Being cooped up in a cupboard-sized room with one small window was supposed to have been punishment, but with Tash and Kallie, it was anything but. We spent the whole time corresponding by hand gestures, while avoiding the glares of the secretary sent to keep us from trashing the place. It quickly became clear that Tash and Kallie had picked up some of my signs, and what they didn’t know, they made a good attempt to improvise. I wondered if Josh and Will would be joining us, but I guess the principal had envisaged how that might play out, and had decided to put them elsewhere. Thank goodness.
I’d only been in there an hour when one of the secretaries came in and told me my father needed to see me urgently. My first thought—completely irrational—was that something had happened to Grace, and I left the room in a daze. The secretary led me through to a private office, opened the door slowly, and ushered me in with a wave of her hand. By the window, hands stuffed in the pockets of an ill-fitting tweed jacket was—
“Baz?”
Baz’s mouth hung open in shock, his eyes fixed on my hair. It wasn’t until I coughed that he seemed to break from the trance. “Oh, right, yes. I’m sorry to disrupt your school day, Piper, but it’s your, your ...” He turned away, took a shuddering breath while he came up with a plausible excuse for showing up unpermitted on school grounds while impersonating my father. “Your grandmother.”
The secretary didn’t seem terribly interested. Whether or not the news was about to be tragic, I had pink hair, so all I received was a curt nod as she backed out of the door and closed it behind her.
“What the hell?” I barked.
“Don’t you ever check your text messages?”
“I had a hundred and forty-three of them. When am I supposed to check a hundred and forty-three messages?”
“Mine was important.” He pouted.
I shrugged. “Why didn’t you call my parents?”
“After yesterday’s shenanigans? You really think they’d talk to me?”
Good point. “What’s going on, Baz?”
Baz pulled off his jacket, threw it on the back of the nearest chair. “I hate suits,” he moaned, tugging at the collar of his pink shirt.
“Then why did you wear one?”
“I was trying to imitate your father, remember? Why else do you think I cut my hair?”
He turned around and sure enough, the ponytail had gone. I almost felt bad for him. “Oh.” I had to stifle a laugh. “Dad’s into jeans and T-shirt these days.”
Baz’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
“Absolutely. But I must say, you look very sharp. Very corporate.”
“Ha-ha.” Baz tugged at his collar again. “I’ll have you know I had to stop at Goodwill to pick this stuff up. Cost me ten bucks. Don’t think I won’t be claiming it back from your fee either.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What fee?”
“What fee, indeed.” Baz sat down, afforded himself a smile now that he’d piqued my interest. “I got a call last night from the manager of GBH, aka Grievous Bodily Harm.”
He’d lost me already. “What’s Grievous Bodily Harm?”
“Technically, it’s the British legal equivalent of violent assault.”
“Lovely.”
“Yeah, but it’s also the name of a Brit indie group, whose American tour has been getting good press.” He paused, waiting in vain for me to express admiration. “Anyway, the manager of GBH is considering asking you to open for them at the Showbox on Saturday.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No. I know it’s short notice, but I think you could do it. The set is forty-five minutes max. You could get away with forty, maybe even thirty-five if you’re willing to smash an instrument or two at the end.”
I rolled my eyes. “Did you see what happened yesterday?”
“Yeah. Pretty hard core too. I knew you wanted to get away from the soft rock label, but I was impressed by your commitment to faking a meltdown.”
“We weren’t faking.”
“Oh.” Baz paused, thought about this. “Look, Piper, bands fall out. But at the end of the day, they’re like family. You get back together because you have to, because you’re stronger together than you are apart.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
He nodded solemnly. “Too bad. This would’ve been a sweet gig for an aspiring band. Great exposure. Good money too.”
I finally sat down. “How good?”
“Not so fast. Before he negotiates, the manager needs to know you’re still going to be together on Saturday, and that you’ll promise to behave.”
“Not sure, and not sure.”
