Page 14

We entered what must have at one time been a bedroom.

There were two doors on opposite ends of the same wall that were probably storage or closets and one window on the west side.

Other than that, there was nothing spectacular about the room with beige walls and light brown carpet—but there was a drum kit hogging most of one side, and there were microphones on stands and several guitar cases, along with a keyboard, some small amps, chairs, and other equipment that I couldn’t identify.

Cyrus strapped on a beautiful red v-shaped guitar and began tuning it.

The guy wasn’t bad looking—curly chin-length black hair and ebony eyes—but I couldn’t decide if he was a nice guy or not.

Parker, a senior, had short platinum blond hair and was the shortest guy out of all four of them, but he was likely the biggest dick.

I had to look twice as he swaggered over to the door farthest away.

Surely, he wasn’t trying to impress me—and, if he was, it wasn’t working.

Besides, I was still falling hard for my friend.

After a few seconds, Parker emerged from the closet with a tall bottle in hand.

I wasn’t sure what it was at first, but he unscrewed the lid and took a swig.

It looked like water, but I knew it had to be liquor.

My mom and grandparents didn’t drink a lot, though, so I wasn’t sure what it was. Vodka, probably?

Parker handed the bottle to Zack, and Zack took a gulp before handing it to Braden. Shit. Would they ask me to have some? And, if they did, what should I do? I was curious, sure, but I was with four boys, so I knew I should be careful…and I would still have to get home at some point.

Besides, I had a Dr. Pepper.

“That all you’re having, Ryan?” Parker asked.

“Yeah, I gotta drive Dani home later. I’ll drink more when I come back.”

“Pussy.”

“Fuck you. Let’s play.” My eyes must have been wide, but Zack said to me, “Sorry, Dani. We’re just bein’ guys.”

“It’s cool.”

I didn’t know if Braden had taken a sip, but Cyrus had already set the bottle on the floor in one corner, not even offering it to me. I’d been worried about nothing.

But maybe I’d spoken too soon. Zack asked, “You didn’t want any, did you, Dani?”

“No, I’m good.” I knew kids drank but I remembered everything they’d told us in our Health and Wellness class about drugs and alcohol.

Maybe Zack hadn’t been paying attention and I was sure most kids had blown it off.

I toyed with the idea of talking to him one on one about it later, but I needed to think about it.

But did it matter if he drank a little now and then?

“So right now,” Zack said, strapping on his beautiful guitar, the gorgeous black one he’d brought to school a time or two, “we’re just learning covers to some of our favorite songs, but I’ve started writing original stuff.”

I couldn’t tell from Braden’s tone of voice what he thought when he exclaimed, “Dude!”

“Yeah!” Zack played some scales on his axe and then looked at the other three guys who nodded at him. “We’ve learned two to three songs from several time periods—what I consider eras in rock or metal, and that’s about thirteen songs. After we play ‘em, I’ll get you home.”

I shrugged, doubting my mom would even care.

“So the first one’s ‘Courage’ by Shock Treatment.”

Ah…that was one of my favorites, too. Zack and I agreed on most songs we enjoyed.

We shared the same favorite bands as well.

I was sure it was because we’d grown in our love for the music that now defined who we were and what we thought.

I’d discovered through a conversation with my grandpa that a lot of people perceived metalheads as a group of thugs who believed in anarchy, hedonism (I had to look that word up after grandpa used it), and destruction.

But my experience had been different—it was wanting to have a good time (along with a healthy respect for rebellion, but I didn’t feel a personal need to rebel) and celebrate being different.

That was the part I latched onto. My old friend Ava had wanted to conform, to be everything our peers had thought she should be, from the way she dressed to the things she said, the shows she watched, the books she read, the classes she took, and the grades she got.

And she wanted to be adored for hitting the mark.

But as we were growing into our more mature selves, I fo und myself straining against that, wanting to explore my identity.

In that way, I suppose, I did rebel.

No matter, though, because the music spoke to me always before the words—and what the guitars and rhythm said to me was that I was home.

After they made it through the intro, Zack began singing into the mic. He didn’t look at me, instead looking at an undefined spot on the carpet as he poured his heart into the song.

Wow. He was good. He needed a little work, sure, but he hit all the notes, both on his axe and with his voice.

That was what practice was for: perfecting the songs.

As I watched, I felt a shiver run up my spine.

I knew, just from that first song, that Zack was going to make it.

The other guys weren’t quite up to par, but I imagined Zack practiced ten times as much as they did. Either that or he was a natural.

I guessed it was a bit of both.

His voice was sexy and shook me at the base of my spine. It was smooth, like a piece of chocolate as it melts in your mouth, with just a little bit of gravel when he hit certain notes. I loved listening to him.

After they finished, I clapped. With a huge grin, Zack nodded, and I was pretty sure his cheeks even turned a little pink—which made me fall all the more in love with that boy. There was a quiet humility about him that he wore like an old t-shirt.

“Here’s another one I think you’ll recognize.

” Zack nodded at Parker who tapped two sticks together, and then Zack, Cyrus, and Braden began playing the same melody.

Just four notes in and I knew what it was: Metallica’s “Enter Sandman.” And as they wound their way through the intro, all four of them, building it, reaching toward the first verse in classic Metallica style, I found myself getting more excited.

Once Zack started singing, I joined along.

I just couldn’t help it, because this was one of my favorite Metallica songs.

Zack’s, too.

When they finished, I clapped again and said, “Holy crap, you guys! You’re amazing!”

“You’re not just fucking with us, Dani, are you?”

“No. Oh, my God. You could play a concert right now!”

Zack pulled his guitar off over his head and all but ran over to me.

Pulling me into an embrace, he picked me up off the floor and swirled me around.

I giggled, wrapping my arms around him, euphoric, feeling his youthful, raw, intense energy flooding my body.

When he stopped twirling, he looked down into my eyes.

I felt consumed by the infinite green pools of light gazing at me, as if he could see in my soul.

In that tiny speck of time which felt like forever, I knew he could see that I loved him with each cell in my body, every atom of my spirit, and at that iota of time, we were one.

He was mine and I was his—and he felt it, too.

For a brief second, I knew his lips were going to touch mine, and there would be no question.

But then, suddenly, Parker began banging his drums with the discord a three-year-old might display.

I didn’t know if it was because he wanted to interrupt the moment or if he was celebrating in his own way, but I could read in Zack’s eyes that he got his bearings and wondered what the hell he’d almost done.

Flashing me a sheepish smile, he set me down on the ground and said, “Hot damn. That’s awesome. ”

Maybe it was just me. Maybe it was just my world that had been shaken.

And how the hell was I supposed to go on living my life after that?