Inthebasement,theotherfivegirlsinCra’sbaaring,stuhesenioreveryoheTianmuguitarprodigy—hadputawayhissignaturesunshinesmile.chedCrawithalookthatsaidhewasgoingtogetwhathecamefor.
Crapushedherrimlessgssesuphernose.Shedidn’tsayyesrightaway.Inhercalmeyes,somethingflickered—anatant’scoldcalcution,thekindscestudentswerebornwith.
Therewasnosuchthingasafreelunch.
EspeciallynotatapricesetbysomeoneassmartasElianShen.
“Twomonths.Threesongs.”Cra’svoicestayedft,butanoteofcautionslidin.“Whatareyoupying?”
Elian’smouthcurvedslightly,likehe’dbeenwaitingforexactlythatquestion.Hecasuallyadjustedthestrapoftheexpensivebderonhisshoulderanddroppedthenamesasiftheywerenothing.
“GunsN’Roses—*SweetChildO’Mine*and*CivilWar.*Andonemore:Slipknot—*DoNothing/Bitchsp.*”
Themomeitlelefthismouth,Cra’sbrowsklyline.
Theairintherehearsalroomseemedtofreezeforafewseds.Cralookeddownatthebckfive-stringbassinherhands,thenliftedherheadagain—herexpressionnowopenlysaying:*Areyouinsane?*
“Senior,”sheshotbackcoldly,pointingatthepostersonthewallbehindher,“doyouevenknowwhatmybandpys?WepracticeShiinaRingo.MikaNakashima.I’musedtoJ-Rock—thekindthat’sornate,melodic,obsessedwithlinesandprecisetiming.”
Shedrewih,fdownthesurgeinherchest.“GunsN’RosesispureAmerihard-rockgroove.And*CivilWar*—thespeedinthebackhalf?Forabassist,that’sbasicallystaminasuicide.AndSlipknot…”Hereyessharpehat’sal.Thoseviolent,boungrhythmsandthatextreme,sinkingtone—ifIpythat,myhandsaregoingtobewrecked.”
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