“Indeed,” replied Donna. “Tell us about Kallie.”
“Well, she can’t play guitar for bleep.”
The last word seemed bigger than the others somehow, and I felt my lunch making a bid for freedom. I almost wished the stenocaptioner had just written “shit”—at least I’m used to seeing that word.
“The only reason she’s in the band is to expose media bias,” continued Josh. “Think about it. We’ve added a piece of talent-less eye candy, and watched everyone fawn over her just because she’s hot. It’s a bleep joke. She’s a bleep joke.”
Selina was beside me in a heartbeat, her breath punching the air in angry whispers. I pretended I didn’t know she was there. I didn’t even do it to get even with her. I did it because the camera had pulled back to reveal the rest of the band fidgeting on the sofa, and I could tell they weren’t exactly thrilled with Josh’s word selection either. Actually they looked pretty angry, potentially violent even. It occurred to me that a fight could break out right then and I wouldn’t have been surprised. And I don’t think I was alone. Donna’s face twitched like she was being electrocuted; only her immaculate blond hair remained completely unruffled.
Selina pushed in front of me, waggling her finger and issuing some carefully chosen swear words, which seemed pretty hypocritical, I don’t mind saying. Then she pointed to the monitor, where the closed captioning conveyed Josh’s latest incriminating sound bite: “Do I have issues with Kallie? No. Why would I have issues with such a superficial, vacant, self-absorbed piece of bleep?”
“Let it go, Josh,” appeared on the screen, but it wasn’t clear who’d said it. It was even less clear whether anyone could slow him down now that he’d opened the floodgates.
I admit it—my mouth felt dry, gummy. Surely the director or producer or someone would pull the plug at any moment, but when I looked at the monitor again Josh was still holding court and the camera operator was either too shocked or too traumatized to change the shot. Since no one else seemed able to take charge, I took a deep breath and hurried to the edge of the set, waving my arms frantically. From his place in the middle of the sofa, Ed peered up at me with the widest eyes I’ve ever seen. He watched carefully as I flattened my hand and placed it against my neck, then moved it sideways like I was slitting my own throat. Would he understand that I wanted—no, needed—him to bring the interview to a close?
Ed shook his head mournfully from side to side. Apparently he’d already completed the transition from frightened to petrified. Great.
And he wasn’t alone either. The oldest members of the studio audience seemed intent on hailing the nearest security guard, like they were seeking protection in case the impending riot somehow extended to them.
I felt Selina’s hand clasp my shoulder, but I brushed it away and held her off with my outstretched arm. At that moment I didn’t give a damn that her job was on the line too; I just needed to stop the wreckage. My pulse was racing. Sweat trickled down my forehead and back, and I wasn’t even the one under the blazing studio lights.
I looked at Josh, studied his lips to confirm that he was still monologuing on his new favorite topic: “The point is, none of us need some stuck-up bitch acting like—”
“Shut up, Josh!” This from Will, not only stirred to action, but shouting loud enough for me to hear clearly. I’d never known him to be so assertive, but it was too little, too late.
I’d seen enough. If the whole crazy ride was ending right there, I was going to have my say. Maybe I was being egotistical, utterly irresponsible, but if the band was about to flame out, it was sure as hell going to be me holding the match.
I took in a final view of them on the sofa—my five flavors of Dumb—and saw the pain and disappointment etched onto the faces of everyone except Josh. Surprising myself, I actually managed a melancholy smile, blew them a kiss, mouthed the word “good-bye.”
Then I walked onto the set just in time to see Tash launch herself along the sofa, her hands poised to strangle Josh on live TV. Fists flew. Bodies tumbled to the floor. And at the bottom of the scrum lay poor Ed, our own version of Switzerland. By now Donna was freaking out—she jumped out of her seat and scampered offset, almost knocking me down in her haste.
“They’re lunatics!” she screamed. “What the hell are they doing on my show?”
I strode onward. The red lights above the cameras showed they were still filming, catching the dying embers of the band’s impromptu beat down. Frankly, I didn’t care. I didn’t even hesitate when uniformed security guards joined the fray like they’d waited their entire lives for the chance to throw a few punches in the name of keeping the peace. There just wasn’t room in my racing mind to contemplate any of these things.
