Five Flavors of Dumb (3 page)

As it turned out, that’s exactly what he was doing. They’d just been released from suspension for the day, and a motley assortment of a dozen or so hangers-on had gathered to cheer them. They loitered in the hallway outside the principal’s office, presumably to draw attention to themselves, although the principal never emerged. Maybe he was concerned for his safety.

Sensible guy.

At first I kept my distance, so that teachers emerging from their lounge would know that I wasn’t connected to the motley crew. But after a few minutes I grew tired of waiting. I signaled to Finn that it was time to leave, but he ignored me. I stepped forward and was about to make a grab for him when Josh Cooke glanced up and waved in my direction. He flashed a smile and I waved back enthusiastically, touched that he must have noticed I was one of the last people to abandon Dumb the day before.

Josh saw me waving and looked confused, then amused as he pointed at something behind me. I spun around and came face-to-face with blazingly gorgeous Kallie Sims, in her trademark miniskirt and knee-high brown leather boots. Designer labels flashed from every item of clothing, like sponsors jostling for space on a winning racecar. Of course Josh wasn’t waving at me. Why would any guy notice me when they could be ogling her instead?

Again I signaled to Finn that it was time to go, and again he ignored me. He knew I’d be too self-conscious to call out to him in such a public place, so all I could do was wait while he fawned over the mini-celebs of Dumb. Since he had no more aspirations in life than to get expelled and play guitar in a rock band, they probably seemed like ideal role models.

I think I’d have stayed rooted to the spot forever if Josh hadn’t looked over and waved again, and I hadn’t accidentally waved back again, at which point he (again) signaled to Kallie just behind me, and she responded with that stupid half smile like she’d just accidentally Botoxed her mouth shut—which seemed completely plausible, by the way.

I guess I must have turned even redder than usual, because Kallie looked almost sympathetic as she glanced my way. Maybe she’d heard the rumor about me never having had a boyfriend. Maybe she knew it was true.

I turned away and tried to focus on a small spot of crumbling wall, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from twitching around defensively. Dumb were evidently enjoying their newfound celebrity, and Finn was enjoying their attention. In fact, everybody treated Finn like a long-lost best buddy, like it didn’t matter that he was just a freshman. He even gave their amplifiers a thorough checking out, and it took me a moment to realize they must have purchased new amps, like these things were practically disposable; maybe they were, for parents as rich as Josh and Will’s. I thought of my own situation—friendless at school, dysfunctional home life, freshly emptied college fund—and something just snapped.

Here’s a bizarre fact: When you stride up to a group of people and start signing in exaggerated gestures, conversation stops. It’s completely counterintuitive really, since they could keep talking and it wouldn’t interfere with my signing at all. But I knew they’d shut up, and I knew Finn would be embarrassed. At that moment, both situations seemed ideal.

Finn didn’t move, wouldn’t even make eye contact.

“What did she just say?” asked Josh, clearly unaware that I could understand him without an interpreter. (After sharing the same classes for the past three years, you’d think he’d have noticed.)

“She didn’t say anything,” said Finn.

That was the final straw.
Tell them they’re crap,
I signed.

“What did she say now?” pressed Josh.

Finn looked up at me like he truly hated my guts. “She says you’re . . . not living up to your potential.”

I raised my eyebrows. Apparently Finn had a gift for improvising. Who knew?

“She seemed to like us when we performed yesterday morning,” Josh replied.

All style and no substance,
I countered, not waiting for Finn to pass along Josh’s words.
Complete amateurs.

At this point, Finn started relaying my comments verbatim. He probably figured it would increase the odds of Dumb beating the crap out of me right there and then.

But Josh was too smart for that. If he was going down, it was going to be in a war of words.

“Amateurs, huh?” he said, facing me directly now. “And how do you figure that?”

Finn sighed, passed along the message.

“Course not. We only won the Battle three days ago.”

Finn shook his head, mumbled something.

“We did an interview on the University of Washington’s unofficial radio station last night.”