“If you can make that yes and yes, you might make yourselves two hundred dollars each.”
My pulse quickened. “Okay, then. Yes and yes.”
Baz threw up his hands in frustration. “Is that a real yes, or a maybe yes?”
“Baz,” I choked, pretending to be offended. “Would I lie to you?”
He leaned forward and massaged his temples in slow circles.
“So what’s with the late notice?” I asked.
“They had an opening act lined up, but the band had a, uh . . . falling out. They’re not technically together anymore.”
“I hear that’s happening a lot these days.”
“Yes.” Baz pursed his lips disapprovingly, but it looked kind of cute on him. “So here’s the deal. If Dumb is still together, he wants to meet with you. Five p.m. at my studio.”
I shook my head. “No can do. I’m grounded. It’d have to be at school. Say, straight after final bell at two fifteen.”
Baz laughed. “You can’t really expect me to bring the manager of GBH to a high school for a business meeting.”
“Yup. And we’ll need to keep it hush-hush. Otherwise I’ll probably spend the rest of senior year in suspension.”
“Good grief.” Baz pulled himself up and grabbed his jacket. “Okay. Two fifteen, by the main doors. But don’t be surprised if he’s late. He has to come here from Portland.”
“If he’s late, I’ll be gone.”
“Oh, for God’s sake—”
“I’m not being difficult, Baz! I’m grounded. I couldn’t stay late even if I wanted to.”
“Okay, I’ll make sure he’s here at two fifteen,” he groaned, like he was guilty of having conceded too much ground. And, truth be told, he absolutely had.
I stole a moment to text Finn, begging him to meet me by the main doors at 2:15. I got the feeling I could benefit from a personal assistant, and Finn was uniquely qualified for the position.
Once we left the room, Baz flounced through the office toward the exit without so much as a good-bye. He was almost gone when the secretary looked up.
“Hello!” she shouted to get my attention. (A gentle wave would have been infinitely preferable.) “Aren’t you going to give your father a hug?” she asked indignantly.
Baz stopped and turned around. “Oh, good idea.”
My jaw fell open. “No way!”
“What has happened to you, Piper?” cried the secretary. “You used to be such a good girl.”
“Yeah, Piper,” Baz echoed. “What has happened to you?” The wicked glimmer in his eye had returned, and suddenly I had to keep from laughing.
I bit my lip. “Come on, then, you dirty old man.”
I stepped forward and smacked a kiss on Baz’s lips. He looked petrified. The secretary looked horrified. I felt vindicated.
“Run along now, Daddy,” I said.
Baz stumbled against a table on his way out, and tried pushing the door marked “pull” several times before correcting himself. He left without looking back.
I turned around in time to catch the secretary shaking her head. I could see her staring at my hair, weighing up my odd behavior, and realizing, at last, that maybe she’d been wrong about me all these years.
You and me both, I thought as I ambled back to suspension.
CHAPTER 43
I didn’t get out of suspens
ion until 2:23. The principal wanted to read us the riot act one last time, and slowed down when he noticed how agitated I was. In an attempt to ram his point home with the utmost force, he even started lecturing directly to my hair. I let it go on for almost a minute, then began running my hands through my hair seductively, like an actress in a shampoo commercial. Almost immediately he turned bright red, and seconds later we’d been excused. I sprinted along the corridors and almost knocked Finn over as I turned toward the main entrance.
What’s the emergency? he signed.
We have a meeting with the manager of GBH.
Finn’s eyes grew wide. GBH? The band?
I nodded.
Can I get their autographs?
I’d rather you didn’t ask that until the negotiations are finished.
Negotiations?
They want Dumb to open for them on Saturday.
Finn looked as though he might pass out. So why am I here?
You’re my interpreter.
No! You can do this without me. Finn began to turn away, but I pulled him back around.
I need you, Finn. Not as an interpreter, but to buy me time. Please trust me. You’re my trump card.
