"Scare me?"

"Don't worry about it. Just go ahead and enjoy the pancakes. I'll read you the newspaper headlines when you're finished."

The pancake stopped midway to my mouth. "Newspaper headlines?"

He nodded solemnly.

"I need to see them, Dad."

"Believe me, I don't think you want to. For instance, those parent groups that loved you so much ..."-I nodded encouragingly-"well, let's just say they don't love you anymore. In fact, you've been blacklisted. You've become antiheroes of the indie music scene."

I was about to ask him what he knew about the indie music scene when Finn burst in carrying Grace. "YouTube's gone over a hundred thousand views," he exclaimed. "Can you believe it? A hundred thousand! Holy c.r.a.p."

Mom coughed. "Language, Finn. Grace is listening."

A moment's hesitation all around, and then . . . nothing. Finn didn't take offense at being called out, and I didn't mind being reminded that Grace could hear now. Something had changed-maybe because there were bigger issues to deal with.

"What are you talking about, Finn?" I asked.

"Your appearance on Seattle Today Seattle Today. There's been over a hundred thousand views of it on YouTube."

I had trouble getting my head around that. I had to visualize the number, with all those zeroes, just to rea.s.sure myself it was as enormous as it sounded. "How many of those were you?"

Finn looked away. "Seventeen, maybe. Possibly eighteen."

"I watched it too," added Dad. "And I know you're not going to like me saying this, but I thought the behavior was disgraceful."

I rolled my eyes. "No s.h.i.t, Dad."

Mom pursed her lips. "Language, Piper!" she scolded. "Grace is listening."

"Not so hasty, young lady," added Dad, wagging his finger for emphasis. "What I disliked was the lead singer-what's his name?"

"Josh."

"Yes, Josh. I don't know about his history with Kallie, and frankly, I don't want to know. But no self-respecting person should humiliate another like that. Period."

I was tempted to mention what a coincidence it was that Dad knew Kallie's name but not Josh's, but it probably wouldn't have impressed Mom. Besides, he had a point.

"That's just the way he is," I explained.

"Then you need to do something about it. You're the manager, right?"

"Yeah. . . . I mean, no! no! Dumb is over. Isn't it obvious?" Dumb is over. Isn't it obvious?"

Dad furrowed his brow like I'd stumped him with the million-dollar question. "Why?" he asked, completely seriously.

"Because they imploded on live TV. They'll probably never talk to each other again."

"You mean . . . that whole thing wasn't planned planned?"

"What are you talking about?"

Mom placed a hand on my arm. "Your father and I just thought . . . well, you know . . . maybe you'd staged it."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Not at all. Let's face it, you chose a completely inappropriate song for the audience-and don't pretend for a moment that wasn't your idea-so we thought maybe you'd orchestrated a total meltdown as well."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"To generate buzz," exploded Dad. "It's the cla.s.sic s.e.x Pistols maneuver."

"The what? what?"

"s.e.x Pistols," repeated Mom, even finger-spelling the words for me.

"They were a seventies punk band," Dad continued. "Made headlines when they went on a British talk show and used the f-word. And not just once either. It was before tape delays, and no one had the sense to cut away to a commercial break."

I believed Josh was capable of a lot of things, but something like that just didn't ring true. "I don't know, Dad. It didn't exactly feel planned planned."

Dad almost seemed disappointed. "Well, either way, it had the same effect. Finn's been monitoring your stock value overnight, and right now, Dumb is a definite buy."

"Oh G.o.d," I moaned, curling up with a pillow. "So you're saying I might have to keep this thing going?"

Dad shrugged. "That's up to you. But if you do, you're going to have to talk to Josh. His behavior was way out of line."

"But-"

"No buts, Piper. Take charge. It's your job." With the sermon over, Dad's finger relaxed. He reached into his pocket and tossed me my cell phone. "And while you're at it, check your messages. That d.a.m.n thing's been beeping at me all night."

"For the love of Pete! LANGUAGE! Grace is LISTENING," implored Mom.

I glanced at Finn and we burst out laughing. I couldn't stop myself. Then Dad and Grace joined in, and all I could do was pat Mom's hand rea.s.suringly as she shook her head.

When the laughter died down, I flicked open my cell phone and discovered that I had 143 text messages. I didn't even know 143 people.

"Does that really say one forty-three?" asked Mom, leaning over.

"Yeah."

