Thedrummerslumpedontothesnare,gasping.Thevocalistchuggedwater.Elianstoppedstrumming,hischestrisingandfalling.Hebrusheddampbangsbackwithhisfiurned—
andimmediatelyspottedtheercouch,watgthemwithagazethatfeltalmostlikeanevaluation.
Elian’smouthcurvedintothatfamiliar,slightlydelismile.Helettheguitarhanginfrontofhimandstrodeover.
“Seenenough,undercssman?”Helookeddownather,voicethreadedwithchallengeandfidence.“Sowhatdoyouthink—how’sourseniorband?Goodenoughforthe*number-one*eleventh-gradebassist?”
Cradidn’tavoidhiseyes.Sheadjustedherrimlessgssesandroseslowly.
Shewasonlyfive-foot-three—shehadtotiltheruptolookathim.Butthecalmcertaintyshecarried,thatsce-studentsteadiness,keptherpresenlosinganinchtohisheight.
“Mm.”Hervoicewaslevel—andcruel.“Theguitar’sloud.Thedrummer’sdouble-kicksounds…weird.”
Thenshedrovetheneedlestraightintothewound.
“Andwithoutlowend,itdoesn’tsoundlikeall.”
Thedrummer,mid-sip,nearlychoked.Thevocalistahmguitariststaredatthisaudaciouseleventh-gradegirsifthey’dneverseenagirlintheirliveswhodaredtalktoElianShe.
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