Five Flavors Of Dumb Part 23

"More or less, yeah," I agreed. "Why? Did I get something wrong?"

He smiled, cleaned the filter with a cloth, and placed it back in the machine. Then he turned to face me again, to make it easier to read his lips, even though he wasn't ready for eye contact just yet. "I really like you, Piper. I've liked you for a long time. . . . I like being near you."

"Then why didn't you say so?"

"Because I was nervous, I guess. About what you'd say if . . . if I asked you out."

I was rocked by the urge to kiss him and punch him for wasting so much time. "I'd say yes, Ed. Definitely yes."

He started tapping the counter, his nerves palpable in the cozy surroundings of the coffee shop. "Look, if you're going to be hanging around here when I'm trying to close up, you need to learn to make your own coffee," he said, pretending to be stern. "Come around the counter and I'll show you how."

I sighed, realizing yet again that neither of us had said what needed to be said. I wondered if we ever would.

Ed positioned me in front of the espresso machine and stood behind me. I turned my head, tried to begin the only conversation I cared about, but he brought a finger to his lips, silencing me. As he reached around me, I felt his breath across my ear and his chest pressing against my back. I held my breath as his hands rested over mine.

Like a gentle puppeteer he guided me to the grinder. Our left hands placed the filter underneath, while our right hands switched the grinder on and pulled a lever, releasing fresh, powdery coffee in cascading heaps. Then we lifted a metal object that looked like a paperweight and pressed the coffee into the filter. Our fingertips brushed with each movement, and although my hands felt weak and useless, he guided me with strength and patience. It was a wholly new and bewildering situation, yet I wanted there to be at least another fifty steps before the coffee was ready.

As we put the filter into the espresso machine, his face brushed my hair and I felt my heartbeat quicken. We placed a gla.s.s under the filter, and with the press of a single b.u.t.ton, golden-brown liquid poured in like syrup. I let him lead me as we first steamed the milk, then mixed it with the coffee. But this time there was no flower gracing the surface of our drink-just a plain, simple heart.

I tilted my head back against his shoulder and cheek as I lifted the gla.s.s. I took a sip because it was our our drink, and I even smiled approvingly too, but I had no idea how that coffee tasted. Every part of me was focused on Ed, daring him to pull away, but hoping he wouldn't. Hoping, even, that he'd push things further. drink, and I even smiled approvingly too, but I had no idea how that coffee tasted. Every part of me was focused on Ed, daring him to pull away, but hoping he wouldn't. Hoping, even, that he'd push things further.

I placed the cup on the counter and felt his cheek press against me, his hand pulling me around so I could see him. He cupped my face between his hands, and when our lips touched, his skin felt soft and warm. It was the smallest, gentlest, most earth-shattering kiss in the long and glorious history of kisses, and it took my breath away.

"What would your boss say if she walked in right now?" I asked, just needing a moment to stop hyperventilating.

Ed continued to gaze at me like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. "I think she'd say I've got good taste."

I leaned forward and kissed him again, our mouths gently pressed together, fingers running through hair, over skin irresistibly electric.

Ed looked positively serene. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this to happen."

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling anything but sorrow at that moment.

"Don't be. Apart from this afternoon, I've never regretted a second I've spent with you. You inspire me."

I felt the impact of his words, the forgiveness and longing and, incredibly, the love.

"It's going to feel like a long thirty-seven miles," I whispered.

Ed shook his head. "Shortest thirty-seven miles in the world."

He leaned into me and we kissed with mouths open. Ed Chen-virtuoso, genius, hero-became my universe for a few precious seconds until the door opened and cold air rushed in.

I spun around and saw Dad in the doorway. He was bright red, and I was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the chill breeze.

He looked everywhere except at us, then reached for the gla.s.s on the counter and drained it in one big gulp.

"Where's Mom's?" he asked.

My turn to blush.

"Yes, well, never mind," he continued. "Just be sure to make it before I get back."

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, another errand," he said, waving off the question with a flap of his hand. "I just called your mother, said you'd been delayed. She told me to give you another ten minutes. . . . I'm not sure either of us is terribly good at the whole grounding routine. You've never given us much practice."

Dad shuffled away without another word, and I turned to face Ed, his features glowing with delight.

"I love love your dad," he gushed. your dad," he gushed.

"Yeah, me too," I said, realizing that in spite of our difficult history, it was true. "How could I not love someone who learns to sign, just so they can talk to me?"

