material, I guess. . . .”

20

Band practices resumed with renewed vigor: two and a half hours on Friday night, three hours on Saturday. Duncan allowed all his other responsibilities—most notably finding Freddie a date—to fall by the wayside. The Flaming Tarts convened again on Sunday afternoon, and they vowed to keep jamming until they'd perfected a six-song set. For the good of the group and the promise of rampant nakedness, Stew showed remarkable patience with Syd. She, however, did not display any improvement on guitar whatsoever. But when frustration crept over Duncan, he repeated three words to himself like a mantra: “A great night.” It centered him. Syd would become competent, he vowed. And she was trying extremely hard—that much was clear. Duncan rewrote much of the new rodent-related material, simplifying Syd's responsibilities to a ludicrous extent. But somehow she was always just . . . off.

“Potty break!” called Jessie.

“Dude,” said Duncan, “we're still totally struggling with the bridge on ‘Mouse of Pain.' Just one more time through, okay?”

“I
said
potty break,” Jessie insisted, standing up and walking toward the door. “My drumming does not improve when I have to pee. I just get faster.”

Duncan sighed. Stew set down his bass and walked toward the door, too.

“I'll jump on the potty wagon,” he said.

Soon, Syd and Duncan were alone in the garage. He flipped through sheets of lyrics and music even though he had a perfect familiarity with the band's material. Syd spent a minute or so trying to nail a G, C, D, G progression, yet always failing. Duncan hid his dismay, cringing only slightly.

“I'm pretty horrible,” Syd sighed. “Sorry. Just thought I should throw that out there.”

Yeah, thanks for the news flash, thought Duncan.

“You're fine, Syd,” he said, looking up from his papers. “Don't sweat it.”

“I am beyond help. You make my parts easier, and I make them suckier.”

You really are criminally bad.

“You won't get any better thinking like that, Syd.”

“I know. But I can't
stop
thinking like that. Which is why I'm pretty sure I can't get better.” She sighed again. “You know, I'm actually reasonably confident in all other areas of my life. But this one—the one that I really care about—well . . .”

Jessie and Stew returned, each with a handful of cheese- flavored chips.

“Thought you were in fit-into-the-dress mode, beauty queen,” said Duncan, grinning at Jessie.

“Screw that,” she said. “I love cheese.” She sat back down at her drums. Stew jammed his chip pile into his mouth and chewed noisily.

“Okay,” said Duncan. “So as I was saying before Jess's bladder interrupted us, we're struggling with the bridge on—”

There was a knock at the side door of the garage.

Duncan looked at the door, puzzled.

Another knock. “Who the—?”

The door creaked open. Carly stepped through lugging a large plastic bag.

“Hi, Dunky!” she said.

“Oh, hey!” he yelped. “You finally came to watch us! Awesome! This is too great. We're so stoked about the rally, right, guys?” The band said nothing. “Put your stuff down anywhere—we'll play something for you.” He grinned, then looked at the band. Jess and Stew kept chewing. Syd bent the Twins cap low over her eyes.

“Okay,” said Duncan. “Let's let's try ‘Rat Maze Funk' on my count. One, two—”

“Actually, Duncan, I can't stay,” said Carly.

Syd exhaled loudly.

“I'm so swamped with all this pre-rally stuff,” continued Carly. “So much to plan. It's mere days away!” She clapped silently. “I've gotta reconfirm with the Fox crew, then I'm giving an interview to the
Elm Forest Leader
.” She shook her head. “I seriously can't believe I'm giving an interview. Wow.” She dropped the bag. “Anyway, I just wanted to drop off costumes. ”

This drew a blank stare from Duncan, and three horrified looks from the rest of the Tarts.

“Costumes?” asked Duncan.

Carly rustled in the bag for a few seconds, then held up a rat mask, a fuzzy suit, and an outlandishly long white tail.

“Hee!” she squealed. “Now just tell me that's not the cutest!”