I wasn’t even aware the university had an
official
station.
How much did they pay you?

Finn’s mouth seemed reluctant to open and close. His shoulders slumped even more than usual. I got the feeling he’d never again be late for his ride home.

“Nothing. It’s about exposure. You don’t make money while you’re breaking out.”

I laughed in what I hoped was a mocking tone.

Tash shoved in front of Josh, the green spikes in her hair bristling. She flared her nostrils at me in an unflatteringly unfeminine way and turned to Finn, too unobservant to notice I’d been lip-reading all along.

“So, what—she thinks she could get us paid for everything, is that it?”

Finn swallowed hard. “She says . . . yes.”

Tash narrowed her eyes, and I’d swear her daubed-on eyeliner cracked like one of those ancient oil paintings in museums.

“Whatever. There’s no way ...”

She turned away. I couldn’t lip-read anymore, and her words became indistinct—a really obnoxious thing to do to someone who’s hard of hearing.

I figured she was telling Josh and Will to ignore me, or pummel me, or puncture my tires and set fire to my car or something. But I could also tell from their expressions that what I’d said was NEWS to them, and seriously interesting news at that. As she turned back to face me, even Tash seemed unsure, the metal jewelry peppering her heavily accessorized face twitching like I’d piqued her interest. And flanking them on every side was an ever-growing legion of groupies, all of them staring at me unblinkingly, like they were looking at me for the first time, like I was someone they’d never met before rather than someone they’d simply ignored.

And that was the moment my adrenaline shot of bravado expired. For some reason, they obviously expected me to speak next, only what more could I say? Even if what I’d said was true, I was just venting, and continuing seemed increasingly risky, if not masochistic. Suddenly the eyes trained on me seemed bright with expectation, and I was blinded by the glare.

I turned and strode away, not looking at anyone or anything except the main door. My hand was already shoved deep in my pocket, fingers clasped around the car key that would hasten my escape. I didn’t even need to wait for Finn; he was jogging along beside me, as eager to get away as I was.

We tumbled into the car, and I only dropped my keys once before jamming them into the ignition. But somewhere around the twelfth or thirteenth time the engine turned over without starting, I caught a glimpse of Josh, Will, and Tash in my rearview mirror. I exhaled slowly, gave up trying to start the car, and waited.

Josh tapped on the driver’s-side window, and there wasn’t any point in pretending I didn’t know he was there. I gripped the door frame for support as I stepped out of the car, wondering if they’d really dare to beat the crap out of me on school grounds.

Josh glanced at his brother and Tash, then turned his blazing blue eyes directly at me. I couldn’t look away.

“Okay,” he said. “Here’s the deal: You’ve got one month to get us a paying gig. We’ll split the money with you—four ways. Do that and you can be our manager, even when we get big.”

I knew I should be laughing. The Piper of five minutes before would have snorted, rolled her eyes, and made grand, sarcastic signs about the unlikelihood of them even making it small, let alone big. But that was five minutes ago. The Piper of the present was suddenly timid and utterly mute. This was a crazy situation in need of immediate resolution, but what was there to say? Josh hadn’t even asked me, he’d
told
me this was my job. And even though it would have seemed completely appropriate for the band to break down in bone-rattling laughter right there and then, they didn’t. They just stared at me like we’d signed a pact in blood. Suddenly our futures were bound together in a way that was utterly preposterous.

Josh wrote down a series of letters on a scrap of paper and handed it to me.

“Someone downloaded our performance onto YouTube. Check it out. Tell us what we need to do to be more marketable. We’re in this for real. We’ll listen to what you say . . . or, you know, sign.”

I took the paper and studied the website address. I tried to summon the energy for a final refusal, but Josh was smiling his irresistibly large smile, eyes gazing at me and me alone, and I couldn’t do it. Without Kallie behind me I had his undivided attention, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel very gratifying indeed.

“You’re smart, Piper. Everyone knows it. And right now we’re too busy to be organizing gigs, whereas you probably have loads of free time, right?”