I looked at the first text message. It was from Tiffany, the producer of Seattle Today Seattle Today: SHAMEFUL BEHAVIOR. CONTRACT VOIDED.

I felt my stomach flip, and pushed the plate of pancakes away, much to Dad's chagrin and Finn's delight, as he reached down with his free hand and shared one with Grace.

Mom leaned over and read the message. "Well, I can't disagree with her about the first part, but I've seen that contract, and they're not getting out of paying you."

I leaned back against the pillows and closed my eyes. "Just let it go. It's only three hundred dollars. Anyway, I don't think I can deal with this right now."

Mom cupped my chin, waited for me to open my eyes. "It's your call, Piper, but Dumb has just gone big time. If you want to see this thing through, I can help."

"How?"

"I'll start by asking why no one cut to a commercial break when things started to fall apart. She and the director had so many chances, but they chose to stay with Dumb. And you know what I think? I think they did it because that show has been dying slowly for years, and you guys just gave it an injection of new life. Their viewership is about to take a giant leap, and I'll bet they knew it too. This pathetic attempt to threaten you is just for show, a smokescreen to distract studio chiefs from something they've probably already worked out for themselves."

I looked at the next text, a particularly delightful ditty from someone at school I didn't even know.

"What does it say," asked Dad.

"It says I'm completely screwed."

"Language, Piper! Grace is ..." Mom rolled her eyes and waved the thought away.

I looked at Mom, her jaw set like she was preparing for battle. By the door, Finn clasped Grace to his hip as he shoveled pancake into her mouth. And loitering beside the bed was Dad, so desperate to make amends, to show that he truly cared. Even though I knew I should be in a state of mourning, or shock, or something appropriately depressed, I couldn't help noticing that for the first time in months my dysfunctional family was together, behaving like a team. All I wanted was to go back to sleep, but I figured that if resuscitating Dumb and taking on Seattle Today Seattle Today gave Team Vaughan a mission, then bring it on. What did we have to lose? gave Team Vaughan a mission, then bring it on. What did we have to lose?

"Can we really get paid, Mom?" I asked.

"Yes. If they stall, I'll sue them. And I'll win."

I reached over and hugged her tightly. "Thanks."

Mom hugged me right back. "You're welcome. Although there's one more thing I need to say."

"What?"

"I probably don't need to tell you this, but I love you."

"I love you t-"

"And you're grounded. I mean, totally grounded. Evenings, weekends, everything. I want you home straight after school every day. Understand?"

A part of me wanted to fight her, but what for? She didn't need to tell me I was grounded. I'd have been shocked if I wasn't.

Besides, it was still totally worth it.

CHAPTER 42.

I cranked up my laptop before we set off for school, and with Finn riding me like a s.a.d.i.s.tic personal trainer, I set up a link so that people could download songs from Dumb's Mys.p.a.ce page for a buck apiece. (Even if the band turned out to be history, I figured there was nothing wrong with making a little money on the side while the craziness lasted.) It required hastily establishing a PayPal account and removing all the cover versions we'd done, because I had no intention of wasting weeks haggling with the copyright holders. But as I completed the task, step by excruciatingly painful step, I knew that no one else in the band would have done it. And it made me feel surprisingly . . . well, managerial managerial.

I ran into school as bells drilled incessantly through the emptying halls, but I didn't even make it to homeroom before I'd been redirected to the princ.i.p.al's office. As soon as I arrived, a secretary pointed me to one of the hard plastic chairs reserved for the worst offenders, where I awaited sentencing. A minute later, Kallie and Tash sloped in, wearing contrasting looks of trepidation and defiance. I was glad Tash was there-always good to have a veteran when going into battle for the first time.

I think the princ.i.p.al had prepared a speech especially for the occasion-it wasn't every day he got to flex his disciplinary muscle with students like Kallie and me-but he seemed flummoxed by my hair. He clearly hadn't antic.i.p.ated such a distraction. Every time he tried to hone in on a point, his eyes gravitated toward my head, and he lost track of his thoughts. Eventually he dropped the proselytizing and hurried us on to in-school suspension instead. Josh and Will were sitting outside his office as we left. I gripped Kallie's hand and looked straight ahead.

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 princ.i.p.al 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 h.e.l.l?" 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 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 a.s.sault."

"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 s...o...b..x on Sat.u.r.day."

"You're joking, right?"