Five Flavors of Dumb (22 page)

I felt the need to pinch myself. No matter how familiar my face seemed, there was no way on earth that the person before me could be Piper Vaughan. Apart from getting taller and growing boobs, Piper Vaughan had remained unchanged for almost a decade. But the girl in the mirror was holding up her middle finger to that person.

I saw Cassie trying to communicate with me via the mirror, but I couldn’t hear a word. I put my hearing aids back in and smiled.

“What do you think?” she asked.

I watched my smile grow into a laugh. “I think it’s . . . amazing.”

For a moment Cassie’s cool exterior cracked and she seemed to exhale. Then she was back to business, picking up her scissors and snipping away entire waves of hair, while I watched her intently. She resembled a grown-up Tash, but without any of the hang-ups. She was, I realized, easier to like than Tash.

Suddenly she was smiling at me. “Thinking deep thoughts?”

“Oh.” I blushed. “I was just thinking about Tash.”

I regretted saying it immediately. What if she asked me what I was thinking? But Cassie was too kind—or too professional—to do that.

“She’s changed since you became manager.”

I opened my eyes wide. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really.” The scissors paused midair. “For two years she’s mooned over Will Cooke like he’s the center of the universe, and I’ve told her over and over she just needs to forget about him, move on. I don’t know what his deal is, but I do know that his interest in Tash is definitely limited to her guitar playing.”

It’s not like what she was saying was a secret, but I was afraid that Tash might hear her.

“Don’t worry, they can’t hear me,” said Cassie, reading my mind again. “Anyway, Tash only joined Dumb to get with Will, but since you took over, she’s started talking about the music, and new chords she’s learning, and stuff like that. I think she’s finally decided the band may be more important than he is.”

She resumed snipping from where she’d left off, but her words stayed with me. She was saying I’d made a difference in Tash’s life—a
positive
difference. Basically, she was thanking me. And I was so grateful to her for that.

It took Cassie thirty minutes more to reduce my hair to an artful mess, with dagger-like bangs and a don’t-mess-with-me vibe. Then she blow-dried my hair in layers for another twenty minutes. I couldn’t believe how meticulous she was. The last time I’d used a hairdryer was for the family’s Christmas photo almost a year ago.

The new style showcased my hearing aids in all their glory. Only they were no longer Barbie pink, but rather Atomic Pink—not a relic of my former self, but a statement of my new identity. I didn’t even try to cover them up.

When she was done, I glanced at my watch: 2:10 p.m. The last period of the day, Calculus, would be ending soon. Tomorrow I’d go back to school and pick up right where I left off. I’d still be ahead of almost everyone else in the class. The only difference would be my hair, a warning to others never to overlook me again.

I caught Cassie’s eye in the mirror. “You look incredible,” she said.

“I know,” I assured her, and it didn’t even feel like bragging. “Be honest, though. Do you think I’m going to like this look a year from now?”

She replaced the hairdryer in its holder with the utmost care. “Does it matter?”

I thought about that for a moment. “Well, I guess I don’t want to believe that this is just a stage, you know? That next month I’ll wake up and say, ‘That’s not me at all.’”

Cassie leaned forward like she was about to divulge a secret. “Honestly, one day you
will
wake up and say that. And no matter what godforsaken mess Kallie ends up with today, she will too. And so will Tash, and everyone else who comes in here. But you’re worrying about the wrong thing. Don’t worry about wanting to change; start worrying when you don’t feel like changing anymore. And in the meantime, enjoy every version of yourself you ever meet, because not everybody who discovers their true identity likes what they find.”

By the time Cassie removed my cape and brushed away stray hairs, Tash and Kallie had joined us, and Cassie didn’t need to say a word for us to know what she thought of Tash’s effort. Kallie’s hair was shorter by a few inches, the cut unkempt and the blond streaks uneven. Yet through it all she smiled like I’d never seen her smile before. All I wanted to do was capture the moment forever: the image of Tash and Kallie, arm in arm; the discovery that Kallie’s beauty radiated from a place that had nothing whatever to do with clothes and makeup.