“Dude,” said Jessie. “I liked the conquistador outfit a little bet—”

“Are we supposed to
play
in those?” asked Duncan, cutting her off. “Because, I mean, that's no easy trick. A five-foot-long tail is not really something most musicians have to deal with.” He thought of just how dreadful Syd's playing was when she went without a mask. He couldn't imagine what impaired vision might do.

“Dunky, we're so happy to have your band at the rally,” Carly said. “And we'd really be superthrilled if you guys could wear the rat suits. Please? A lot of our members are wearing them. To show solidarity.”

“This band doesn't do gimmicks,” declared Stew flatly. He folded his arms.

Carly flashed an exaggerated frown, then looked toward Duncan. “Pleeeease?” she asked.

The band stared at him. Carly pouted.

“I . . . we . . . it's just . . .” Duncan looked at his feet. “Stew's right, we are not a band that has traditionally engaged in gimmickry, really, and, um . . .”

More pouting from Carly.

This is not what the group reunited for, Duncan thought. Our first public appearance cannot involve masks with long whiskers. But I can't start saying no to Carly, either. Not with things progressing at the present rate.
A great night,
he thought, almost mouthing the words.

“
I'll
wear the suit, Carly,” he said. “I can promise you that.”

“Actually,” she said, still pouting, “I didn't bring a full suit for you, Dunky. Just a tail and a mask. The suit is kind of tricky to get in and out of. I was hoping you'd just wear a robe or something.”

He looked at her, confused again. “Sorry, I'm not really following.”

“She's saying she wants you
nekked
, Dunky!” said Jessie, snorting.

“Well, I was sort of hoping that you would streak with us.” She smiled, then emoted. “For the past couple weeks, you have been
the
key member of TARTS, Duncan. Nobody's done as much for us. Not Marissa, not me . . . no one. And volunteering to perform at the rally? Well, that's over the top. You're the best. It occurred to me that at the end of the day, all the attention is going to go to the streakers.” Carly walked toward Duncan and grabbed his hand. “If anyone has earned the right to streak, it's you,” she said.

Jessie snickered. Duncan was struck by a kind of aphasia. His mouth moved, but no sounds emerged.

“I thought you were committed, Duncan,” said Carly. “Totally committed.”

More soundless mouthing. Carly stared.

Finally, this: “I love the mice. But, I mean . . . getting arrested? That's no small thing. We might miss homecoming, Carly. Because we're in jail. We'll have jailhouse homecoming. I hadn't really pla—”

“Homecoming?”
said Carly. “Duncan, we're trying to save little lives. Remember?”

An awkward silence followed.

Then Syd and Jessie began making mouse noises.

“So, um . . . what time is this rally, anyway?” Stew blurted.

“Yeah,” said Jessie. “What time? Because I'm
definitely
going to homecoming. With a boy—a big one. And I've got this sweet bubble-skirt dress that might get all wrinkly if I wear it underneath a rat suit.” She paused, then added a sarcastic,
“Dunky.”

Syd snorted.

Carly pouted.

“Noon,” said Carly. “The rally's at noon.” She looked into Duncan's eyes. “Are you with us or not? If you're not, I'd like to know. Maybe I misjudged you. I thought you cared enough to really take risks.”

Oh, you just have
noooo
idea, he thought.

“I do. I care. I'm full of caring. And risk-taking.”

“So you'll do it?”

What if it's cold? he thought. Like, really cold. It's October. I'll be naked in the cold. And what happens in cold weather? Contraction. Not exactly the most flattering weather conditions in which to be outdoors and nak—

“Well?” said Carly. “Will you?” More pouting.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “Sure.”

Carly smiled and brushed his cheek. “You're a good person, Duncan Boone. It's the right thing to do.”

Naked with a rat tail is the
right
thing to do? he thought. Hmm. Well I ain't doin' it for the rats, I'll tell you tha—

Carly leaned close and kissed him on the lips.

