Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [3]
See, deafness is complicated. I used to hear perfectly, but when I was six my hearing began to fail. It was a gradual process, but undeniable; and not completely unexpected, as my mom’s parents were both deaf. When I could only follow conversations by lip-reading, my parents shelled out a few thousand dollars for hearing aids, but they work best when I’m talking to one person in a quiet place. The constant noise of school is not conducive to hearing aid use, which is why I still prefer to sign whenever I can. Finn knew this, of course, but that didn’t stop him from speaking to me most of the time. Which is how I knew he was sucking up to me. Which meant that, yes . . . he’d screwed up again.
Barely ten seconds later, Mr. Belson—reluctant math teacher yet enthusiastic mascot of the school chess club—waddled through the door and made a beeline for my car. He came to an abrupt halt a few feet from Finn, but his enormous stomach continued to wobble. I could tell by his heightened color and incensed expression that the words were going to be shouted.
“I saw you in that room, Vaughan!”
Beside me, Finn shrank lower on the trunk.
“Admit it. You were there.”
I have to say, someone who breaks as many rules as Finn really ought to work on perfecting a look of innocence, or defiance, or something. All he seems to have mastered is the deer-in-the-headlights look.
I conjured a broad smile. “Hello, Mr. Belson,” I said.
He did a double take. “Oh, hello, Ms. Vaughan. What are you doing here?”
“Finn is my brother.”
“Him?” Belson shuffled uncomfortably on the spot. “Surely not. It can’t be true.”
“Believe me, Mr. Belson, it still takes me by surprise sometimes.”
Belson looked genuinely sympathetic. “Well, I’m sorry to say your brother was engaging in nefarious after-school activities.”
Of course he was, I wanted to say, but if I did, then we’d be here another hour while my parents were summoned to appear before the principal.
“Finn and I have been here ever since school ended, Mr. Belson,” I said innocently.
“That’s patently untrue. I saw him in that room.”
“It, uh . . . must have been someone else.” Despite years of covering for Finn’s misdeeds, I still felt my heartbeat quicken as the lie dribbled out.
Belson wiped the sweat off his forehead with a carefully folded paper napkin. “Don’t do this, Ms. Vaughan. You’re an excellent student. And an exceptional chess club captain, I might add. Don’t jeopardize your own reputation to cover for him.”
I shrugged, allowed the silence to linger. After all, if there was one area that I was extremely experienced in, it was prolonged silences.
Belson remained frozen to the spot, pondering his next move. Eventually he replaced the napkin in his pocket with a measured gesture and stared directly at Finn.
“You’ve only been here a month, Vaughan. The fact that I’m already onto you is an ominous sign for your future at our school. Your next transgression will result in suspension, you understand? There’s no three-strike rule here.”
He didn’t wait for a response, just spun around with the grace of the Marshmallow Man and hurried back to resume patrolling the school hallways.
I’ll make it up to you, signed Finn, his movements slower now, calmer.
What were you doing? I shot back.
Nothing. Just hanging out.
With all your new friends, I assume.
He looked away and refused to take the bait. Or maybe he was just trying to spare my feelings, refusing to confirm that one month into high school he was already more popular than me.
I got into the car and shoved the key in the ignition. I wanted to believe that I was pissed about having to lie to Belson, but really, that wasn’t it at all. I was just pissed at Finn . . . for serially screwing up and always living to tell the tale; for knowing he could always count on me to bail him out. It was all so predictable.