Page 46 of Becoming Us

“This is such a good fucking song.” I closed my eyes and followed the rhythm, playing without sticks but still feeling every beat. It was surreal—how the music could connect with your body on such a deep level, like it was playing you, not the other way around. Guiding your movements and making everything come alive.

“Do you actually know what you’re doing?” Colin asked.

“Yeah, he plays. It’s not just for show. Or, well, a little. But he does play,” Holly added.

I ignored them and stayed with the riff.

“Do you play with a band?”

“Nope.”

“How come?”

“He’s an oddly solitary player,” Holly said. “Even though, in real life, he never shuts up and needs to participate in every social interaction.”

“Well said,” I replied, still tapping along.

Colin leaned on his elbow, watching me. “Jake Hale is looking for a drummer. He’s friends with George from the team. This was a couple weeks ago, but maybe they’re still looking. Why don’t you try out?”

“Because playing is how I let off steam. I’m angry, I play. I’m sad, I play. I’m overstimulated and annoyed with everybody’s existence, I play. That doesn’t seem like a group activity to me.”

“It’s a hundred percent a group activity,” Holly muttered absently.

“Plus, what kind of music does Jake Hale’s band even play? Are they into metal? Because I’ll be a hundred percent honest with you and say this”—I pointed to the speaker—“this is what I’m about.”

“Yeah, are they into corny eighties rock or pop? Because that’s exclusively his vibe,” Holly teased, smirking when I glared at her.

“I have no clue. But I could ask, if you want.”

I chuckled to myself. “Could you imagine if I went and auditioned? I know exactly what song I’d pick.”

I grabbed my phone, typed quickly, and hit play.

As soon as it started, Holly snorted.

“What?” Colin asked.

“Col, don’t tell me you don’t recognize our queen. The one and only. The goddess. The icon,” I said, mock-dramatic.

“Madonna, Col,” Holly said.

I arched a brow and pointed at him as I started singing, “Papa, I know you’re going to be upset…”

Colin was already bracing for impact, a grin stretching across his face. I started playing again, tapping out a beat with exaggerated flair, swaying a little as the music took over. Closing my eyes, I let the lyrics roll out of me like gospel. God, this song was so fucking good.

“Oh, here we go,” Holly said.

“Crank it up—all the way, Hols,” I said, and she did.

I didn’t hesitate.

I stood from the bench like it was a stage cue, grabbed Holly’s phone right out of her hand, flipped it in my fingers like a mic, and stepped up onto the table. I tilted my chin up, threw my free arm wide, and launched into full performance mode—chest puffed, voice loud, hips swaying in rhythm.

When I hit the line about the guy my dad had warned me about, I added dramatic air quotes and pointed to an invisible figure in the distance. I crouched low and did a slow turn, milking it for every ounce of attention. Colin was half hiding his face in his hands, clearly mortified, but he couldn’t stop smiling. Holly, unbothered, mouthed along like she’d seen it a hundred times.

As the chorus roared, I dropped to my knees on the tabletop, clutching Holly’s phone to my chest like it was a love letter and belting out the part about keeping my baby. My voice cracked with raw, over-the-top emotion, and I didn’t care.

When the music softened for a beat, I opened my eyes and found Colin again, still hiding—but laughing.