Free Fat Boy vs. the Cheerleaders by Geoff Herbach Page A

emptied out, largely because Dante didn’t have enough donuts made and our shelves were all pretty much bare (except for just the regular, unfrosted cakes, which aren’t that tasty).
    I lifted my apron up and wiped sweat off my face.
    â€œNot smart, man,” RC III said. “That’s a dirty apron.”
    â€œYou have icing on your forehead,” Gore said.
    I used my sweaty hand to wipe icing off my forehead. What a sticky mess. Donut work ain’t easy work.
    RC III made a face. “I’m going to go get you a wet towel,” he said. He disappeared in back.
    Gore leaned over the counter and took a deep breath. She didn’t wear a Dante’s T-shirt like RC III and I did. She wore a lacy blouse with the sleeves rolled up and a Dante’s apron over the top.
    â€œWho keeps texting you?” she asked. “Your girlfriend?”
    â€œI don’t have a girlfriend,” I said.
    â€œCamille,” she said. “Is that who keeps texting?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWhat does she want?”
    â€œJesus. Why do you care?” I spat.
    â€œI don’t know,” Gore said. She swallowed hard. “Never mind.”
    RC III came from in back and tossed me a towel. He gave one to Gore too.
    â€œNo. Sorry,” I said, wiping my face. “She wants to know where we should practice and where we should have the concert next weekend because it has to be a place around Wilson Beach where Spunk River people will actually show up.”
    â€œGo up to school,” RC III said. “Practice there.”
    â€œIt’s locked up,” I said.
    â€œNo,” RC III said. “It’s open in the afternoon for a couple hours.”
    â€œOh,” Gore said. Then she stood up straight. “Too bad you’re such a jerk.”
    â€œI’m not a jerk,” I said.
    â€œNo, dude! You a real ass to her,” RC III said, pointing at Gore.
    â€œI am?” I asked.
    â€œYou know there’s a ballroom in my house?” Gore said.
    Yeah. Gore lives in that giant Victorian place about two blocks up shore from Wilson Beach. Twin Cities richies used to build mansions instead of jamming themselves into little cabins and resorts.
    Yes, sir. It’s a cool place. Scary. Which is appropriate. I mean, that sort of adds to her legend, you know? Legend of the murder-crazed girl in the haunted house.
    â€œOh?” I said.
    â€œSo if you weren’t such a jerk, I’d let you practice there. Dad isn’t home this week.”
    â€œWow. Okay. That’s really, really nice of you,” I said.
    â€œI didn’t offer anything, you jerk,” Gore said. Then she went in back.
    â€œWhy are you so mean to her, man?” RC III said. “It’s like you never learned common manners. Why would you pick on that girl?”
    I paused for a second. “Ow,” I said.
    â€œYeah, ow, man,” RC III said.
    Honestly, I didn’t know I could be mean to anyone.
    â€œHoly balls. I’m really, really sorry,” I said to RC III.
    â€œDon’t tell me, dude.”
    â€œRight,” I said. Then I ran outside and picked a bunch of dandelions off the strip between the sidewalk and the street. When Gore returned from in back, I handed her the bouquet.
    She looked down at them. “Okay,” she said.
    â€œThese are yours, okay, because I’m really, really sorry I’m a jerk.”
    â€œNobody has ever given me flowers,” Gore said.
    â€œWell, they’re yours.”
    Then Gore said really quietly, almost a whisper, “Your band can practice in our ballroom if you need to. I still think you’re kind of a jerk though, even if I like you for no apparent reason.”
    â€œI wouldn’t like you if I were her,” RC III said to me.
    â€œI don’t like you,” Gore said to RC III.
    He smiled really big. “Come on. Yes, you do. You like me.”
    â€œOkay,” Gore said. “I like