The first time I saw this set, I had a similar reaction. Complete awe. We’d both come from the same humble drum beginnings. She was probably not sure where to even start.
“Why don’t you take a seat?” I asked.
She looked at me and then back at the set. “I don’t want to.”
I swallowed and blinked. Okay, maybe I’d built up the scene in my head a little bit too much. I would grandly reveal the drums, she’d gasp, and maybe an unshed tear would sparkle in her wide eyes.
I hadn’t expected her not to want to play them.
“Why?” I asked, tentatively.
“They aren’t mine. It’s like using someone else’s toothbrush.” She tucked her hands into her sleeves. Another barrier to protect her from me and myapparentlygross used drums.
“That’s not true. It’s more like using a perfectly good instrument thatsomeone is offering you because the shitty ones you used broke. There. That’s a better analogy.”
Her gaze looked up and away; her lips sucked in. She didn’t roll her eyes, but I got the impression she was trying not to. She mumbled something.
The longer my set sat there, unloved and unplayed, the more agitation grew. I wasn’t exactly in a super patient mood to begin with. I hadn’t expected an award for my idea, but I had thought a little enthusiasm—not teenage angst.
“Say what?” I asked.
“I’m not a charity case,” she said louder.
I stilled. “Is that what you think this is?” Was it charity? It didn’t feel like charity; it felt more like Mari held me at emotional gunpoint. But had Cath misinterpreted my self-consciousness as not wanting to help her?
“You don’t even want to be doing this. Miss Mitchell basically forced you.”
“I—” I started. I wanted to be a rational adult, and that was never my strong suit.
What did I remember from being a teenager? Let me dig back in the long, dusty vaults of my brain. I remember being hated by this town and feeling like the whole place couldn’t wait to get rid of me. I remembered hating how every freaking adult talked down to me like I had no clue how the world worked. And okay, maybe I didn’t know how the world worked, but nobody wanted to be treated like a dumb kid.
“I’ll level with you,” I started again. “I didn’t think this arrangement was a good idea,” I said. Cath stiffened, her body retreating even farther into the hoodie. “But that has everything to do with me and my shit and not you.”
She ground her jaw but looked at me. I took it as a sign to go on.
“I don’t know if you know this, but I used to live in Green Valley. I left the second I turned eighteen and was in a band for a while. The Burnouts? Ever hear of them?”
Cath blinked at me like I was clueless. Obviously, I sounded like an ancient, out-of-touch grown-up speaking about the music of years gone by.
“Well, anyway. The Burnouts are moderately big. And I toured and everything for a while. Until I came back here.” I scratched the back of my neck. “I don’t know the first thing about college auditions or sheet music. Shit, I don’t even know if I hold my stick the right way. If anything, you’ll probably teach me more than I could show you.”
I’m just going to fail.
My mouth snapped shut before any more fears could dump out.
“Sorry for the overshare,” I added. “And for swearing. I know you don’tcare, but as an adult, I feel like swearing is something I should be more aware of.”
This time, Cath bit back a smile.
“Do you even know what Mari—er, Miss Mitchell—wants me to work on with you?”
Cath shrugged. This was off to an inspiring start.
“Listen. If the drum thing really grosses you out or whatever, I could ask Devlin if he has an extra kit we could use. But you aren’t charity. If anybody here is a loser, it’s me. Not the virtuoso percussionist.”
“I never said I was a loser,” Cath said and took a tentative step toward the kit.
“Okay, good. Then we’re clear that I’m the only loser here.” I shook my head with a sly grin.
