Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [52]
I let the figure hang in the air, allowed myself to enjoy the stunned silence that signified the band’s complete approval.
Will shook his head. “Not worth it.”
Tash was up in a second. “Speak for yourself. That’s fifty dollars each—sounds like plenty of good reasons to play.”
Kallie raised her hand. “I agree with Tash.”
“Musically, it makes no sense,” moped Will. Then he allowed his curtains of hair to fall back across his face, like a turtle retreating into its shell.
Josh stepped forward, placed an arm on his brother’s shoulder while his eyes remained fixed on Kallie. “Kallie’s right, Will. It’s worth it for an hour.”
Kallie nodded appreciatively, and a moment later Josh’s arm had been transferred to her shoulder instead. She didn’t pull away, but her body tensed, as though his constant physical attention was as welcome as a root canal. Josh noticed it too, and his smile faltered, but he didn’t remove his arm, and the awkwardness of the interaction grew steadily for several seconds.
“We need to practice,” murmured Kallie, her eyes closed.
Josh finally took the cue and withdrew his arm reluctantly. “Yeah, you do.” He ambled to his place at the front of the band. “By the way, Tash, nice costume, but Halloween was yesterday.”
“Go screw yourself, Josh.”
“Natasha, Natasha,” tutted Josh. “Just as rude as ever. After all the time you and Kallie have spent hanging out this week, I figured some of her prim and proper behavior would’ve rubbed off on you.”
“Let it go,” she warned.
“Okay, then,” I interjected, anxious to get things back on track. “The majority opinion seems to be that we’ll accept the gig.” (It didn’t seem prudent to mention that the majority opinion was irrelevant, since I’d already accepted and mailed back the Seattle Today contract; I’d even convinced Mom to glance through it first.) “However, Will has a point. We can’t go on selling ourselves as a soft rock band for overprotective parents. It was a means to an end, that’s all, but it’s not who you are, and it’s not who you want to be. I meant what I said last week. You’re hard rock, for real. And you’re going to stay that way from now on.”
Tash shook her head. “They’ll never let us play our real stuff on Seattle Today.”
“Not if we tell them ahead of time, no. But it’s a live show, which gives them a choice: Stop the show or let you finish. And from what I’ve read about the host, there’s no way she’ll pull the plug.” Even Tash seemed satisfied with that argument. “And let’s be honest—there’s nothing like live TV to send a message. By the time you’re done, I’m betting our new target audience will have heard you loud and clear.”
I’d never thought of myself as the pep-talk-giving type, although the band seemed to be hanging so intently on my every word that I had to remind them we had gathered for a rehearsal. In particular, Will’s mouth had stretched into the uncharacteristic shape of a smile. He was a boy of few words, but I understood that look just fine.
Without another word, Ed and Finn took over, and Dumb did their finest impersonation of a well-oiled machine. From time to time, I even glanced up from my laptop to watch the Boy Wonders at work, marveling at their confidence, the way they isolated mistakes and corrected them without ever making the perpetrator seem nervous. Even Kallie seemed energized by Finn’s words of advice, laying into her guitar strings with uncharacteristic vigor before remembering that she was the band’s resident wallflower.
By the time Dumb nailed “Look What the Cat Dragged In,” I had downloaded more photos and links to our website, taken the bold step of sending MP3s of Dumb’s performances to local concert venues, and written to Baz to say we’d like to use the studio again on Sunday. I’d even had time to check our MySpace page, which is how I found a new message from ZARKINFIB: ur a quick study, but don’t forget to enjoy the ride. let hendrix help you at 2010 s jackson
As before, I was shocked to discover the message, but this time it was balanced by irresistible curiosity.