Page 51 of The Dysasters

“Tweetly-tweetly-dee, tweetly-dee-dee!

Tweetly-tweetly-dee, tweetly-dee-dee!”

Tate’s eyes widened and he held his breath as he listened. Her voice was sweet and strong and filled with a lightness he’d never heard in her words before.Man, Foster can sing!

She played around with the melody that Tate was still trying to place as air followed her direction. And then Foster started singing. Softly, at first.

“He rocks in the treetops all day long

Hoppin and a-boppin’ and singing his song

All the little birdies on Jaybird Street

Love to hear the robin go tweet tweet tweet!”

Holy crap! Foster’s singing a Jackson 5 song!

As she got more and more into the song Foster began to dance, making sliding steps left and right in time to the words. Magically, magnificently, the boughs of the willows whispered the chorus with her.

“Rockin’ robin, rock rock

Rockin’ robin

Blow rockin’ robin

’Cause we’re really gonna rock tonight!”

Foster’s strong, beautiful voice grew more and more confident as she danced and sang with wind and willows.

Tate thought she was the coolest thing he’d ever seen. He said a silent thank-you to his g-ma (God rest her) for being a Motown fan—and to his g-pa for forcing him to take dorky swing dance lessons when all he’d wanted to do was play football. But G-pa had told him as a young boy that in order toproperly woo a woman—seriously his G-pa used words likewoo—he had to learn to dance. And as the old man had said,Really dance—not that air-humping crap that passes as dance moves today.

So, Tate wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, took a deep breath—and then, trying to channel the suaveness for which G-pa claimed to be famous, Tate started walking to Foster while he harmonized with her on the next verse.

“Every little swallow, every chick-a-dee

Every little bird in the tall oak tree…”

Foster’s breath hitched and her song sputtered as she whirled around to face him, her face blazing red, but Tate just grinned and held out one hand to her. “Come on! Dance with me!”

She stared at his hand as the air seemed to hold its breath.

“Unless you’re worried about what other people—like me—think of you,” he said with a sly smile.

“Not for one second!” She took his hand and sang loud and strong.

“… The wise old owl, the big black crow

Flappin’ their wings singing go bird go!”

Tate picked up the beat easily. Of course he knew the old song, but it was more than that. As he spun Foster around, the air filled with her song and it seemed the leaves of the surrounding trees caught, held, and then began playing the melody with them.

Foster’s green eyes widened and he held her close, leading her in a swing so perfect he could almost see his G-pa’s nod of approval.

“Can you hear that?” she whispered.

“Yeah! Keep singing!” Tate twirled her around as he sang the chorus again with her.

“Rockin’ robin, rock rock!