Five Flavors of Dumb (26 page)

“How did you do that?” he asked.

“It’s just fool’s mate.”

“What’s fool’s mate?”

I narrowed my eyes, waited for him to say he was kidding. “It’s just, well . . . you know . . . fool’s mate. You know what that is, right?”

He looked hurt. “No, Piper. I don’t.”

“How can you play chess this long and not know that?”

“I guess I’m slow.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I added quickly. “It’s just . . . you spend so long playing, aren’t you interested in knowing about classic maneuvers, and defensive plays?”

Ed stared at his pieces for a moment and then toppled his king roughly.

“I’m sorry, Ed. I figured you weren’t paying attention.”

He stood up and grabbed his bag. “Yeah, well, at least I’m not alone, then.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“God, Piper. Dumb died on
Seattle Today
. Anyone could see that. And the only reason my parents didn’t ground me is because I promised them the band was over.”

“Why do they care?”

“Are you serious? They care because my grades are falling, and they never see me anymore. I have an audition at Peabody in the middle of February, but I don’t even have time to practice. I haven’t had a marimba lesson in a month.”

“So why did you say you want to keep the band going?” I shot back defensively.

“I didn’t, at first. But then you made me, and I didn’t want to let you down.”

“So everything is
my
fault?”

Ed shook his head. “Look, Piper, however bad the past two days have been for you, they’ve been a whole lot worse for me. A quarter of a million people have watched me getting my ass whipped on YouTube. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I waited by your car for an hour after the security guards threw me out of the studio. You were supposed to give me a ride back to school, but you never showed up. I caught a bus, but school was almost over, so they gave me my first ever detention.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”

“And until now you hadn’t thought about it either.”

He was right, of course, and I felt terrible. “I really am sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, too decent to remain angry even when it was called for. He looked at the chessboard. “Look, I didn’t ask for any of this. All I wanted was ...”

“What?”

His mouth was open, but the words just weren’t there. “Nothing.” He didn’t look back on his way out the door.

It was the first time we’d argued. And something told me it had nothing to do with my hair.

There was only one message in my in-box that afternoon when I got home, but it was from Marissa, so I opened it right away. I figured that I might as well deal with all fractured friendships on the same day.

Surprisingly the e-mail was an apology—for not being in touch, for not listening better, for not realizing how much the band mattered to me. Most of all, it was to check that I was okay. I sent a reply asking her to IM me as soon as she got home, and half an hour later a message appeared on the screen.

Marissa asked me about the
Seattle Today
incident. Her questions were really detailed too, like she’d watched the YouTube footage at least a dozen times. When I said the band was still together, she seemed pleased rather than shocked. Then she said that Ed looked cooler now that his braces had been removed.

I sat bolt upright, feeling like a coach doused in Gatorade when the game has been won.

I tried to stop my hands from shaking.

I shifted to the browser, loaded ooVoo, and made the connection with Marissa. A few seconds later she appeared on my screen, and then there was nothing but stillness and silence.

It was Marissa, but not the Marissa I remembered. Gone was the mousy brown hair, replaced by cascading blond curls. She wore dangly earrings and a chunky necklace color-coordinated with her form-fitting flower-print T-shirt. Unless the color was way off on my laptop screen, she wore half a cosmetics store on her face. She looked like she’d undergone a complete makeover with one of Kallie’s supermodel wannabes, or more likely, Donna Stevens’s stylist.

You look different,
we signed simultaneously, then laughed nervously.

You look great,
I signed, realizing that my face had probably already betrayed my surprise, and, also, my disappointment that she’d changed so much without me.

Silence. I could feel her slipping away from me with every second that passed, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know who she was anymore. And I knew Marissa was thinking the same thing, right up to the moment that she raised a hand to her face and brushed away a tear.

I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined everything,
she signed.

Marissa disappeared for a moment and returned with a tissue. She dabbed her eyes gently, careful not to disturb the artfully applied mascara and eyeliner.
My computer was never broken. I just didn’t want you to see me.

I nodded. There didn’t seem to be any point in lying.

A part of me wondered if she might not blend in even more now than before. But I couldn’t blame her for wanting to change. Anonymity hadn’t been a problem as long as we’d had each other—hiding out together had barely felt like hiding at all—but apart, it became unbearable. I understood that completely. I really did.

You’re beautiful,
I said.

As Marissa peered at me through her tears, I got the feeling she was looking at my hair.

Thanks.
Marissa smiled bravely.
So have you and Ed hooked up yet?

Marissa rolled her eyes and cocked an eyebrow at the same time—a new gesture in her repertoire.
How could you not know?

I just didn’t.
I shrugged.
I wish you’d told me.

Marissa smiled ruefully.
Torture. I’m not sure how he could have been any more obvious. You’re deaf, but there’s no excuse for being blind as well.

I nodded, accepting the criticism. But inside I felt shaken up. The old Marissa was kinder, gentler than that. Maybe her makeover wasn’t limited to the outside.

I miss you,
she signed, summoning one last bittersweet smile.

