Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [8]
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s the deal: You’ve got one month to get us a paying gig. We’ll split the money with you—four ways. Do that and you can be our manager, even when we get big.”
I knew I should be laughing. The Piper of five minutes before would have snorted, rolled her eyes, and made grand, sarcastic signs about the unlikelihood of them even making it small, let alone big. But that was five minutes ago. The Piper of the present was suddenly timid and utterly mute. This was a crazy situation in need of immediate resolution, but what was there to say? Josh hadn’t even asked me, he’d told me this was my job. And even though it would have seemed completely appropriate for the band to break down in bone-rattling laughter right there and then, they didn’t. They just stared at me like we’d signed a pact in blood. Suddenly our futures were bound together in a way that was utterly preposterous.
Josh wrote down a series of letters on a scrap of paper and handed it to me.
“Someone downloaded our performance onto YouTube. Check it out. Tell us what we need to do to be more marketable. We’re in this for real. We’ll listen to what you say . . . or, you know, sign.”
I took the paper and studied the website address. I tried to summon the energy for a final refusal, but Josh was smiling his irresistibly large smile, eyes gazing at me and me alone, and I couldn’t do it. Without Kallie behind me I had his undivided attention, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel very gratifying indeed.
“You’re smart, Piper. Everyone knows it. And right now we’re too busy to be organizing gigs, whereas you probably have loads of free time, right?”
I sighed, but nodded. What was the point in denying it?
“If anyone can do this, Piper, it’s you. Let’s get famous . . . make some money.”
For someone who’d never spoken to me before, Josh sure had strong opinions on my suitability for the job. What’s more, he seemed to have a higher opinion of me than my own father, and was offering to let me make money, rather than siphoning it away from my Gallaudet fund. And while I knew that making money wasn’t a sure thing, something told me that if blind self-confidence was an indicator of future success, maybe Dumb was destined for greatness after all.
I looked at the three bandmates again, thought back to the scene outside the principal’s office and the crowd of groupies fawning over them like their existence on earth somehow mattered. Sure, I knew I’d never orbit the same social sphere as Josh, Will, and Tash, but knowing they’d begin to acknowledge me around school was another appealing perk. I didn’t even pause to consider what that said about me; I simply took Josh’s hand and shook it like I was trying to rip his arm off.
Tash immediately turned and sloped away, kicking the ground wildly. And even though I got the feeling Josh’s plan had received one dissenting vote, I didn’t really care.
Finally, Will looked up for the first time. I’d almost forgotten he was there too. Winding curtains of hair behind each ear, he raised his tired-looking eyes, like he’d just figured out that if I was going to be his manager, he probably ought to be able to recognize me. After much consideration, he offered his hand in painful slow motion, presumably for us to shake on our new agreement. His palm felt cold and clammy.
“Um . . . we’re Dumb,” he said.
I shook his hand and nodded again and again and again.
Never a truer word had been spoken.
CHAPTER 5
I figured I could do worse than ask Dad for advice. For years he’d compensated for his hideously boring job by immersing himself in rock music. Not that he played it for me anymore, of course—his vinyl LPs were collector’s items, and he probably assumed it would be a waste of time for someone in my “condition” anyway—but he owed me after yesterday’s remarks, and I was ready to proffer an olive branch.
He was standing before the stove, stirring a large pot of unidentifiable meat. Whatever the animal had once been, parts of it were now spattered across his starched chinos and polo shirt, and I couldn’t help wondering