Five Flavors of Dumb (25 page)

I smiled.
Yes, but we’re not done yet.

Finn narrowed his eyes, the hint of a smile teasing his mouth.
What do you have in mind?

I think we have a full house. Three boys, two girls, and I’m playing with house money.
I felt my heart racing, the memory of all those poker games I played with my dad suddenly fresh in my mind again.
Take a look at hotshot over there and tell me what he’s got.

In less than a second, Finn glanced across the table and made his decision. I could tell he was looking for more chips.
He’s flustered. Could be because he’s annoyed about being here, but I think he’s actually nervous. He blinks every time you sign, by the way . . . a real giveaway.

I wanted to hug Finn, but we needed to stay cool.
Good. Now keep signing to me.

“What’s going on here?” shouted Mike, presumably for my benefit. “Are you going to sign the contract or not?”

Is he angry, anxious, or both?
I asked.

Finn rubbed his chin.
Definitely both. He wants you to fold real bad.

“Hello!” Mike pawed at my arm—so obnoxious. I just kept ignoring him.

Okay, this is how I see it,
I signed.
Rude dude isn’t here just to see if we’re interested. The gig is three days away, and I think he’s desperate. He definitely didn’t drive all this way to get turned down.

Sounds reasonable,
agreed Finn.

Finn’s jaw slackened.
You’ve got to be kidding.

While Finn took a moment to compose himself, I pulled my laptop from my bag and refreshed our YouTube page, which was already onscreen. Thankfully the school’s wireless network reached outdoors. I glanced up in time to see Baz choke and Mike turn an inhuman shade of purple. He slammed his fist against the table and stood up.

Before he could leave, I turned the computer screen around and pointed to the view count. It was up to 223,747. I cocked an eyebrow expectantly, and tried to suppress a smile as Mike plopped back down. He turned to Finn.

“Two hundred dollars each. A thousand dollars total.”

“What about Piper?” exclaimed Finn, forgetting to pass along the latest bid. “What about her share?”

“She can take it out of the thousand bucks for all I care.”

$300 each, $1800 total,
I signed.

Finn relayed the latest bid, and I noticed that he didn’t seem anxious anymore.

As soon as Mike began to shake his head, I closed the computer and stood up in one swift movement. Sure enough, Mike reached across and grabbed my arm, holding me in place.

“Fine,” he said. “Bloody fine.”

Mike pulled out another contract and began filling in the revised figures. Two minutes later I signed it.

“Saturday. Get there at four p.m. and you might have half an hour to do a sound check. Then again, maybe not. We’ll see,” he sneered, desperate to reassert his power.

Baz waited for Mike to leave, then stared me down. “What was all that about?”

“Just doing my job, Baz. I thought you’d approve.”

“I did approve of the
original
offer, especially as I was going to get a fixing fee out of it.”

Oops. I hadn’t considered that Baz’s interest in all this might be personal. I patted his hands reassuringly. “Never mind. I won’t let you leave empty-handed.” Baz perked up. “I’ll make sure there’s a free ticket waiting for you on Saturday night.”

Baz shook off my hands, but as he left I got the feeling he was already laughing about the whole thing.

Finn turned to me then, an awestruck look on his face.
You are tougher than anyone I know. I am so glad you’re on my side.

I grinned like a fool.
I’ll always be on your side, Finn. I promise.

If I’d thought the meltdown on
Seattle Today
would count as the single most uncomfortable experience in Dumb’s history, I was wrong. As the band sloped across the student parking lot the next day—we’d been banned from meeting on school grounds, so I chose the most out-of-the-way place I could think of—the tension could have fueled a year’s worth of daytime soaps. Anarchic fans trailed every member (except Ed), but the biggest posse was reserved for Josh, whose late arrival was greeted with utter silence and a distinct lack of eye contact from his bandmates.