Ed reddened. "He told you, huh?"

"Hmm. Is that why you've been missing marimba lessons?"

Ed shrugged in that maddeningly boyish way that simultaneously made me want to chew him out for jeopardizing his future and to kiss him harder than ever for putting me above everything.

"I guess he told you who's top of the cla.s.s," said Ed, breaking the silence.

"You, I suppose."

"Ha! Not even close." And then he smiled again, his eyes teasing me mercilessly. "Now where were we?"

It didn't take us long to remember.

CHAPTER 48.

The clouds threatened rain, and our breaths condensed in the air. Tash pulled on a pair of fingerless gloves and smiled like it wasn't the most ridiculous situation imaginable. Ed twirled his drumsticks and pretended to tune the sheet metal beneath him. Everyone was acting dumb, but what else could they do?

"So before you begin," I announced, "you'll probably want to know that our songs have been downloaded over nine hundred times, which means a hundred and fifty dollars each. Unless anyone has a problem with it, I'll add it to the three hundred you're each getting for opening at the s...o...b..x tomorrow."

No one had a problem with that, of course, but the present situation wasn't so straightforward.

"There's no room for my guitar," said Tash.

"Yes there is," I said. "Just swing your legs over the side. You too, Kallie. Will, hang your legs over the winds.h.i.+eld. Josh, just stand on the hood."

"What about me?" complained Ed. "You can't seriously expect me to drum against the roof of your car. It'll ruin the paintwork."

"Then you can come over this weekend and we'll wax it together," I said, which shut him up spectacularly well.

No one seemed especially thrilled about the idea of rehearsing on top of my car, but in my opinion it was the finest use of a Chevy Caprice Cla.s.sic in the history of oversized planet-destroying automobiles. Sure, they'd be uncomfortable if it rained, but until then Dumb would keep warm by thras.h.i.+ng through Sat.u.r.day's set. Which they did, flying through the first four songs like they just wanted to go back inside ASAP.

I knew we wouldn't get away with such a blatant a.s.sault on school rules for long, but of all the teachers who should stagger out to arrest us on that delightfully gray afternoon, it seemed appropriate that it would be Boy Scout Belson. As soon as he emerged from the school he removed a white napkin from his breast pocket and began waving it above his head. I couldn't tell if he was trying to get my attention or surrendering, so I pretended not to notice. The way I saw it, forcing him to walk fifty yards across the parking lot bought Dumb at least an extra minute of rehearsal time; two, if he needed to stop for a breather.

When Belson got within ten yards, I pretended to see him at last, rus.h.i.+ng forward with the same carefree smile he claimed to enjoy seeing each time I destroyed an opponent at chess. I even held out my hand in greeting, but he was in no mood to shake it.

"What's going on here, Piper?"

I signaled that I couldn't hear-which was completely true, as it happens-and led him a few steps back toward the school buildings. In the background, I heard the blurry mess that was Dumb's fifth song end with a chaotic flourish.

"Your band has been banned from performing on school grounds," said Belson sternly, clearly tired of walking.

"My band has been what?" I shouted.

"Banned."

"Yes, the band. What about it?"

"It was banned," repeated Belson, matching my shouts.

"It's still a band," I explained, waving my hand at Dumb as though he was being dense.

I expected Belson to call me out for willfully misunderstanding him, but he didn't. "They're not allowed to play on school grounds," he sighed.

"They're not on school grounds."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"They're on my car. All five of them. I'd never let them break a school rule, Mr. Belson, you know that."

Belson stared at me, but he didn't seem angry, just resigned. "I'm going to look for the princ.i.p.al now, Piper. He's almost certainly too busy to deal with this, but if he gets around to it, I think he'll be furious." He nodded to himself a few times, then adjusted his tie and began walking back toward the school.

If the princ.i.p.al was busy, then so much the better. I was prepared to debate the legal definition of "school grounds" with the highest authority in the land if necessary, but there were only ten minutes until the end of lunch break, and I preferred not to risk further suspension if it was avoidable.

