Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [43]
I pressed Send.
Over eighteen years, I had done so much to earn the trust and respect of my family and peers—a lifetime of noble works, you might say. And yet it took just eighteen minutes for me to perfect the art of lying, misleading, and perverting truth for personal profit.
Friday October 26, 1:23 a.m.: the moment Piper Vaughan developed a taste for being bad.
CHAPTER 27
Of everything on the Piper Manifesto, I’d thought the easiest part would be getting Finn to help. He knew he’d be stuck at school until Dumb’s rehearsal was over, so it seemed like a no-brainer, but he hemmed and hawed like it was actually a tough decision. I figured he was just playing an angle, getting me to beg, so I told him to forget it, which is when he finally said okay. But when he appeared at the rehearsal several hours later, he still looked genuinely conflicted. I wondered what was occupying his time after school ended. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.
On the bright side, Kallie showed up on time, and took her seat without glaring at me even once. Come to think of it, she didn’t look at me at all, but I couldn’t really blame her for that. With the cold war between her and Tash still ongoing, I made Finn sit between them—officially, so that he could hear them both; unofficially, so that he could keep them apart. Personally, I’d have been satisfied if all he did was prevent Tash from assaulting her playing partner, but having sacrificed whatever irresistible plans he’d previously made, Finn seemed eager to make his presence count.
I began by announcing to everyone that Dumb’s excursion into the world of soft rock had been a means to an end—and I’d already discovered 6,259 good ends—but that it was time to get back to doing what they did best. (No one begged me to reconsider.) Then I said we needed to concentrate on expanding our repertoire with mostly original songs, and maybe a couple of covers that we could get away with performing as long as we weren’t being recorded. (Everyone nodded like this sort of made sense.) Finally, I asked if anyone had written a song that Dumb could work on. Josh said that he and Will had collaborated on nine songs, and that three of them were “amazing.”
Josh’s definition of collaboration was loose, to say the least. Will had clearly composed the songs single-handedly—and even had sheet music to prove it—while Josh contributed angry, stream-of-consciousness lyrics that justified his penchant for screaming into microphones. Once Will had handed out the music, he and Josh performed their favorite “composition” as a duet, including some high-pitched wailing that I think was meant to simulate a guitar solo. When silence prevailed three minutes later, Ed was evidently raring to go, while Tash and Kallie simply looked confused, leaning forward for a better look at the chord symbols decorating the page like hieroglyphics. As for Finn, he seemed to be having trouble coming to terms with the fact that they were leaning across him, Kallie’s hair draped over his lap.
“Here,” he said, reaching for Kallie’s guitar like he didn’t trust himself to stay conscious if she remained there any longer. “It’s like this.”
Finn played the chords perfectly, looking at Tash then Kallie to show them how simple it was. And I didn’t know he’d nailed it because I could hear the chords; I knew it because, for a split second, Josh, Will, Tash, and Kallie looked up with expressions of pure awe.
By the time Finn had demonstrated the fingerings three more times, Kallie seemed reluctant to take her instrument back. Even Tash hesitated, afraid of failing Finn’s pop quiz. But Finn sat back like a proud grandparent, generous in his praise, gentle in his criticism, always coaxing more from the stage-struck duo. Meanwhile, Ed asked Josh