“I’m speaking first today,” I announced, just to be sure everyone knew who was in charge. “It won’t be long before a teacher sees us and makes us leave, so listen up. Yesterday I met with the manager of Grievous Bodily Harm, and negotiated three hundred dollars apiece for us to open for them this Saturday at the Showbox.”

Kallie’s eyes flicked up. “You’re kidding.”

Something told me she wasn’t talking about the money. “We can’t afford to say no, Kallie,” I said, never breaking eye contact. “You know we can’t.”

“But—” she began, then broke off. She looked like she might cry, but I knew she’d also sign on. I hated that she needed the money so badly.

“Okay, I have to know we’re still together,” I continued. “It’s all or nothing. A show of hands, please.”

Eyes stayed fixed to the ground as arms crept slowly upward. Eventually only one person dissented.

“Ed?” My voice caught in my throat, but Ed shook his head. “You have to,” I insisted, refusing to take my eyes off him.

Ed looked around at the other band members, then at the crowds of students staring at him unblinkingly as the future of Dumb rested in his hands. He continued to shake his head, but it was more an act of surrender than a refusal, and we both knew it. A moment later, he raised his hand.

“Okay, then,” I said, relieved. “Here’s the plan: Our set is still a ways from being ready, so practice by yourselves tonight and be ready to play tomorrow lunchtime. We’ll meet here in the parking lot.”

Tash stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Why bother? The teachers will never let us play here.”

“Yes, they will. Trust me.”

Tash raised an eyebrow, but I could tell it was out of respect, not suspicion. And then I recognized the same look on the faces of the forty or so kids who were watching the meeting.

“We need all of you here too,” I told them. “Nothing like a live audience to make us focus.” An apologetic cheer went up in response, but I knew I had their attention now, which was the main thing. “And finally, before we go, I think we all need to hear what Josh has to say to Kallie.”

Josh’s look of surprise was the most honest response I’d ever seen from him. “What are you talking about?”

I shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. How about an apology? How about a promise to stop stalking her?”

Tash snorted with laughter. Josh turned red. The portion of the crowd clearly marked as his entourage took a step back.

“Fine. I’m sorry I was rude to you, Kallie. And I’m sorry I sabotaged our performance.”

I’d been so certain Josh wouldn’t apologize that I wasn’t sure where to look when he’d finished. Neither was Kallie, although she nodded in grudging acceptance.

“And while I’m at it,” continued Josh, “I’m sorry that our performance has been viewed a quarter of a million times on YouTube.” He looked at me, steely-eyed. “And I’m sorry this notoriety has allowed Piper to start selling our songs for a buck apiece over the band’s MySpace page.”

Suddenly all eyes were on me. “Oh, yes. I was going to mention that,” I said.

“I’m sure you were. So how much have we raised so far?”

“I—I don’t know. I forgot to check.”

“You forgot?”

I nodded mutely.

“Well, you be sure to tell us as soon as you know. We don’t want anyone thinking you’re hiding something from us, and I’m certain Tash and Kallie will want to hear the good news.”

Will began to wander off before Josh had finished, and everyone else followed straight afterward. And even though I hadn’t done anything wrong, I felt like I’d just been found guilty of embezzlement. How did he do it?

Eventually it was just Josh and Ed and me. Ed signaled that he’d meet me at chess club, then ran off before he risked getting into any trouble. As the only member of Dumb to escape Tuesday’s misadventures without getting suspended, he was clearly eager to maintain his clean slate.

“You, Tash, and Kallie—quite the cozy threesome,” said Josh finally.

I ground my teeth. “Ever thought of putting your evil powers to good use?”

Josh shook his head. “No. Have you?” He laughed at my angry expression. “Look, we need to call a truce. Trying to humiliate me like that isn’t going to help Dumb move forward.”

“An honorable sentiment given that you tried to destroy the band two days ago.”

“Ooh, great comeback! Shame there’s no one around to hear it. But then, that’s the story of your life, isn’t it? So assured as long as things are going by the script, but you can’t improvise to save your life.”