I sighed, but nodded. What was the point in denying it?

“If anyone can do this, Piper, it’s you. Let’s get famous . . . make some money.”

For someone who’d never spoken to me before, Josh sure had strong opinions on my suitability for the job. What’s more, he seemed to have a higher opinion of me than my own father, and was offering to let me make money, rather than siphoning it away from my Gallaudet fund. And while I knew that making money wasn’t a sure thing, something told me that if blind self-confidence was an indicator of future success, maybe Dumb was destined for greatness after all.

I looked at the three bandmates again, thought back to the scene outside the principal’s office and the crowd of groupies fawning over them like their existence on earth somehow mattered. Sure, I knew I’d never orbit the same social sphere as Josh, Will, and Tash, but knowing they’d begin to acknowledge me around school was another appealing perk. I didn’t even pause to consider what that said about me; I simply took Josh’s hand and shook it like I was trying to rip his arm off.

Tash immediately turned and sloped away, kicking the ground wildly. And even though I got the feeling Josh’s plan had received one dissenting vote, I didn’t really care.

Finally, Will looked up for the first time. I’d almost forgotten he was there too. Winding curtains of hair behind each ear, he raised his tired-looking eyes, like he’d just figured out that if I was going to be his manager, he probably ought to be able to recognize me. After much consideration, he offered his hand in painful slow motion, presumably for us to shake on our new agreement. His palm felt cold and clammy.

“Um . . . we’re Dumb,” he said.

I shook his hand and nodded again and again and again.

Never a truer word had been spoken.

I figured I could do worse than ask Dad for advice. For years he’d compensated for his hideously boring job by immersing himself in rock music. Not that he played it for me anymore, of course—his vinyl LPs were collector’s items, and he probably assumed it would be a waste of time for someone in my “condition” anyway—but he owed me after yesterday’s remarks, and I was ready to proffer an olive branch.

He was standing before the stove, stirring a large pot of unidentifiable meat. Whatever the animal had once been, parts of it were now spattered across his starched chinos and polo shirt, and I couldn’t help wondering when he was finally going to trade them in for sweatpants and T-shirt. I mean, it wasn’t like he was fooling anyone—everyone knew his brokerage firm had filed for bankruptcy, offering not a penny in severance pay to its long-suffering employees. Unfortunately, his business experience hadn’t exactly prepared him for his new role as Mr. Mom either.

I tried to get a better look at the contents of the pot, then thought better of it. I’d say it smelled like crap, but
that
particular odor was emanating from Grace, who lolled around in her bouncy chair by the kitchen table.

I tapped Dad on the shoulder.
Grace pooped,
I signed, gripping my right thumb with my left hand and then pulling it out—one of my favorite descriptive signs.

Signing was a bad way to start our conversation, as Dad predictably shrugged and looked confused.

“Grace has a poopy diaper,” I repeated, this time out loud so he’d understand.

He still looked puzzled. “How do you know?”

“It’s my hearing that’s impaired, not my sense of smell.”

I meant it to come out funny, but Dad must have thought I was being snarky. He sighed dramatically and hustled Grace out of the buckles. A moment later he stuck a finger under her onesie and grimaced.

“Damn. I just changed it.”

“Do you want me to do it?”

“No, Piper,” he snapped. “I’m perfectly capable of changing a diaper, thank you very much.”

I shrunk back as he held her at arm’s length and dumped her onto the changing table in the hallway. “I was just offering. That’s all,” I said quietly.

Dad didn’t reply, just huffed and puffed his way through the diaper change like it was a full-contact sport. He didn’t even notice Grace kicking her feet into the remnants of her poopy diaper, and when he tried to corral her feet she used her lightning-fast ninja reflexes to smear poop across his shirt, then belly-laughed at his outraged response. It was such an infectious, uninhibited laugh that I almost busted out chuckling too. But then I caught sight of Dad’s face. In the end I just watched from the doorway, knowing how much he needed my help, but also how much he needed me not to help. Life in the business world must have seemed so much saner.