Ten yards from the melee I narrowed down my choices to breaking up the fight, rescuing Ed, or unleashing a well-aimed shot to Josh’s private parts. But then Kallie struggled from the sofa and stumbled toward me. Tash extricated herself too, and grasped Kallie’s hand like she’d just appointed herself bodyguard. I looked to see whether Ed was still breathing—he seemed to be—then braced as Tash and Kallie stood before me. I wondered if they’d scream at me, and realized I couldn’t blame them if they did. A manager was supposed to prevent situations like this. Instead they moved to either side of me, locking my arms with theirs, and I knew they didn’t blame me at all.
Just then, Ed was rescued by one of the older and kindlierlooking security guards, who’d clearly identified him as collateral damage. Ed even locked eyes with me and mouthed the word “go,” which reassured me he would survive.
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. You’re strong and devoted and beautiful, but when Will looks at you I think he sees a really good guitarist, a friend, someone he likes being in a band with . . . but that’s all.”
I didn’t know if it was the reality of the situation hitting home, or simply the fact that Kallie was being nice to her, but Tash was struggling to hold it together. She took deep breaths, swallowed hard, and stared out the window like she’d only just noticed the scenery, but Kallie never let go of her hands.
I sipped my coffee, savored the heat from the mug and the warmth of the café. Outside, wind slapped at the windows as gulls fought to hold steady. The fresh smell of salt seemed to seep through pores in the glass. All around us the world kept spinning, but we were caught in a moment of perfect stillness: Tash and Kallie crossing an impossible divide through the simple step of forgiving.
“Thank you for saying that,” said Tash finally. “I mean it. If you’d told me you thought there was a chance, I’d have ...” She stared at her hands, entwined with Kallie’s. “I think it’s time to move on, you know?”
No one spoke as I added my hands to theirs, but I like to think we all felt the same thing at that moment. Out of the ashes of Dumb, something far stronger and more wonderful had arisen than any of us would have dared to imagine.
I wouldn’t have minded if we’d stayed that way, but Tash didn’t seem to be in the mood to lose an entire afternoon to silent introspection. She said she needed a pick-me-up, and that we could get free lattes at her mom’s salon. And because I was feeling reckless I said count me in, never for a moment considering that coffee was the last thing on Tash’s mind.
CHAPTER 38
Tash’s mom obviously missed the class where they teach would-be moms about careful language selection and modest clothing. She hadn’t gotten the message about blond highlights being a uniform for middle-aged moms either. In fact, she seemed to be competing with her daughter for the most-outrageous-looking award. And make no mistake about it: She was holding her own.
Her name was Cassie, she said, and if we called her Mrs. Hartley or Tash’s mom, she’d have to beat the crap out of us. She said it just like that, as if it were perfectly reasonable, while Kallie and I exchanged anxious glances.
Cassie’s salon was pristine, with banks of mirrors on every wall, and swirls of burgundy and gold paint embellishing all remaining surfaces. At the cashier’s desk, an elderly lady blew kisses to Cassie and her fellow stylist, before exiting with shimmering red hair.
I watched the old lady leave, wondering how on earth she’d chosen Cassie’s salon. But then I noticed Cassie watching me, and I could tell she’d read right through my thoughts, so I smiled and busied myself looking at a book of hair dye swatches on a nearby counter instead.
Once she’d cleaned her station, Cassie wandered over to me and signaled for me to join the others. Tash had obviously told her I was deaf. Equally obviously, she’d been thinking about what she was going to say to us.
“I saw the interview this afternoon, and I’m very disappointed,” she began, addressing all of us, not just Tash. “You’re all mature enough to know that if a situation makes you uncomfortable, you should just get up and leave. You don’t have to stand for anything, and you sure shouldn’t attempt to correct things with a few punches.”
Tash bristled, but Cassie shut her down with a single cocked eyebrow.
“All the same, I’m pleased you three are still together. Don’t let the pricks divide you, you know?”
I wondered if I’d misheard her, or read her lips incorrectly, but no—Cassie was just that forthright.
