Five Flavors of Dumb (23 page)

“What about Mom? After today she might not be so thrilled about helping with this,” I said.

Dad shook his head. “She will. You two are just going through a rough patch, that’s all. She feels like you’ve shut her out.”

“No way.”

“Hey, I’m not saying she’s blameless, but she just can’t keep up with everything. She never wanted to work every hour of every day, and I think she’d do anything for things to go back to the way they were.” He looked at the family photo again, straightened it carefully.

“But if she’d talk to me, I’d—”

“No.” Dad turned to face me, shaking his head decisively. “That’s the problem, see? You’ve moved on without
her
, not the other way around. You need to make the first move here.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can. Just talk to her . . . do that thing you do, okay? You’ve always been our rock, the one who holds things together—our own Pied Piper. Right now we could really do with some more of that magic.”

Even though I was overwhelmed that Dad was learning sign language, I still wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him what a crappy thing it was to put the burden of responsibility on me. But he was gazing at me imploringly. In spite of my pink hair, my anarchic band, and my cutting school, he’d told me
I
was the rock. And in my heart, I knew that he was absolutely right.

I stopped at the doorway. “Thank you for learning to sign,” I said.

Dad thought for a moment, then his brows knitted and he opened his right hand, held it palm up and swept it across his body in the sign for
You’re welcome.

And then he smiled at me for the first time in a year.

Mom’s room was dark. She lay on her side in bed, hugging the comforter to her chin. Her breathing rose and fell with the perfect consistency of someone who was feigning sleep.

I turned on the light.

Mom fidgeted, but kept her eyes shut tight. After a moment, she produced a sound like a horse. I’m not sure what she thought it would achieve, but I almost laughed out loud.

“Lynn Vaughan,” I said solemnly, “future Academy Award winner.”

“I was asleep,” she protested.

“No, you weren’t.”

She sat up, propped a pillow behind her. Her face was streaked with tears, mascara bleeding down her cheeks.

“You look awful, Mom.”

“Says the girl with pink hair!”

It was such a perfect comeback that I couldn’t help smiling, and then laughing. After a few seconds, Mom started chuckling too.

“You look like you swallowed radioactive waste,” she said, and laughed louder through her tears.

“It’s called Atomic Pink.”

“Oh God, so you really
did
swallow radioactive waste!”

We were laughing hysterically as I slid onto the bed beside her and held her hand. It was warm, clammy, like a fever breaking, but she didn’t take it away. We twined fingers, and I could feel the barrier between us melting a little.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I think there’s a lot going on in your life right now that I don’t understand.”

She looked at our hands. “Ditto.”

“I need you to know that the band was important to me. I don’t know if it should’ve been, but it was. It was exciting. It made me feel . . . alive.”

“I know it did, Piper. I wish I’d realized it sooner, that’s all. I wish I’d had the energy to keep up with everything.”

“Like what?”

Mom lifted our hands and kissed mine, then ran a finger around my nails: the nibbled skin, the split nails, the massacred cuticles. She sighed, and then suddenly she was crying again, and I just didn’t understand.

“I’m so behind the times. Months behind . . . probably years. How did I miss it?” As the seconds ticked by in silence, she rubbed my nail beds with her thumb, as if she might undo all those years of self-inflicted damage. “Just today, I was telling someone at work that things were kind of difficult between us, and she suggested I take you to a fancy salon this weekend so we could get our hair cut together. I thought it was such a lovely idea. I even went ahead and booked appointments for us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Although I must admit that I didn’t have Atomic Pink in mind.”

It suddenly dawned on me that she’d been staring at our hands the whole time. “Look at me, Mom. . . . Please.”

Mom looked up, eyes flitting from one part of my head to another like she was searching desperately for any hair that might have survived the pink onslaught.

“I like it,” I told her quietly, firmly. “I like the color and the style. And I like knowing that I can’t hide anymore.”

That really got her attention. “Why would you feel like hiding?”

“Because I don’t fit in. I haven’t fit in for years. I’ve been the nerd at the front of the class, the one without many friends. But ever since I started with Dumb, people look at me differently.”