Finn rolled his eyes, but when I took his hand he didn’t pull away. Together we walked outside and greeted Baz, who was loitering on the sidewalk. The manager for GBH stood beside him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other impatiently. He was older than I’d imagined, heavyset and balding, with a Bluetooth earpiece flashing neon and an ugly brown sports jacket with leather patches over the elbows. I couldn’t help thinking that as managers went, I looked much cooler than him.
“I’m Mike, and you’re late,” he barked.
I turned to Finn, who passed along the message in sign language.
“What’s this?” Mike asked, with curled upper lip.
“Piper’s deaf,” explained Baz. “I told you that.”
I smiled ambivalently, like I had no idea what was going on.
“Jesus Christ.” Mike rolled his eyes. “I thought you were joking.”
I already hated Mike, so once I’d pointed in the direction of a nearby picnic table, I walked unnecessarily quickly. I figured I’d at least get him sweating.
I sat down next to Finn and pulled my jacket collar tightly around my neck. The sky was blanketed in gray, one of those days when it feels like the previous night never completely ended. Mike and Baz sat down across from us and Mike removed his coat, beads of perspiration dotting his forehead.
“So you’re her translator?” Mike asked, pointing a stubby finger at Finn.
“Her interpreter.”
“Same difference. Well, start by telling her that I need to be sure Dumb is still together. I don’t need any more stunts like that crap they pulled yesterday. This is a serious business.”
Finn nodded decisively, then turned to me. Did you get that?
Yes.
This guy is an utter prick.
Yes.
I want to say something obscene.
Behave!
Finn was in the process of assuring Mike that Dumb was still together when Mike brandished a contract and shoved it toward me. “Tell her to sign here and here.”
I glanced at the contract—a single page with details of the location and time of the performance, and a stipulation that all five members of the band attend. The last line had been added by hand, but I couldn’t exactly blame him in light of recent events. The contract specified $100 per band member, for a total of $500.
Finn cocked an eyebrow. Wow. That was easy. I’m good at this.
I smiled. Yes, but we’re not done yet.
What do you mean?
Things are about to get interesting. Are you ready to play some poker?
Finn narrowed his eyes, the hint of a smile teasing his mouth. What do you have in mind?
I think we have a full house. Three boys, two girls, and I’m playing with house money. I felt my heart racing, the memory of all those poker games I played with my dad suddenly fresh in my mind again. Take a look at hotshot over there and tell me what he’s got.
In less than a second, Finn glanced across the table and made his decision. I could tell he was looking for more chips. He’s flustered. Could be because he’s annoyed about being here, but I think he’s actually nervous. He blinks every time you sign, by the way . . . a real giveaway.
I wanted to hug Finn, but we needed to stay cool. Good. Now keep signing to me.
Sign what?
Anything. Doesn’t matter. Just keep going until he interrupts.
How can you be sure he’s going to—
“What’s going on here?” shouted Mike, presumably for my benefit. “Are you going to sign the contract or not?”
Is he angry, anxious, or both? I asked.
Finn rubbed his chin. Definitely both. He wants you to fold real bad.
Then he’s going to be disappointed.
“Hello!” Mike pawed at my arm—so obnoxious. I just kept ignoring him.
Okay, this is how I see it, I signed. Rude dude isn’t here just to see if we’re interested. The gig is three days away, and I think he’s desperate. He definitely didn’t drive all this way to get turned down.
Sounds reasonable, agreed Finn.
And that’s why you’re going to ask for $500 per person, for a total of $3,000.
Finn’s jaw slackened. You’ve got to be kidding.
Yes and no. I want you to ask for it, but he’s going to refuse. The important thing is what he counters with.
While Finn took a moment to compose himself, I pulled my laptop from my bag and refreshed our YouTube page, which was already onscreen. Thankfully the school’s wireless network reached outdoors. I glanced up in time to see Baz choke and Mike turn an inhuman shade of purple. He slammed his fist against the table and stood up.
