“Not that much.”
Her mouth pursed just before she opened it to speak. Whatever she’d been about to say was interrupted by the stand-up bassist, a massive teen with a bobbing Adam’s apple and ruddy cheeks. “Uh, sorry.” His head barely lifted to make quick eye contact with my chin when he apologized before turning to Mari. “Miss Mitchell, my bridge slipped again.”
“Not your fault, Nathan. It’s these ancient instruments.” She stood, tugging her dress in place subtly. “Be right back,” she said to me. “Get us an app?” she asked.
I stared at the small bar menu, unable to decide what she would like best, not knowing if she was even vegetarian or had any other dietary restrictions. What if I picked something she hated? Better to give options.
After I ordered, I watched her fix the bass and re-tune it. As she was walking away, the trumpet player asked her a question that had her checking the mute, and then the keyboardist kept getting feedback from one of the microphones. She was patient and kind with each interaction, seemingly unbothered by the garbage instruments they were working with. The kids looked at her...like I looked at Dave Grohl the one time he walked past me backstage in Chicago—still one of the best moments of my life.
She ended up snapping a tempo to get them started. Her hips rocked, causing the light material of her dress to sway off her ass in a pleasing manner. After they got started, she backed away to let them do their own thing, encouraging them to listen to and play off each other as was required for jazz. They weren’t half bad. The keyboardist was a little timid, and the bassist slightly ahead, but honestly, they looked and sounded pretty damn cool. Except Cath’s drum kit seemed held together with duct tape and pure determination. It reminded me of my first drum kit, down to the collection of stickers on the side of the kick drum.
Wait.
I leaned closer, trying to see in the dark. There’s no way the school still used the same shitty drum kit from when I went there.
My jaw was on the floor when Mari returned. She grabbed a mozzarella stick and fried pickle, barely sitting down before tossing a bit of each back. “Still better at Genie’s,” she said, double-fisting the snack food. “Whoa, did you order the whole menu?” She glanced at the spread of every appetizer on their menu currently jammed into our small bit of bar space.
“I wasn’t sure what I wanted,” I lied. I was glaring toward Cath.
The drummer looked up, her eyes widened, and she stumbled over the tempo before finding her footing again.
Shit, that glare wasn’t meant for her.
Mari glanced at Cath and back to me. “Fix your face.” I saw her hackles rise, waiting to defend her student. When I did, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m trying to figure out if that’s the same drum kit I used when I went there.”
Mari turned to the band, who had just started with a slow, easy tune. The crease between her brow smoothed. “Oh, yeah. Probably.”
“How is it even still in one piece?” I asked. Another wave of guilt broke over my head like a crashing cymbal, imagining my top-of-the-line kit sitting covered and unloved in the basement of Janice’s.
“I don’t know that it is one piece. Are you really that surprised, though? Funding for art and music is always lowest on the district’s priority list. That’s definitely not changed since you went here. If Principal Pin Dick has his way, all funds would go to the sports teams, and the music programs would be cut totally. He thinks it’s a waste of time and money. Hence, twenty-year-old drum kits.” She took another bite, doing the mouth huff thing of someone whose food was too hot. The woman ate like she was running out of time. Didn’t anybody feed her? I would make sure she always had food, the way she was constantly on the run. After she swallowed with a wince, she said, “And broken music stands and barely any rehearsal space. Damn, these are good. Did you try those yet?” She pointed at the shrimp cocktail. I shook my head and grabbed one.
“That’s why there are five different coaches, and one Mari doing every music class outside choir?” I asked as she shrugged. “How can you afford anything?”
“Begging.”
I snorted.
“I’m serious.” She leaned closer to whisper, “I’m close to selling mypanties online. I’m kidding.” I froze and felt the temperature of the restaurant go up five degrees. She waited a beat, then added, “Mostly. No. I just go around to all the business owners and ask for donations. We offer to put on shows and performances like this in the hopes that they are willing when I ask for donations. Which reminds me.” She glanced at the bartender and waved him over. “Is the owner here?”
“Yeah, back in his office. Want me to get him?”
“Nah. Thanks, though.”
After he walked away, she leaned closer to whisper again. I didn’t mind. “Better if I go back there uninvited and catch him off guard before he can think of an excuse not to donate.” The action caused her knees to brush against mine. Ever more electricity pulsed through me. I was definitely attracted to this woman, and more than that, the tenacity that fueled her.
“Vicious,” I said after a swallow.
“Well, you have to be.” She shrugged and grabbed a loaded potato skin.
I chomped on a shrimp, feeling more sick with every bite. It wasn’t expired seafood that was the culprit. It was witnessing how hard Mari was working herself to the bone for this small high school band. And for what? Most of these kids wouldn’t even think about music after they left school.
On the drums, Cath gently moved her brushes around the snare, eyes almost closed as she listened to the others around her. For every hundred students who just wanted an easy elective, there were the kids like Cath and myself. Kids who dreamed big and had souls fueled by music. Kids who had music so tied into their identity they didn’t know who they were without it.
This couldn’t be dragged out any longer. I needed to tell Mari.
“You said your family was supposed to visit?” my mouth blurted. That was not the plan. That was the opposite of the plan.