“You know the teachers will look at you differently too, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Maybe the teachers don’t really know me any better than the students.”

Mom ran her fingers through my hair, tucked it behind my ears. Half an hour before, I’d have batted her hands away, but I knew she was finally seeing me in the present, not as the girl I used to be, so I let her fingertips continue their gentle sweep.

“It’s going to take me some time to get used to everything, you know?” she said finally.

“I know. Me too.”

She nodded, continued gazing at me like she wanted to see right into my soul. It wasn’t going to be that easy, of course, but at least she was trying.

“What would you say to
Sleepless in Seattle
?” she asked, referring to our favorite romantic comedy, a cheesy ’90s chick flick with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.

“I’ve got homework.”

She rolled her eyes. “Screw homework. You’re already in so much trouble, just for once . . . screw it!”

I stared at her in amazement, then jumped up and slid the DVD into the player. Once I’d got it running, I sat beside her again, and this time crawled under the covers as well.

The movie started and I rested my eyes on the closed captions, but I didn’t bother to read them. Somehow I knew that I’d be able to watch the movie a million times in my life, but I might never again nestle into my mother’s side, feeling forgiven and so completely and utterly loved.

Dad had a plate of pancakes at the ready when he woke us the next morning, which was almost as surprising as the discovery that I’d spent the night in my parents’ bed. He didn’t even seem pissed about having spent the night on the sofa, although I felt guilty when I noticed how much trouble he had standing up straight.

I expected him to beat a hasty retreat once he’d delivered breakfast, but instead he shuffled on the spot like a puppy waiting to be taken outside. “Um, I, well . . . Never mind.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“I’ll tell you in a moment. I don’t want to scare you.”

“Scare me?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just go ahead and enjoy the pancakes. I’ll read you the newspaper headlines when you’re finished.”

The pancake stopped midway to my mouth. “Newspaper headlines?”

He nodded solemnly.

“I need to see them, Dad.”

“Believe me, I don’t think you want to. For instance, those parent groups that loved you so much ...”—I nodded encouragingly—“well, let’s just say they don’t love you anymore. In fact, you’ve been blacklisted. You’ve become antiheroes of the indie music scene.”

I was about to ask him what he knew about the indie music scene when Finn burst in carrying Grace. “YouTube’s gone over a hundred thousand views,” he exclaimed. “Can you believe it? A hundred thousand! Holy crap.”

Mom coughed. “Language, Finn. Grace is listening.”

A moment’s hesitation all around, and then . . . nothing. Finn didn’t take offense at being called out, and I didn’t mind being reminded that Grace could hear now. Something had changed—maybe because there were bigger issues to deal with.

“What are you talking about, Finn?” I asked.

“Your appearance on
Seattle Today
. There’s been over a hundred thousand views of it on YouTube.”

I had trouble getting my head around that. I had to visualize the number, with all those zeroes, just to reassure myself it was as enormous as it sounded. “How many of those were you?”

Finn looked away. “Seventeen, maybe. Possibly eighteen.”

“I watched it too,” added Dad. “And I know you’re not going to like me saying this, but I thought the behavior was disgraceful.”

I rolled my eyes. “No shit, Dad.”

Mom pursed her lips. “Language, Piper!” she scolded. “Grace is listening.”

“Not so hasty, young lady,” added Dad, wagging his finger for emphasis. “What I disliked was the lead singer—what’s his name?”

“Josh.”

“Yes, Josh. I don’t know about his history with Kallie, and frankly, I don’t want to know. But no self-respecting person should humiliate another like that. Period.”

I was tempted to mention what a coincidence it was that Dad knew Kallie’s name but not Josh’s, but it probably wouldn’t have impressed Mom. Besides, he had a point.

“That’s just the way he is,” I explained.

“Then you need to do something about it. You’re the manager, right?”

“Yeah. . . . I mean,
no!
Dumb is over. Isn’t it obvious?”

Dad furrowed his brow like I’d stumped him with the million-dollar question. “Why?” he asked, completely seriously.