Before he could leave, I turned the computer screen around and pointed to the view count. It was up to 223,747. I cocked an eyebrow expectantly, and tried to suppress a smile as Mike plopped back down. He turned to Finn.
“Two hundred dollars each. A thousand dollars total.”
“What about Piper?” exclaimed Finn, forgetting to pass along the latest bid. “What about her share?”
“She can take it out of the thousand bucks for all I care.”
$300 each, $1800 total, I signed.
Finn relayed the latest bid, and I noticed that he didn’t seem anxious anymore.
As soon as Mike began to shake his head, I closed the computer and stood up in one swift movement. Sure enough, Mike reached across and grabbed my arm, holding me in place.
“Fine,” he said. “Bloody fine.”
Mike pulled out another contract and began filling in the revised figures. Two minutes later I signed it.
“Saturday. Get there at four p.m. and you might have half an hour to do a sound check. Then again, maybe not. We’ll see,” he sneered, desperate to reassert his power.
Baz waited for Mike to leave, then stared me down. “What was all that about?”
“Just doing my job, Baz. I thought you’d approve.”
“I did approve of the original offer, especially as I was going to get a fixing fee out of it.”
Oops. I hadn’t considered that Baz’s interest in all this might be personal. I patted his hands reassuringly. “Never mind. I won’t let you leave empty-handed.” Baz perked up. “I’ll make sure there’s a free ticket waiting for you on Saturday night.”
Baz shook off my hands, but as he left I got the feeling he was already laughing about the whole thing.
Finn turned to me then, an awestruck look on his face. You are tougher than anyone I know. I am so glad you’re on my side.
I grinned like a fool. I’ll always be on your side, Finn. I promise.
CHAPTER 44
If I’d thought the meltdown on Seattle Today would count as the single most uncomfortable experience in Dumb’s history, I was wrong. As the band sloped across the student parking l
ot the next day—we’d been banned from meeting on school grounds, so I chose the most out-of-the-way place I could think of—the tension could have fueled a year’s worth of daytime soaps. Anarchic fans trailed every member (except Ed), but the biggest posse was reserved for Josh, whose late arrival was greeted with utter silence and a distinct lack of eye contact from his bandmates.
“I’m speaking first today,” I announced, just to be sure everyone knew who was in charge. “It won’t be long before a teacher sees us and makes us leave, so listen up. Yesterday I met with the manager of Grievous Bodily Harm, and negotiated three hundred dollars apiece for us to open for them this Saturday at the Showbox.”
Kallie’s eyes flicked up. “You’re kidding.”
Something told me she wasn’t talking about the money. “We can’t afford to say no, Kallie,” I said, never breaking eye contact. “You know we can’t.”
“But—” she began, then broke off. She looked like she might cry, but I knew she’d also sign on. I hated that she needed the money so badly.
“Okay, I have to know we’re still together,” I continued. “It’s all or nothing. A show of hands, please.”
Eyes stayed fixed to the ground as arms crept slowly upward. Eventually only one person dissented.
“Ed?” My voice caught in my throat, but Ed shook his head. “You have to,” I insisted, refusing to take my eyes off him.
Ed looked around at the other band members, then at the crowds of students staring at him unblinkingly as the future of Dumb rested in his hands. He continued to shake his head, but it was more an act of surrender than a refusal, and we both knew it. A moment later, he raised his hand.
“Okay, then,” I said, relieved. “Here’s the plan: Our set is still a ways from being ready, so practice by yourselves tonight and be ready to play tomorrow lunchtime. We’ll meet here in the parking lot.”
Tash stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Why bother? The teachers will never let us play here.”
“Yes, they will. Trust me.”
Tash raised an eyebrow, but I could tell it was out of respect, not suspicion. And then I recognized the same look on the faces of the forty or so kids who were watching the meeting.