We hugged then, all four of us, and the tears that followed were the happiest of my life.

I knew the euphoria would end the moment my parents saw me, so I hung out with Tash and Kallie for a couple more hours before driving them home. It was almost dark when I got back, and the front door opened as I pulled up. I honestly believe Mom and Dad would have attacked me as I left the car if it hadn’t been so cold outside. I braced myself for their latest offensive.

Instead, entire seconds passed while they stared unblinkingly at my hair. If it was supposed to make me feel uncomfortable, it was working really well.

Eventually Mom shook her head, dragging herself out of the trance. “The school called,” she trilled. “I’d ask where you’ve been, but I think that’s obvious.”

You like it?
I signed, even swallowing my fear long enough to produce a wide smile.

“Don’t get smart with me. And don’t think we’re signing right now. I want your dad to hear every word of this conversation.”

I snorted. “Oh, that’s right. Let’s not make the poor hearing people suffer.”

“Don’t you—” began Mom, but then she stood up straighter and took a calming breath. “Get over yourself, Piper. You’re not the victim today.”

“And
you
are?”

“You skipped an entire afternoon of school! I don’t even know what to say to you anymore. Ever since you got in with this band, you’re behaving like you’re on drugs. Are you on drugs?”

“God, no,” I groaned, wondering how she could be so off-target, so willfully ignorant of what was really going on.

“Well, what other explanation is there? You fight on live television. You skip school. You’re rude and obnoxious. You cut off your hair and dye it pink. I mean, didn’t you get the message? It’s too late to start rebelling in senior year.”

“I’m not rebelling,” I said calmly.

Mom bristled. “Of course not. It’s perfectly rational to want to look trashy—”

“That’s enough, Lynn!”

I’d forgotten Dad was there until he spoke, matching Mom’s pent-up anger step-for-step.

“No, Ryan, it’s not nearly enough. I want answers. For a start, I want to know who gave Piper permission to leave school in the first place, because it sure wasn’t me.” She swung around to face me, waiting for the answer she knew would establish my guilt once and for all.

I turned away from her and caught a glimpse of my hair in the hallway mirror, short and stylish and so very pink—a haircut with attitude. For a while I’d allowed myself to believe that it reflected the new Piper. But the new Piper still had the same old parents. Had I really expected my life to change?

Dad lifted his hand, ran it through what little hair he had left. “I signed the permission form,” he said, eyes cast down.

Mom tilted her head to the side. “
You
signed it?”

Dad nodded apologetically, but he still couldn’t meet her eyes.

“How could you sign it after everything that has happened recently? How could you do it without telling me?”

Dad looked up slowly, narrowed his eyes. “I don’t recall you consulting with me all the times you’ve signed Piper’s forms.”

Silence—the kind you feel like a vacuum, sucking everything out of the atmosphere. Mom stepped back like she’d been slapped. She stared at me, then Dad, then me again, her face betraying the realization that we’d somehow joined forces, that from now on she’d be conducting her interrogation alone.

“I see,” she said, her hands unusually still. “I . . . I see.” She covered her mouth with her hand, then let it fall to her side again. “I’m tired now,” she said, her face suddenly implacable, ghostly.

I waited for Dad to say something, but he didn’t, or couldn’t—I wasn’t sure which.

Mom padded away from us and into her bedroom. I expected her to slam the door, practically
willed
her to, so I’d know she was actually pissed as hell, that her worn-out shell act was just that—an act. But instead the door gently swung closed, and suddenly I was the one standing in the hallway with my hands by my sides and my heart in tatters. Amazing how quickly a family can fall apart.

I turned to Dad, knowing that I needed to acknowledge that he’d covered for me, but he’d gone too. At the end of the hallway I saw the telltale strip of light glowing at the bottom of his office door. I walked over, knocked lightly, and let myself in.

Dad was staring intently at a family photo on the wall, the one taken last Christmas, when Grace was still a tiny baby. The photographer took thirty-eight photos that day, and Grace only stopped wailing for one of them. Mom and Dad chose it without hesitation, even though Finn’s eyes were closed and I looked like I was having a seizure.

