Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [37]
She adjusted her shoulder bag (which may not have been a designer label after all). “I know managing Dumb must be very difficult,” she said, “but in the past week I’ve had my guitar unplugged during a recording session, and been cussed out by Tash. Now you’re threatening to sue me if I quit. I don’t know what to do.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
“Me too. But I still want you to know that I think you’re a really good manager. And I don’t hate you at all. I don’t even hate you for having blond hair, and gorgeous blue eyes, and a chest people can actually see. Or for the way people listen when you open your mouth.” She began tearing up again. “You’re deaf . . . but I may as well be dumb.”
She didn’t wait for a response before leaving, but that was just as well—nothing I could have said would have made things right.
I leaned over the sink beside me, turned on the faucet, and splashed my face with cold water. Her accusations had been uncomfortably spot-on, yet the line that kept replaying was the one about my appearance. I tried to dismiss her observations, pretend that in the heat of the moment she’d exaggerated for effect, but when I looked in the mirror I saw the same pale blue eyes that she had seen. And while my dirty blond hair wasn’t going to turn any heads, it could have been worse. Even my boobs were at least a cup size larger than Kallie’s. None of it changed who I was—I was as unspectacular as before—but I couldn’t ignore the fact that Kallie had really looked at me, and in doing so had found herself lacking. I grabbed a paper towel and dried my face before I was tempted to undertake any more self-analysis in the mirror.
I waited a couple minutes before leaving the bathroom. I wanted to be sure that Kallie had gone, and I hoped the rest of the foyer had emptied too. But when I pushed open the door I found Finn and Belson engaged in another heated debate.
Finn spun around and pointed at me, like he’d just delivered a decisive blow. For his part, Belson staggered back like a punch-drunk boxer.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I told Mr. Belson I was waiting for you, but he gave me detention,” blurted Finn, signing the entire sentence as well just to be sure I got it.
I couldn’t hide my shock. “Mr. Belson?”
Belson furrowed his brow. “He’s loitering on school premises again, listening at the girls’ bathroom. I just thought ...” He ran out of steam, clearly unsure exactly what he had thought. “I’ve got my eye on you, Vaughan.” He waggled a finger at Finn as he shuffled away.
I waited until we were completely alone. Were you really listening? I signed. Finn nodded. You’re a pervert.
“I’d rather be a pervert than whatever you are,” he shot back, no longer even making the pretense of signing.
I’m not discussing this.
I turned away from him, but he grabbed my arm and spun me around. “Some manager you’ve turned out to be. Kallie gets blistered by the other members of the band, and you go after her instead of them.”
You don’t know anything about it.
“I know enough.”
Don’t tell me how to do my job.
Finn closed his eyes, shook his head slowly. “Whatever. Let’s just go home.”
“Whatever,” I droned. “You can walk.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You can’t do that. It’s not your car.”
“Then drive yourself.” I tossed the keys at his feet.
Finn bent down and picked them up, but his eyes never left me. He wanted to say more, that was obvious, but he had the self-restraint to clamp his jaw shut and stomp away.
I hung around after he left, waiting for him to return and apologize. The lights in the foyer dimmed, and I was aware of how completely the school had emptied, all the pent-up energy of another stressful day sucked out in one efficient maneuver. I felt so tired. I just wanted to go home.
When Finn didn’t come back after thirty seconds, I stepped outside. It occurred to me he’d probably decided to run home, knowing that without the keys I’d have to traipse after him. Quite a smart plan, actually; I should’ve thought of it.
But I was mistaken. Instead, in the far corner of