“What are you talking about?”

“
Seattle Today
. I saw you hovering at the edge of the studio. You could have stopped things by telling the stage manager to cut the feed. You could have walked onstage and ended it yourself, but you didn’t. When things turned ugly, you froze—not a way to win anyone’s trust. And now everyone’s concerned about where the money from the song sales is going.”

“That’s bull. Everyone knows I’ll share it evenly.”

“Is that what you think their looks meant? Interesting.”

I wanted to hit him so badly. I could probably have gotten in a good right hook before he was able to defend himself. “What is it you really want, Josh?”

“I want to undo my worst mistake. I want us to let Kallie go.”

“I think the whole world got that message on Tuesday.”

“I know, and I really am sorry I did those things. I just got so mad about the way Kallie contributes nothing musically but gets all the attention. I was even willing to break up the band if that’s what it took to get rid of her, but I’m grateful to you for keeping us together.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, but the line sounded so genuine.
Josh Cooke: snake oil salesman.

“You know I’m not going to get rid of Kallie,” I said.

“And you know that Dumb is on life support if you don’t. We can only go so far with a guitarist who can’t play guitar. Record label executives can spot that kind of thing from a mile off.”

“Forget it, Josh. I’ve already had to threaten her to keep her in the band, and the only reason she’s agreed to keep going now is because she doesn’t want to let me down.”

“If she’s so ambivalent, she won’t be too disappointed when you tell her she’s out.”

“No. Dumb stays as it is. If you’ve gotten sick of one of the flavors, that’s your problem.”

“And if you don’t make it clear to Kallie that Saturday is her final show, I’ll be
your
problem too.”

I hesitated just a moment. “Oh, really? What are you going to do this time—set fire to the Showbox?”

Josh laughed. “You’re funny, but unimaginative. I can do so much better than that.”

Our first chess game only lasted seven minutes. I was furious at Josh, and channeled my anger into bludgeoning Ed in just fourteen moves. For his part, Ed seemed to be concentrating even more poorly than usual. He was constantly glancing at my hair, but looked away whenever I made eye contact. It was making me feel really self-conscious.

“Are you ZARKINFIB?” I asked.

Ed narrowed his eyes. “I thought that was Baz.”

“No.”

“Oh. But you can’t possibly . . . I mean, why would I do it?”

I shook my head because I was certain Ed was innocent, and besides, he wasn’t responsible for my foul mood. “So how long are you grounded?” I asked as we set up the board for another game.

“I’m not grounded,” said Ed, his eyes flicking from the chess pieces to my hair.

“How come?”

“I wasn’t the one fighting, remember? I was the one on the
bottom
of the pile. I think even on our low-def eighteen-inch TV my parents could work that out.”

That was enough to make me break a smile. “You have enlightened parents.”

“I do,” he agreed. “Plus, I didn’t exactly play hooky and get my hair dyed pink.”

“Oh, that,” I said, like I’d already forgotten about it, instead of spending every other second checking myself out in reflective surfaces. “I take it you don’t approve.”

“No, no. I like it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Ed paused, furrowed his brow.
That’s good,
he signed jerkily.

I was impressed he’d learned any signs at all, and immediately returned
Thank you.

I laughed, mostly because I was so touched, but I got the feeling Ed thought I was laughing at his attempts to sign. “You sign well,” I assured him. “And I’m glad you like my hair.”

“It’s good to see you emerge from your shell. You’ve been hiding too long.”

I felt myself blush, and I wasn’t sure how to reply, so I stared at the board and concentrated on that. Over the next minute—two moves each—I put Ed in checkmate. Fool’s mate, it’s called, because only a fool wouldn’t see it coming.

As I watched Ed struggling to come to terms with what I’d done, I couldn’t help laughing. I expected him to laugh too, but he just stared at the board like he suspected I’d cheated.