“Because they imploded on live TV. They’ll probably never talk to each other again.”

“You mean . . . that whole thing wasn’t
planned
?”

“What are you talking about?”

Mom placed a hand on my arm. “Your father and I just thought . . . well, you know . . . maybe you’d staged it.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Not at all. Let’s face it, you chose a completely inappropriate song for the audience—and don’t pretend for a moment that wasn’t your idea—so we thought maybe you’d orchestrated a total meltdown as well.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“To generate buzz,” exploded Dad. “It’s the classic Sex Pistols maneuver.”

“The
what?
”

“Sex Pistols,” repeated Mom, even finger-spelling the words for me.

“They were a seventies punk band,” Dad continued. “Made headlines when they went on a British talk show and used the f-word. And not just once either. It was before tape delays, and no one had the sense to cut away to a commercial break.”

I believed Josh was capable of a lot of things, but something like that just didn’t ring true. “I don’t know, Dad. It didn’t exactly feel
planned
.”

Dad almost seemed disappointed. “Well, either way, it had the same effect. Finn’s been monitoring your stock value overnight, and right now, Dumb is a definite buy.”

“Oh God,” I moaned, curling up with a pillow. “So you’re saying I might have to keep this thing going?”

Dad shrugged. “That’s up to you. But if you do, you’re going to have to talk to Josh. His behavior was way out of line.”

“But—”

“No buts, Piper. Take charge. It’s your job.” With the sermon over, Dad’s finger relaxed. He reached into his pocket and tossed me my cell phone. “And while you’re at it, check your messages. That damn thing’s been beeping at me all night.”

“For the love of Pete! LANGUAGE! Grace is LISTENING,” implored Mom.

I glanced at Finn and we burst out laughing. I couldn’t stop myself. Then Dad and Grace joined in, and all I could do was pat Mom’s hand reassuringly as she shook her head.

When the laughter died down, I flicked open my cell phone and discovered that I had 143 text messages. I didn’t even know 143 people.

“Does that really say one forty-three?” asked Mom, leaning over.

“Yeah.”

I looked at the first text message. It was from Tiffany, the producer of
Seattle Today
: SHAMEFUL BEHAVIOR. CONTRACT VOIDED.

I felt my stomach flip, and pushed the plate of pancakes away, much to Dad’s chagrin and Finn’s delight, as he reached down with his free hand and shared one with Grace.

Mom leaned over and read the message. “Well, I can’t disagree with her about the first part, but I’ve seen that contract, and they’re not getting out of paying you.”

I leaned back against the pillows and closed my eyes. “Just let it go. It’s only three hundred dollars. Anyway, I don’t think I can deal with this right now.”

Mom cupped my chin, waited for me to open my eyes. “It’s your call, Piper, but Dumb has just gone big time. If you want to see this thing through, I can help.”

“How?”

“I’ll start by asking why no one cut to a commercial break when things started to fall apart. She and the director had so many chances, but they chose to stay with Dumb. And you know what I think? I think they did it because that show has been dying slowly for years, and you guys just gave it an injection of new life. Their viewership is about to take a giant leap, and I’ll bet they knew it too. This pathetic attempt to threaten you is just for show, a smokescreen to distract studio chiefs from something they’ve probably already worked out for themselves.”

I looked at the next text, a particularly delightful ditty from someone at school I didn’t even know.

“What does it say,” asked Dad.

“It says I’m completely screwed.”

“Language, Piper! Grace is ...” Mom rolled her eyes and waved the thought away.

I looked at Mom, her jaw set like she was preparing for battle. By the door, Finn clasped Grace to his hip as he shoveled pancake into her mouth. And loitering beside the bed was Dad, so desperate to make amends, to show that he truly cared. Even though I knew I should be in a state of mourning, or shock, or something appropriately depressed, I couldn’t help noticing that for the first time in months my dysfunctional family was together, behaving like a team. All I wanted was to go back to sleep, but I figured that if resuscitating Dumb and taking on
Seattle Today
gave Team Vaughan a mission, then bring it on. What did we have to lose?