Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [66]
Without a word, Tash and Kallie and I marched off the set, ignoring Donna’s wild gestures and threats of retribution. For the first time we were sisters together, and nobody and nothing could stop us. A crowd had clustered in the lobby, eyes glued to the monitors relaying events from the studio, but it parted when we arrived. With looks of surprise, awe, and disgust, they watched us leave the mayhem behind.
As we paraded through the glass doors and embraced the stiff salt breeze, I sensed that all eyes were drawn to Kallie, like always, but she didn’t seem to notice. I wondered what she was thinking. Did she need Tash and me to apologize for all the cruel things we’d said? If so, she wasn’t letting on.
All the way to Pike Place Market no one said a word, but with every step the past felt more distant. We moved as one body, shared a single mind, and even when the streets grew busier we never unlocked our arms—just forged ahead like we owned the city. And for those few precious minutes, hip to hip like the Three Musketeers, I think that, just maybe, we really did.
CHAPTER 37
When I was little, Mom would take me to Pike Place Market for fresh fruit and vegetables, and sometimes a bouquet of flowers to celebrate the weekend. We used to watch the fishmongers tease tourists with their fish-throwing routine, and breathe in the chaos of thousands of bodies crammed into a space made for hundreds. Pike Place always seemed alive, the beating heart of downtown. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been there.
Tash pulled us into a café, ordered three lattes and paid up-front. There was no use in arguing with her—this was as close as she’d ever come to apologizing for treating Kallie like crap, and we all knew it.
We huddled at a table next to a bay of windows. A month before, Tash and Kallie would have piled onto seats without a thought for me, but now they sat beside each other on one side, with me on the other, so that I could follow the conversation more easily. Such a small gesture, but it meant everything.
I looked out the window, across the dark waters of the Puget Sound. To the west, the peaks of the Olympics showed off the first snows of winter. I sensed Kallie and Tash gazing out too, immersed in the wondrous scene like they were trying to purge the ugliness of the afternoon. By the time the first hot tears pricked my eyes, I wasn’t the only one crying.
“Since Dumb is over now,” I said, stating the obvious, “you may as well tell me if you sent the messages from ZARKINFIB.”
Kallie frowned. “I thought that was Baz.”
“No. I asked him.”
“Well, it definitely wasn’t me.”
“Or me,” said Tash. “It sounds like the kind of thing Josh would do.”
I’d already considered that, and ruled it out. I’d surmised Josh’s motives for being lead singer in his own private rock band, and they were no more laudable than mine had been for managing it. But I couldn’t believe he’d waste his time trying to educate me about the deeper significance of rock music when he couldn’t even see it for himself.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Maybe Will.”
Tash snorted. “Not likely. Will doesn’t give a crap what you know or do. All he cares about is playing his bass. Right now I hate him just as much as Josh.” She gritted her teeth so the muscles in her jawline bulged out. “I’ve been playing in his stupid band for two years, and he still doesn’t notice me.”
“Maybe he does notice, but he’s afraid to tell you how he feels,” I suggested.
Tash brightened a little. “You really think so?”
Actually I didn’t, but I liked seeing the effect my words had. “Maybe.”
“No,” said Kallie, shaking her head. “I don’t know why, but he’s just not into you.”
Tash’s face reddened, but Kallie never flinched. And then, as quickly as she’d lost her temper, Tash calmed down.
“I’m sorry. There’s a part of me that still hates anyone telling me things I don’t want to hear. But it’s not your fault.”
Kallie took Tash’s hands in hers. “Tash, this is no one’s fault, certainly not yours.