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“You’re lying,” he says. “We fucking rock.”
“Okay, whatever,” I admit, rolling my eyes as I make my way back to the door, despite how desperately I want to stay right here and watch him play for the rest of my life. “You might be alright.”
Ezra laughs. “Alright enough to make it to the top?”
I pause by the door. “Maybe, but you’re going to need a kickass manager,” I tell them, holding up a finger at Axel before he has a chance to cut me off. “And before you even attempt to tell me no, it’s too late. The spot has been filled. It’s official.”
“Deal,” Ezra says with a cheesy grin as Axel rolls his eyes.
I go to reach for the door when he calls out again. “Wait. Do you know how to hold a beat?”
I whip around to face him, my face twisted with concern. A beat is certainly not something I am capable of holding. “Uhhhhh . . . No.”
“Come on,” he says, getting up from the chair and carrying it into the center of the practice space. He puts it down before grabbing an old tub and flipping it upside down. “Don’t worry, it’s not hard. I’ll teach you.”
“I’m really not good with music.”
“Yeah, she’s really not,” Axel agrees.
“Well, until we can find a drummer, she’s all we’ve got,” Ezra says, waving me over. “Plus, you know if we had a backing beat, it’d be easier to stay in sync.”
Axel scoffs, his lips quirking with a cheesy grin. “Maybe for you.”
Ezra gapes at him, and I roll my eyes, more than used to my brother’s stupid humor. “Okay, fine. Teach me what I have to do,” I say, striding toward him and sitting down in front of the makeshift drum, dreading whatever’s about to happen. Axel has tried to teach me before, but after realizing I had no hope, he quickly gave up. But the only difference here is that I’m more than happy to fail in front of my brother. As for Ezra, I want to be good.
“Okay. We’re gonna start with a count of four,” Ezra says, crouching down beside me as he lays both of his hands on top of the tub. “With your right hand, just tap. One. Two. Three. Four.”
He demonstrates, and as he starts a second count of four, I join in.
“Good,” he says. “Now, keeping the same tempo, we’re going to go double time. So, for every count, you tap twice.”
He demonstrates again, still keeping the same slow count, but tapping his hand a little faster. “One, and two, and three, and four.”
Eight taps. Four counts. I can manage this.
I try it with him, tapping my right hand on the drum. “One, and two, and three, and four. And—”
“Good. Now, your left hand,” he says, not stopping the rhythm on the drum. “Every time I say two and four, you tap your left hand.”
My eyes widen, and I watch as he shows me. Continuing with his right hand and then adding the left on the even counts. “One and two, and three, and four. One and two, and—”
“Huh. Okay.”
Adding my left hand to the drum, I count inside my head, trying to perfect the rhythm and after only a second, I quickly master it. “Yes!” Ezra calls, standing back up. “That’s it. Just like that. Keep going.”
A stupid beaming grin stretches across my face as I hold a beat for the first time in my life, and without even a moment of hesitation, the boys reach for their guitars, hooking the straps over their shoulders. They meet each other’s stares across the practice space and without saying a damn word, they pick up where they left off, somehow sounding even better.
My hands tap the drum like I’m a warrior princess and with every strum of Ezra’s skilled fingers across the strings, I realize that I don’t ever want this to end. If this could be my life, I would die a happy woman. To have his attention would be everything. He smiles at me as he plays, and I almost lose my beat, and judging by the smirk that cuts across his face, he knows.
Ezra Knight is more than aware of the effect he’s having on me, and maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’m just as delusional as Axel’s dreams of being a rockstar, but I think there might just be something here. Maybe he feels just a fraction of what I’m feeling.
That’s crazy, though. He couldn’t possibly feel any sort of way toward me. I’m just some dumb kid.
The boys wrap up the song, and as I stop tapping my makeshift drum, Axel grins at Ezra. “We’re good, man,” he says. “Like really fucking good.”
Ezra nods as though something has just occurred to him, something I can’t quite figure out.
“We need a full band,” Ezra says. “Drummer and bassist.”
