Five Flavors of Dumb by Antony John

beamed at me. “Incredible, isn’t it?”
    “What is?”
    “The way she heard Mom closing the front door. I’m not sure she could hear it a few days ago.”
    I felt my chest tighten. “That’s good,” I managed, willing myself to believe I’d actually heard it too.
    “Correction: It’s amazing .” Dad bent down until he was at eye level with Grace in her high chair. “Simply amazing.”
    I wanted to ask him if he’d been as fascinated by the physiology of my hearing loss as Grace’s improvement, but I could guess how that conversation would play out.
    “I’m going to be home late, Dad.” Dad nodded, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Grace. “I said I’m going to be home late, okay?”
    Dad glanced up. “Oh, yeah, fine. Whatever.”
    Whatever . It was probably one of the top ten words spoken each day at school, but coming from Dad it sounded so very different. I shook my head and was about to leave when he stopped me.
    “Hold on. What are you up to?”
    “You mean, what am I doing after school?”
    “Yeah. That’s what I said.”
    Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. “Dumb has a rehearsal after school.”
    “So? You don’t play anything.”
    “I’m the manager.”
    “Still? I figured you’d be done with that already.”
    “No.”
    “Oh. So have you made any money yet?”
    And just like that my pent-up anger dissipated, turning me from ferocious tiger to self-pitying kitten. I couldn’t even maintain eye contact.
    “Oh,” he said again. “Well, I guess it’s up to you how you spend your free time.”
    I nodded vigorously, like we could agree on that, but inside I knew what he was really saying, and I just needed to get away. I yelled to Finn that he had one minute to get in the car, then slammed the front door behind me.
    See, Dad, I can hear it too!
    Finn used the full sixty seconds, and when he piled into the passenger seat he was out of breath and his shoelaces were untied. You’re angry, he signed.
    I rolled my eyes. “And you’re perceptive.”
    Finn tied his laces while the engine turned over a gazillion times. When I slammed my fist against the dash, he sat bolt upright. “What’s wrong? Is it me?”
    “No!” I shouted. Finn raised his eyebrows expectantly, waited for me to continue. “It’s everything, okay? It’s Dad, and Dumb, and the fact that I need them to learn a whole new song today, and I’m still not sure how to get us serious money.”
    “Forget about the money. Focus on getting them to play better. Add some new songs.”
    I turned the key again, and this time the engine fired up, blasts of black smoke filling the air behind us. Finn covered his mouth with his scarf, knowing that we’d probably get a lungful as I rolled down the driveway.
    I took the car out of first gear—my less-than-ideal solution to a faulty parking brake—and ground the gearstick into reverse. Then I paused. “Sitting in the basement playing guitar with headphones on doesn’t make you an expert, you know.”
    Finn stared straight ahead, blinked twice. “Please don’t be mean to me.”
    I could have responded with something sarcastic, or dismissive, but I didn’t. Because for all his faults, Finn looked small in the seat beside me, and I knew he was right. Besides, I was about to say something that would annoy him: “We won’t be leaving school until five o’clock tonight.”
    Finn kept the scarf wrapped over his mouth, but his eyes gleamed as his hands produced an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
    I figured he must be kidding, but as I continued to stare at him it was obvious Finn wasn’t feigning enthusiasm. For whatever reason, the same kid who seemed hell-bent on expulsion seemed positively thrilled that we’d be staying late at school.
    Something was up, and I just hoped I found out what it was before Belson did.

CHAPTER 19
    Josh had omitted to mention Kallie’s instrument of choice for a good reason: Lo and behold, she was an aspiring guitarist, with the