Five Flavors of Dumb Read Online Free PDF Page A

the only thing the Web didn’t have was a ten-step guide to managing your high school rock band, and (b) the idea of me managing a band was simply . . . well, dumb. Maybe the group knew it too. Maybe this was all a joke—their way of getting back at me for humiliating them—and they were about to have the last laugh.
    I closed my eyes and imagined how different things would have been if Marissa had never left. I still recalled every painful moment of that hot August day when she and her parents climbed into the Penske truck and took off for San Francisco: the way she apologized over and over, like she’d had any say in the decision; how she promised that nothing would change, and she’d fly back during winter break; how we’d ooVoo—a video format tailor-made for sign language—every day. And we did, too, until the camera on her laptop stopped working. Then we switched to IM, but it wasn’t the same. She couldn’t smile on IM, or laugh that ridiculous laugh, or rescue me with a pretend hug before I’d even had a chance to say what was wrong. She felt so much farther away when I couldn’t see her anymore.
    It was too early in the evening to expect her to be around, so I sent Marissa a text message, asking her to IM as soon as she got in. Then, even though I knew I shouldn’t, I waited around in case she replied quickly. I just needed a sign, something to reassure me that she hadn’t moved on without me, that she still needed me as much as I needed her. After all, she was the only one who really got me, who’d stayed online hour after hour as I complained about Grace’s implant, agreeing heart and soul with every word I wrote. Everyone needs a friend who’ll sympathize no matter what—for me, that was Marissa.
    Ten minutes later, I gave up waiting. Clearly, I’d need to look elsewhere for today’s sympathy quota, although something told me I wasn’t going to find it at home.

CHAPTER 7
    “Piper’s the new manager of Dumb,” blurted Finn. Apparently the news couldn’t wait until dinner had been served.
    Dad’s eyes narrowed. “What’s dumb?” he asked cautiously, like he was afraid of becoming the butt of a philosophical joke.
    “You know. They won Seattle Teen Battle of the Bands.”
    Mom snorted. “Oh, well then, yeah, of course I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
    Finn muttered something, but I couldn’t catch a word of it as Grace was babbling and Finn’s hands obscured his mouth. Sheesh. It was a round table too, so I could follow conversations and read lips more easily. Dad said it was a “concession” they were happy to make.
    “You’re not serious, are you?” asked Dad.
    “Yeah,” said Finn, not looking up. “They won it this weekend. I’ve heard them too. They’re really good.”
    “No. I mean, about Piper being their manager.”
    “Hello. I’m sitting right here,” I groaned. It happened all the time, Dad talking about me as if I weren’t sitting next to him.
    “Yeah, I’m serious,” said Finn. “She told them . . . well, she said she’s got some ideas about how to market them more effectively.”
    Dad nodded, but his fork hung in midair. “No offense, but shouldn’t the manager of a rock band have perfect hearing?”
    I couldn’t believe Dad said that, and neither could Mom.
    “Piper can do anything she wants to,” snapped Mom, repeating her favorite phrase like a mantra.
    “I know that, honey. Piper is as academically capable as any other child, but this is different.”
    That got me absolutely seething.
    “Well, I think it’s great, Piper,” Mom interjected. “You could do with a non-academic outlet.”
    I felt my jaw slacken. “Let me get this straight. Dad thinks I’m disabled, and you think I’m a geek?”
    They both rushed to defend themselves, so I couldn’t decide whose lips to read. “Stop! One at a time.” I nodded at Dad first.
    “It’s not about being disabled. It’s about knowing your limitations.”
    From the corner of my