Page 24 of Can't Text This

Zach’s eyes bulge from his head. “Uh…”

“My friend Marty from school bangs all the time. He and his dad love doing it.”

“This is getting worse,” Zach mutters from beside me.

“Sometimes they bang so loud it wakes the neighbors up.”

“That, um, that sounds interesting, buddy.”

“Can we get some drums so we can bang hard too?”

A relieved look crosses Zach’s face and I clap him on the shoulder.

“Way to save face, dude. You did good.”

“How did you keep a straight face during all that?”

I shrug. “Practice, and because I kind of figured he was going somewhere with it. ‘Banging the drum’ is what they call it at Marty’s. His mom is kinda hippie-ish and they have bongos out in the garage the kids love to play with.”

He glares at me. “Could have warned me, you douche.”

“And miss the look on your face? Nah.”

“Ass.”

“Dad, Uncle Zach said—”

“Yeah, yeah. I heard him.” I glare over at him. “But he won’t say it again, right?”

Zach shrugs, a grin firmly in place.

Fucker.

He nods toward my phone. “What’d she say?”

“It’s…uh… I don’t think it’s promising.”

“You’re you, Robbie—of course it’s promising.”

“I don’t know. She’s not falling for my usual charm.”

“You have charm?”

“Shut up.”

He laughs at his own joke. “You told her you wanted to bang her—that’s not having charm.”

“Youtold me to tell her that!”

“And you listened to me? I can’t believe that.”

“I hate you.”

“Gromble, gromble, gromble,” he teases.

“It’s grum, moron.”

“Same-same dif.”

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