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"Me?" he asked. "I can't write a song."
I leaned back. "Why not?"
"Because I don't know how."
"That's no excuse. You couldn't play the F chord before Christmas either, and now you're the best at it in the whole class."
His blue eyes lit up. "You really think I could write a song?"
"I certainly think you could try. What's the worst that could happen?"
"It sucks."
I shrugged. "Sometimes you have to make bad stuff to get to the good stuff."
"I didn't know that."
"It's true," I said. "I should know. The first song I wrote was about burnt toast."
He scrunched his nose. "That doesn't sound like a hit."
"It wasn't. But if I hadn't written it, I never would've written a second song. Or a third."
"You think I could write a song that would make Carly laugh?"
"Only if you try."
He looked down and started swinging his legs again. "How do I start?"
"Start with something that makes you laugh."
A mischievous smile spread across his face.
"Did you think of something?"
"Yeah," he said. "Farts."
There’s a shock."What else do you think is funny?"
"You don't like that idea?"
"I like it very much, actually, and I think a song about farts could be hilarious. I'm just not sure if it's the right theme to cheer Carly up."
"Good point."
"She might enjoy a girlier theme."
"Like unicorn farts?"
I cocked my head. "Is that a thing?" More importantly, was he going to get in the car when his mom arrived and tell her I encouraged him to write a song about farts? This conversation was going so well before. "Keep thinking," I said. "Getting good ideas takes practice, too."
A few cars went by, their tires sucking against the wet pavement as they reduced their speed outside the YMCA.
"Hey, isn't that your friend?"
I followed the pointer finger on his gloved hand to where Brian was strolling down the sidewalk on the other side of the chain link fence, salt crunching under his feet as he focused on his phone call. "It is."
"Even you're getting picked up before me."