I miss you too,
I signed back. But I worried that what we really missed were versions of each other that might no longer exist. And as I closed the computer, I wondered what it meant that my thoughts had already turned to making up with Ed, not Marissa.

“Anyone want a latte?” I asked as I left the dinner table. I needed to see Ed, and right away.

Mom looked at me like I’d grown an extra head. “Where are you going to get a latte?”

“Coffee Crew.”

“You’re grounded.”

“It’s just a cup of coffee.”

Dad stood up. “Actually, I’d like one too. But Mom’s right, you’re grounded. So I come as well, and I drive.”

Mom’s eyebrows lifted to her hairline. “Hold on a minute, I . . . Oh, heck, just bring me one too.”

Before she could change her mind, I dashed outside and waited for Dad to join me.

Five minutes later, we pulled up in front of Coffee Crew. “That looks like Ed Chen,” Dad said, looking through the shop windows.

I was about to feign ignorance when something dawned on me. “How do you know Ed?”

“He’s taking the same signing course as me.” Dad narrowed his eyes, deep in thought. “He’s the drummer in your band, right?”

I tried to answer, but I couldn’t get past the fact that Ed was learning to sign . . . for
me
.

Dad leaned back in his seat, smiling like the pieces of the puzzle had just fallen into place. “All right. I want a double tall two-percent. Same for Mom. I’ve got to pick up some milk from the grocery store. I’ll be back in half an hour, okay?”

I swallowed hard. “Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome. . . . Oh, and Piper,” he added, “don’t forget the coffees. Crucial for our alibi.”

I snorted and jumped out of the car, then waited a couple seconds while he drove away.

Ed was brushing coffee grounds off the counter when I walked in, and hesitated when he saw me. When he resumed, he seemed to be moving slower than before.

“Can we talk, Ed?”

He dropped the grounds into the trash and turned to face me. “What about?”

I picked up a green Magic 8-Ball on the counter and read my fortune:
Buy pork bellies
. Not likely.

Ed handed me a yellow 8-Ball with a smiley face instead. “Try this one.”

I turned it over and read the message:
You’re fantastic
. I felt my face redden, like I’d always dreamed of being admired by a Magic 8-Ball.

“What does it say?” he asked.

I swallowed. “It says I’ve been incredibly dumb.”

Ed bit his lip. “Seems a bit harsh to me.”

I looked up, fixed his eyes. “Not really.”

He rested his hands on the counter. They were only inches from mine. I wanted to touch them.

“You were wrong about the distance from Peabody to Gallaudet,” I told him. “I looked it up. It’s actually 36.98 miles.”

“I was rounding up.”

“The gas will be expensive.”

“Worth every penny.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me how you felt?”

Ed turned away, breaking the connection. After a glance at his watch he switched off the OPEN sign. Then he lingered beside the espresso machine. “What can I get you?” he asked.

I reached across the counter and placed my hand on his arm, made him face me again. “Don’t do that, Ed. I may be deaf, but I’ll listen to everything you have to say.”

He removed a filter from the machine, pounded it against a container to knock the coffee grounds out.

“Okay,” I tried again. “Let’s do it this way. I’ll be Ed, and I’ll tell you how things really are. Just stop me when I get something wrong.” Ed shrugged in tacit agreement. “So, first off, I don’t actually like chess. In fact, I hate it. And in spite of an IQ that would place me in Mensa, I completely suck at it.” Ed stifled a laugh. “Good. Piper’s getting warmer. . . . So anyway, the reason I started playing is because it was the only way I could get Piper away from her clique. Except she didn’t know that, because she thinks the only cliques are ones everyone else wants to join.” Ed’s head bobbed up and down like it was agreeing with me without his consent. “And I even joined her freaky rock band, and saved it on several occasions, without so much as a word of thanks from that skanky ho manager.”

Ed spun around, palm raised. “Now you’re putting words in my mouth.”

“More or less, yeah,” I agreed. “Why? Did I get something wrong?”

He smiled, cleaned the filter with a cloth, and placed it back in the machine. Then he turned to face me again, to make it easier to read his lips, even though he wasn’t ready for eye contact just yet. “I really like you, Piper. I’ve liked you for a long time. . . . I like being near you.”

“Then why didn’t you say so?”

“Because I was nervous, I guess. About what you’d say if . . . if I asked you out.”

I was rocked by the urge to kiss him and punch him for wasting so much time. “I’d say yes, Ed. Definitely yes.”

He started tapping the counter, his nerves palpable in the cozy surroundings of the coffee shop. “Look, if you’re going to be hanging around here when I’m trying to close up, you need to learn to make your own coffee,” he said, pretending to be stern. “Come around the counter and I’ll show you how.”

I sighed, realizing yet again that neither of us had said what needed to be said. I wondered if we ever would.

Ed positioned me in front of the espresso machine and stood behind me. I turned my head, tried to begin the only conversation I cared about, but he brought a finger to his lips, silencing me. As he reached around me, I felt his breath across my ear and his chest pressing against my back. I held my breath as his hands rested over mine.