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up a contract. What is it for?
    “The band.”
    The band?
    “Yeah. You know . . . Dumb.”
    Mom looked confused. Why do you need a contract?
    “Well, the point of me managing them is to get them paid gigs. And if there’s money, we need to have an agreement about how it’s divided, and what each person’s obligations are, right?”
    Mom hesitated, looked everywhere except at me. Is it really necessary? Her gestures were typically smooth, but her face betrayed her. I knew she was calculating how long it would take, already mourning the loss of an hour or two with Grace.
    Right on cue, Grace eye-locked Mom, fidgeting like she was about to launch herself onto Mom’s lap.
    “What do you mean—is it necessary?” I asked.
    I mean . . . you’re making this band sound serious. It’s just a little fun, right?
    I felt my breath catch. “I thought you supported me doing this.”
    I do.
    “But you don’t really believe there’ll ever be a paid gig, do you?”
    Mom stared at me, tried to gauge my reaction. I’ll draft a contract for you. Okay? She smiled again, the honey smile. I’ll do it.
    Grace began to writhe in annoyance, and I guessed that screaming wasn’t far off, so I kissed her once and handed her back to Mom.
    Thank you, I signed. But I already felt guilty for having asked, and deep down I just wanted to scream too.

CHAPTER 10
    No doubt about it, Ed was acting weird. As long as we were alone he seemed relaxed and positive, but the moment we arrived at Josh and Will’s house, he became tense. And I don’t think it had anything to do with the heavy electric gates or the No Trespassing signs.
    “I don’t think they’re going to appreciate this,” he said for the hundredth time.
    For the hundredth time, I ignored him, concentrating on setting up Josh’s video camera on a professional-looking tripod.
    “Does this really work?” I asked.
    “Hmm?” Ed looked around distractedly, jamming his hands in and out of his jeans pockets. “The video camera? Yeah, it works. There’s nothing like visual and aural evidence that you’re not playing together.”
    At the far end of a garage that was almost as large as my house, Will and Tash tuned their guitars. I turned up the amplifier on my hearing aids to hear them better.
    “Whatever you do, don’t turn up your hearing aids,” cautioned Ed. “Something tells me Dumb only has one volume, and it isn’t quiet.”
    Good point. I turned them right back down again.
    Josh wandered over. “Ready when you are, geeks.” He raised his thumbs and flexed his biceps, stretching his blue cotton T-shirt. His eyes looked even brighter than usual, and he kept smiling at me even when there was nothing left to say.
    I didn’t look away.
    “You should get started,” said Ed coolly. “I’m recording.”
    A minute later the two guitars erupted in an explosion of sound so intense that my whole body recoiled. Josh pulled the microphone stand toward him, wrapped his hands around it caressingly, and opened his mouth—
    “STOP!” yelled Ed, flapping his arms desperately.
    Dumb fizzled out.
    “Start with a song you already know. We’ll move on to new material later.”
    Dumb was uncharacteristically silent.
    “That was a new song, right?”
    Josh and Will looked offended. Tash looked threatening.
    “Okay. Well, never mind. Let’s run it again.”
    Dumb prepared to start again.
    “I really don’t think they’re ready for this,” said Ed, and although I ignored him again, I could see that he might have a point after all.
    This time, Ed let the band get halfway through the song before his musical sensibilities drove him to bring things to a premature halt. “That’s great. I love the . . . the, um . . . oh, what’s the word I’m looking for? . . . I love the . . . enthusiasm.”
    Dumb were not enthusiastic about Ed’s word choice.
    “Here’s the thing,” he added, “you’re not playing together. At all. Entire time zones separate you. I feel like I’m