Not a long kiss, not a tongue kiss. But still, a lip-to-lip kiss. Duncan nearly toppled over. Jess, Stew, and Syd nearly did, too.

“'Bye, Dunky,” said Carly.

The instant she left, Stew clapped Duncan on the back.

“Mostly I'm impressed by you,” he said. “But the part that isn't impressed is pretty grossed out. I've already seen all of you I care to see.”

“What the hell did I just agree to?”

“Gettin' naked,” said Stew. “I thought that was pretty clear.”

Duncan held up one of the rat tails. “You think I can use this to cover myself ?”

“Dude,” said Jessie, “if a five-foot-long plush tail
won't
cover you, then there's really nothing to be ashamed of, is there?”

21

Not long after the visit from Carly, Syd and Jessie left practice. Just as well, thought Duncan. The smooch—quick though it was—had caused him to completely lose focus. What did the kiss even mean? Were he and Carly an item? Certainly not in any official way. There were no public displays of affection between them. There were no dates, no phone calls, and only the one brief IM exchange. It was an odd kiss. No outflow of emotion. Almost clinical. But still, it was more action than he'd expected.

Duncan sat at his kitchen table, trying to study yet unable to concentrate.

Oh my God, she expects me to get
naked,
he occasionally thought.

Then, Oh my God,
she's
going to get naked.

Duncan's mom entered the kitchen and began to empty the dishwasher. They'd spoken only briefly (and tersely) to each other since Freddie's suspension.

“What are you working on, honey?”

“My application to transfer to another school. In Guam. On a mountain. Protected by cannibals.”

She smiled. “I'll just follow you wherever you go,” she said.

“Like that's news to me.”

“You know I had to do
something
about Freddie, right, Duncan?”

He sat silently. She opened a cabinet and began to put away drinking glasses.

“Teachers were coming to me,” she said. “Students were even coming to me. There was sincere concern for your safety.”

“Freddie's not what you think he is.”

“I think he's a bully.”

“I know you do, Mother.”

“His sister seems very nice, though.”

“She's not a strong guitar player.” Duncan pretended to read a textbook. “But yes, she's very nice.”

After several more minutes of distracted (and sometimes faked) study, Duncan went upstairs to his room. He sat at his desk, continuing not to study. Another good time to crack open the journal, he thought. But alas, Mrs. Kindler still had it. And, by that point, anything he might've wanted to write about involved people and circumstances that couldn't be discussed with a woman who played bunco with his mom. So, instead of being productive or contemplative, Duncan stretched out on his bed and put
The Song Remains the Same
on his stereo. Just as the title track began to play, a car squealed to a stop outside his house.

Duncan turned the music down low. He then heard plodding footsteps outside. Then the doorbell rang. Then there were a series of loud thuds on the front door. He heard muttering from his parents downstairs.

Duncan went over to his bedroom window and swept back the curtain. Syd's Monte Carlo was parked outside. But Syd didn't plod or thud.

“Good evening, Mrs. Boone.” Freddie's voice boomed. “Is Duncan at home?”

Oh crap, thought Duncan. Freddie's girl.

If, indeed, a girl existed who would willingly attend a social engagement with Freddie Wambaugh, Duncan hadn't yet located her. Nor had he started looking. Duncan listened at his door. He heard a very clear “not sure that's such a good idea” from his mother, followed by something inaudible—but very serious-sounding—from his dad.

Well, no way they're letting Freddie in the house, he thought. Not after getting him suspended and bad-mouthing him at every oppor—

He soon heard laughter from his parents. And then from Freddie. Duncan soundlessly eased open the door to better hear the conversation:

Freddie: “. . . and I know it was wrong. I really do.”

Dad: “That's fine, Freddie. You're demonstrating a great deal of maturity.”

Freddie: “Suspension was a wake-up call, sir.”

Mom: “I'll take you upstairs, Frederick.”

Where is this amazing gullibility when I need it? wondered Duncan. Who falls for this crap?