My stomach hurt with tension. The night before, I got us chicken nuggets from McDonalds for dinner. Mom ate a few and I packed up the rest for lunch, then I gave her the little bag with the rolled joints. She seemed to know how to smoke one, so I went to bed, feeling hopeful.

Right now, though, in Mrs. Lydecker's class, I was more concerned about all the faces looking our way. Eddie and I were at the front of the class, and he was tuning up while Mrs. Lydecker explained to everyone what were were going to do.

"Now I want you all to be a respectful audience," she was telling them. "And remember that every one of you will someday be in front of this room facing your peers."

She looked at Eddie and me, giving us an encouraging nod. I glanced at Eddie, and stepped forward.

"Mes amis," I began, and in my terrible, terrible accent, I told them a brief overview of the Marseillaise, talking about how it brought the peasants together, blah, blah, blah. Robin was giving me encouraging looks, but Cassie was glaring at me, and most of the other kids were slouched in their chairs, unimpressed. I stepped back and looked at Eddie.

"Pour la gloire!" he whispered to me, and winked.

And that did it. I took a breath, let Eddie rip into the opening, and I sang. HARD.

"ALLONS ENFANT DE LA PATRRRRRRIE! Le jour de GLOIRE est ARRIVÉ!" I belted out, pushing my voice hard.

I was an okay alto, but one of the plusses to playing Lacrosse is that I also had lung power, and when I wanted to be heard, I could be.

"Contre nous del la TYRANNIE!" Eddie roared, "L'étendART sanglant est levé! L'étendART sanglant est levé!"

We kept singing, loud, proud, and HARD. Between my voice and Eddie's guitar, the sound was enormous. Noises came from the hall and the door flew open; Mr. Charles and Miss Evans were standing there, staring at us. The students were getting into it, clapping along, and bobbing their heads. More people started crowding around the door.

I remembered every word. The lyrics came easily, and I sang, feeling connected to the café singer, feeling like I could walk on top of the music.

We finished, landing on the end notes at the same time, and I leaned against Eddie's right shoulder, so glad to have something solid to touch.

"Encore!" We looked up; Mrs. Leydecker was in tears. She yelled it again, and the class roared it. I glance at Eddie, who was grinning from ear to ear.

He looked out at the class. "ÊTES-VOUS TOUS PRÊTS?" He demanded, and some of the kids started stamping their feet, and clapping. I nodded and so we did it again, only this time Eddie added some riffs at the ends of the stanzas, and I let my voice get deeper. When we finished, even the teachers in the doorway clapped, and Mrs. Leydecker was wiping her eyes.

"Ohhhh that was deeply moving, Eddie, Fi! You really captured the intensity and passion of de Lisle's work! Just wonderful!"

Eddie packed up his guitar and we both sat down, feeling flushed an embarrassed by all the smiles and thumbs up we were getting. I don't remember much about that class or the rest of the day except I had people I never even knew kept coming up and congratulating me. Even Robin seemed stunned by it.

"I didn't know you could sing like that!" She kept saying. "It was like a cannon firing sexy, dark chocolate!"

I stared at her. "You know, your metaphors are deeply weird, Buckley."

"True, and I'll never deny it, but all I'm saying is that was Casablanca-worthy, Fi. Really, really good. I swear, if Lydecker doesn't give you an A, the whole class will storm her desk!"

"Yeah, well I am never doing that again, not for any other class," I told her. "Once is enough for me."

"You say that now, but . . ." she grinned. "Had Eddie recruited you into Corrupted Coffin yet?"

I laughed. "No, and I don't see it happening in the future. We got our As; I'm happy with that."

She gave me a knowing look. "No future with singing, or no future with Eddie?"

"Singing!" I blurted, adding, "Eddie's a good guy but it's not like we're a couple."

"There's still time," Robin shrugging, grinning. I hesitated, and she pointed a finger at me. "You LIKE him!"

"He's . . . likeable," I admitted. "More than I suspected."

And it was true. I'd thought of Eddie as just another metalhead geek, but he was more than that, clearly. Maybe more than I realized.

-oo00oo—

I didn't see him over the weekend but given how much Mom and I needed to get the housework done, that was fair. Mom managed to do all the laundry, and I had a report on the Reconstruction Era I needed to get written before Monday.

On Monday in French class, Eddie wasn't there. That kind of got to me, so at lunch, I snuck out to the phone in the lobby an called him. The phone rang about three times before I heard someone pick up. "'Lo?"

"Eddie? Where are you?"

"Fi! Hey, are you calling . . ." I heard him shift, and groan a little, "Are you calling from school? Seriously?"

"I am, and you sound awful. What's wrong?"

"I'm just . . . I'm sick," he mumbled. "No biggie. I'll be in class probably by tomorrow. Maybe Wednesday."

"Sick," I echoed. He didn't sound like he had a cold.

"Sick. I just need a little rest. It's fine, Fi. I'm cool."

We were both on the line, not saying anything, but I had so much I wanted to say. I sucked in a deep breath.

"Ah, okay. Do you need anything?"

"I could kill for some double stuf Oreos," he joked, adding, "No, I'm fine, Fi. So, they still talking about our killer performance on Friday?"

"Yeah, lots of people think it was pretty badass. Are you thinking of adding it into your Corroded Coffin rotation?" I teased, leaning against the wall.

He laughed weakly. "Only when we play Paris. And you've been holding out, babe. Where did that voice come from?"

"I was just channeling my inner frustrations," I joked. "Rage makes for good music, right?"

"Some of the best," he agreed, and the bell rang, "Go to class, Myers, I'm good!"

But I had a feeling he wasn't telling the truth, so after school I swung by the supermarket and picked up a few things before driving over to the trailer park. It was pretty quiet at this time of the day, and I climbed up the rickety steps to Eddie's trailer, clutching the bag.

I knocked. After a minute or two, I heard footsteps, and the door pushed open with Eddie leaning out. Seeing his face, I nearly dropped the bag. "Shit!"

"Fi!" he snapped, and then immediately softened. "It's okay. Looks worse than it is."

He had a huge bruise across his left cheekbone, and his lower lip was swollen. From the way he was leaning on the door I knew he was in serious pain, so I move closer, dropping my voice.

"Tell me what happened, right now, Munson. Right. Now."