With half an eye on the school doors, I returned my attention to Dumb. I figured they must have been doing okay, as they'd been moving swiftly through their set, but suddenly they seemed to be in shambles. Still, I couldn't be certain that things sounded as bad as they looked, so I scanned the faces of the audience for confirmation . . . and got exactly that. Ed's car-top drumming had been reduced to a single pounding beat as he struggled to keep everyone in time. Josh was moaning as if lyrics were an optional extra. And Kallie was staring at her fingers imploringly, willing them to find the right notes. She barely seemed to notice that she was so out of time the right notes wouldn't help one bit. And it wasn't for lack of practicing-she mouthed the lyrics like she'd been playing along with the song for hours-it was just lack of skill. At the end of the day, Kallie just wasn't up to the level of the others, and I hated knowing how unavoidable that truth had become.

When the song fizzled to an apologetic close, Josh hopped off the car's hood and bowed deeply (and, I hope, ironically). He faced me and shrugged like the whole freaking mess had nothing to do with him. But then Tash leaped off the roof and pounded toward us. Instinctively I threw myself between them. The last thing we needed was another suspension for fighting.

"What's going on?" I shouted.

"Josh wants to cut 'Smells Like Teen Spirit,'" spat Tash. "I've been practicing it for hours."

I whipped around to face Josh. "You're kidding."

Josh shook his head nonchalantly.

"You were pretty close to nailing it last Sunday. What's wrong with it now?"

"Too many new lyrics. It's not as easy to learn the music and and lyrics as it is to master a little guitar solo, you know." lyrics as it is to master a little guitar solo, you know."

"But we agreed on the set-"

"And you can play everything for all I care. It's just that I'll have already left the stage."

I couldn't believe it was happening again. And yet, I could believe it too. Josh's schizoid act had become so common I was already trying to formulate alternative plans, knowing he'd never budge.

"Look, Josh, we're contracted to play-"

"For forty-five minutes. I know. But that's a time limit limit. No one's going to complain if we get offstage early and let the real band on."

Tash had clearly had enough of my brand of diplomacy. She placed a hand on my shoulder and eased me aside. "I don't want to fight over this, Josh," she said with uncharacteristic calm, "but I've practiced that opening riff a thousand times. I've nailed it. I won't let you take that song out."

Josh shrugged. "Then go ahead and play it as an instrumental. You can even-" He broke off and peered over my shoulder, then started laughing.

I looked around. Kallie was still sitting cross-legged on my car, her guitar in one hand and the other raised high above her head like a shy kindergartner just itching to be called on in cla.s.s.

"I, uh, don't think we should drop it," she said. "It's a Nirvana song. It just feels wrong to cut a Nirvana song."

Suddenly Josh was laughing, utterly unself-conscious as the ever-growing crowd stared on with morbid fascination. "And why the h.e.l.l would you care, Kallie?" he fired back. "It's not like you're actually contributing anything."

Kallie's head drooped. She stared at her guitar intently. "You're such an a.s.shole, Josh."

"And you're so superfluous. Which is why I'd still rather be me."

And with that, Josh began to walk away. Just like normal, he'd fractured the band and was executing his exit strategy before anyone else could have the last word. And that's when I knew I'd had enough.

I shouted for him to stop, but he didn't even pause, just kept striding toward the school door. I began to follow him, walking faster and faster until I caught up with him just inside the building. Students poured out of the cafeteria beside us, a ma.s.s of bodies streaming around us like we were rocks in a river. Within seconds the spectators from outside hurried to join us, either because they wanted to get warm or because they didn't want to miss Dumb's latest train wreck.

"I won't let you do this, Josh."

Josh rolled his eyes and turned away, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face me again. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, Piper. I'm not deaf."

I brushed off the remark, refused to play the role of easy victim, but inside, my heart was pounding. The crowd was getting larger, their persistent hum obscuring Josh's words. I focused all my energy on watching his lips, knowing this was a fight I couldn't afford to lose. "We're sticking to the set we agreed on, Josh."

"Or what?"

Or what? It was a good question actually. For a few seconds I didn't know what to say. "Or I'll cancel the gig on Sat.u.r.day."

Josh smiled, cold and calculating. "No, you won't. You need the money. You and Tash and Kallie-you all need the money."

His words dripped with scorn, like our lack of wealth was a personal failing. I despised him for thinking that, and for outing us in front of so many people.

"Whether or not I need the money, I'll cancel. Only I have the power to say whether or not this goes ahead. Me Me. Do you understand?"

"Oh, sure. You're so important that-" He turned around as he continued speaking, like something had grabbed his attention. My heart sank, but I knew exactly what he was doing.

"You'll have to repeat that, Josh," I said calmly as soon as he turned to face me again.