She clapped her hands. “All right, sermon over. On to business. As Tash has obviously told you, I don’t take appointments on Tuesday afternoons because I’m supposed to sort out the accounts. But on a day like this, accounts can wait. Ty needs to be available for walk-ins, though, so it’ll just be me. Now which of you two wants to go first?” she asked, waving her finger back and forth between Kallie and me.
I couldn’t tell which of us was more confused. “First for what?” I asked quietly.
“A haircut,” said Cassie, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Surely Tash explained about ...” She trailed off, her eyes narrowing as Tash tried to keep a straight face.
“Cassie’s amazing,” said Tash. “And I just thought you both needed a pick-me-up, that’s all.”
Cassie rolled her eyes, but when she looked back at Kallie and me, I could tell the offer was still on the table.
“Go on,” implored Tash. “It’s not like the day can get any worse.”
Suddenly Kallie seemed to have made up her mind. “Piper will go first,” she said.
I didn’t even get a chance to decline before Cassie glanced at her watch. “Okay, but I can’t promise to get around to you for a couple of hours,” she warned Kallie. (A couple of hours? I figured I must have misheard her.) “I’ll do my best.”
“Take your time,” said Kallie amiably. “Tash is going to do my hair.”
This time I was certain I’d misheard her, but Tash’s and Cassie’s responses convinced me I’d heard her just fine. Tash was practically shaking—it was the first time I’d ever seen her looking scared. “No way!” she cried. “I’m not qualified.”
“I think you’ll do great,” replied Kallie.
Cassie shook her head. “Absolutely not. I can’t have you leaving here with bad hair. It would kill my business.”
“Tash won’t let that happen,” said Kallie calmly.
“No, Kallie,” insisted Tash. “Cassie’s right. Watching the stylists isn’t the same as doing it myself.”
“Then I’ll just skip the haircut today, thanks.”
Tash and Cassie exchanged glances, and Cassie threw her arms up in defeat. “Fine. It’s your hair. But don’t you dare tell anyone it happened in my salon.”
I didn’t like the way she referred to Kallie’s future hairstyle as “it,” but I was even more astounded at Kallie herself—calmly offering up her hair as practice fodder to the girl who, just two weeks earlier, would have delighted in dragging her away to a dark corner and shaving it all off.
Cassie caught my eye and beckoned me over to her station, where she pinned a cape around my neck. She ran her fingers through my hair, her eyes betraying her concern. “You need to look after your scalp better,” she scolded.
“It’s
not worth it.”
“Yes it is. You have lovely hair.”
“It’s kind of mousy.”
“It’s blond.”
“Dirty blond.”
“Strawberry blond. And I have customers who pay a lot of money for this exact shade.”
There wasn’t much I could say to that, so I sank into the warm leather seat and wondered if the reason everything felt so good was because it was happening on a school afternoon. Which was also when I realized that I didn’t feel guilty at all. After eighteen years of doing everything right, Bad Girl Piper was embracing the chance to do something really wrong.
In the mirror I saw Cassie waving her comb. “So, what do you have in mind?”
The question shouldn’t have caught me off guard, but it did. I studied myself in the mirror and tried to think of an appropriate response. “Maybe, um . . . trim the ends?”
Cassie gawked at me like I’d farted. “Trim the ends?”
“Uh-huh.”
Her brows knitted and she continued to stare at me. There was something uncomfortably intense about that look of hers, like she was trying to distill the essence of Piper Vaughan.
“Piper, today I saw a girl stride onto a live TV set to break up a fight, even though she might’ve gotten hurt. But it turns out that same girl neglects her hair and wears it long enough to hide her face, and her head and neck too. So tell me this: Which one is the real you?”
It seemed like a ridiculous question, but at the same time I knew what she was getting at. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I think . . . maybe the first one.”
Cassie nodded approvingly. “And what should that version of Piper Vaughan look like?”
Her words made it sound like an innocent role-playing game, but my heart was pumping in a way that assured me it was so much more. “She should have . . . shorter hair,” I said, staring into the mirror, daring myself to disagree.
“How short?”