“Where’s Grace?” I asked.

“Asleep.”

“Finn?”

“In the basement, I think. Practicing his guitar. Or something. I don’t know.”

Another day, another relaxed, flowing conversation with Dad. I leaned against his desk, took the weight off my unsteady legs. “Thank you for doing that,” I said finally. “You didn’t have to.”

Dad smiled ruefully. “Yes I did. I’ve gotten used to you and me arguing, but seeing you and your mother going at it just kills me.”

I wanted to ask if it hurt him that he and I argued so much, but I couldn’t. What if he said no? “I’m sorry things are like this,” I said.

“Are you really?”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I looked away, studied the books stacked in piles on his desk—dictionaries, encyclopedias, journals on obscure topics that most sane people haven’t even heard about. It was the recurring image of industriousness Dad had portrayed my entire life, but nothing seemed to have moved since the last time I’d been there. Did he actually read any of those books? If not, what did he do during those increasingly drawn-out evenings when he disappeared to the sanctuary of his office?

Only one book was open, its bright white pages out of place amid Dad’s predominantly musty, yellowed collection. I leaned over and peered at the photographs of hand and arm gestures. Below each one, a caption translated the sign language into English.

“Whose is that?” I asked, not for a moment considering the most obvious explanation of all.

Dad hurried over and closed the book, and I just had time to catch the title before he placed it under the desk:
The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Conversational Sign Language
.

“Good title, huh?” he asked flatly. “A complete idiot . . . that sounds like me.”

My heart was doing somersaults, but I didn’t know what to say. The book was an olive branch, a chance for us to close the gap, but in all my life Dad had never appeared so vulnerable.

“Are you teaching yourself?” I asked finally, trying to tone down the excitement in my voice.

Dad shook his head. “No. There’s a course at the community college. Tuesday evenings.” He pulled another book from under the desk, this one called
Master ASL
.

I flicked through it, but I didn’t really care about the book’s approach, or the quality of the writing. All I cared about were the signs, and the thought that Dad might someday know them. I wanted to drill him with a million questions, but this was my turf, not his, and he still seemed reticent to talk about it.

“How are you finding it?” I asked.

“It’s . . . not easy. But I’m getting there.” I wondered whether he was talking about our heart-to-heart chat as well as the rigors of learning sign language, but either way, he seemed worn out.

“Thank you for doing this. It means so much.”

Dad’s head and shoulders slumped. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Because I should’ve done this years ago, instead of always making excuses. When you started to lose your hearing I tried to learn with Finn, but he picked it up so much quicker than me. And compared to your mom I felt stupid and clumsy. In the end I honestly convinced myself that it would be better for both of us if I didn’t even try. But I was missing the point. All that time I think you just wanted me to meet you halfway.”

I nodded. “That would’ve been nice, yeah.”

“I feel like I owe you the best part of a decade, and I’m trying to play catch-up. Only I don’t know how that’s supposed to work.”

“You’re improvising well.”

Dad laughed. “God, Piper, I feel like I’m only just getting to know you now, for the first time.”

“You know me.”

“No, I don’t,” he sighed, refusing to play along with the easy lie. “Not really. And it’s unforgiveable.”

I stepped forward, gave him the briefest of hugs. “Well, I forgive you anyway.”

Dad summoned a smile. “Thank you.” He turned away and pulled a stack of papers from his bookshelf; the title on the front page read
Financial Aid & Fees
. “It says that more than eighty-five percent of students who apply for financial aid receive assistance. If Gallaudet is what you really want, we’ll be able to make it happen.”

I flicked through the stack and caught a glimpse of the university’s nineteenth-century buildings, familiar from years of browsing the website. It
was
what I wanted, but it still seemed so far off.

“You have to trust us, Piper,” said Dad, sensing my concern. “We want what’s best for you.”

We want what’s best for you
. Who would have imagined that his idea of best might one day coincide with mine?