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“ I don’t think so, guys,” I said, anticipating their question to ask me to play drums. I wanted to design a logo for them—and I could even picture myself as a manager or something.

I didn’t know how to play instruments, not even drums. Yeah, as a kid, I’d banged on the bottom of mom’s pots and pans, but that didn’t make me capable of guiding the rhythm of a rock band.

“Aw, c’mon, Dani. I taught Braden bass, and I’d argue that’s a little more complicated.”

“Okay, but I’d argue that he has a talent for it.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Dani. You can do this.”

“ Afraid? I’m not afraid.” But maybe I was, deep down inside.

The far-reaching implications could have been weighing on me and I wasn’t even consciously aware of it.

But I believed I didn’t want to do this for Zack, no matter how much I loved him.

Even though growing up I thought becoming a celebrity was what I wanted to do with my life, I questioned that now.

So I took a new tack. “How are you even gonna fit a drum kit in the back of your car? ”

He laughed. “You don’t think I haven’t already thought of that?

Do I look that stupid?” I rolled my eyes.

“Everything we need’ll fit in the back of my grandpa’s truck—drum kit, guitar cases, amps.

Both venues provide one mic and stand, but those are easy enough to slide in anywhere anyway.

And Cy has a car now, so he’ll drive anyone who won’t fit in the truck. Piece of cake.”

“Good to see chess has helped you think things through.” I grinned while he flashed me a fake frown. I knew Zack was smart—one of the smartest kids I knew—but he wasn’t interested in book learning. I was actually surprised he had returned for our senior year (but I was grateful he had).

“You’re avoiding the offer, Dani.”

“I’m sure there are tons of guys at the school who’d love to play in your band.”

“Oh, so you liked me having a— douchebag , is that what you guys said?—a douchebag in my band. So any old douchebag will do? Is that what you’re saying?

” Again, a grin cracked my face but my lips remained sealed.

“Am I understanding this right, Braden? Dani would rather have a stinky bag of fruity water behind the drum kit, a guy who smells like he scrubs fishy pussies—she’d rather have that guy banging the skins, instead of a beautiful young woman who just needs to learn how to do it? ”

I’d started laughing at his disgusting description of douchey Parker, so his compliment didn’t hit me as hard as it normally would have.

It wasn’t until I was replaying the scene in my head that night in bed that I realized he’d called me beautiful .

“Yeah, that’s what I heard, Zack. Not in those words, of course.” Then Braden started snickering, unable to contain himself any longer. When the doorbell rang, he said, “I’ll grab that.”

“Seriously, Dani. If I teach you, you’ll be fine.

I’ve seen you. When we listen to a favorite song or I’m playing something up here, you’re tapping your foot to the beat or swaying to the rhythm, and you don’t even know you’re doing it.

With drums, it’s not like you have to carry a tune or strike a chord.

That’s the cool thing about ‘em—there are so many ways you can express a beat, so many different tools at the tips of your sticks. I know you’ll be a natural. ”

I was lost in his emerald eyes, sailing on his words, considering the proposition. But my lack of faith in my abilities was in its death throes, making one last attempt at letting me sit out of my own life. “You’re crazy, Zack. I don’t want to be in a band.”

“Bullshit. Of everyone I know, you want it the most. You just don’t know it yet.”

“But I can barely walk up the stairs at the high school without tripping. I’m not coordinated enough to play drums.”

“Look…if Lars Ulrich has been able to convince people he’s a drummer for decades, so can you.”

I shook my head, because being compared to Metallica’s drummer seemed almost like sacrilege…even though I’d heard Zack poke fun at the guy plenty of times before. But he hadn’t convinced me. “Okay, well, I don’t want to be in a band, especially with guys .”

“What’s wrong with guys?”

Cyrus and Braden walked in and quietly took their instruments out of their cases, as if Zack and I weren’t even there. “Nothing. But you know how my mom had a cow just ‘cause I was in a car with you guys. How do you think she’d feel if I was in a band with you?”

“That was a long time ago, Dani. You’re almost an adult now. And even if she decides not to see that, you’ll be old enough to make your own decisions soon.”

I didn’t admit to myself yet that he was successfully wearing down my defenses. “Okay, fine. Let’s say I do this. How stupid will it be for you to have a female drummer? How many metal bands have a female on drums?”

The droll expression on his face nearly had me in stitches again. “The cute chick from Pop Evil. Samantha Maloney, in both Hole and Motley Crüe. Skillet—”

Cyrus said, “You’d have to win the argument that Skillet’s actually rock first.”

Zack kept going as if he hadn’t heard him. “And if you expand it to rock in general, Lenny—”

“Exactly. You can name two or three women on drums in metal off the top of your head, because women in metal are rare. It’s not female friendly.”

“All the more reason to do it. Break that glass ceiling and make our band more popular with women at the same time.” Raising his eyebrows, he added, “You’ll be an inspiration to thousands, maybe millions, of women.”

“You’re crazy.” But how the hell had he known that hook was the one that would catch me?

“I only look crazy. I know you can do this, Dani.”

I asked him for some time to think about it, and he acquiesced—probably because he knew I was ready to go for it.

Then he, Cy, and Braden started jamming.

While they did it, I imagined myself at the kit behind them, driving the rhythm.

It was in that moment that I realized the drummer is the heartbeat of the band, what’s underneath it all pushing it forward.

A drum machine was nothing but a program, mechanical and rigid, something that might perform adequately, but it would be missing spontaneity, creativity… heart and soul.

Zack’s vision needed soul, not some lifeless machine ticking off preprogrammed beats.

Ultimately, I was buoyed by his faith in me, by his belief that I was meant for the job, and I was convinced because my heart told me I belonged there.

And the growing yearning I had for Zack didn’t play into the decision, because I knew deep inside that he and I would have been together in one way or another anyway.

I was destined to help him with his band.

Now more than ever.

By the time I left his house late that afternoon, I told him yes .

Now I had to figure out how to get my hands on some drums.

It turned out that my first set of drums was easy to score.

Zack had gone on Craigslist that night and found a guy in Dalton who wanted to find a good home for his kid’s set.

His son had gone to college and majored in computer science.

“If he wants a new set someday, he’ll be able to afford something better, and I want my damn garage back. ”

And learning the drums wasn’t as easy as Zack had hyped it up to be—but I’d find that out soon enough.

When he delivered the kit using his grandpa’s old blue Chevy, he set it up in a corner of my tiny bedroom.

I felt more than a little relief when he didn’t make a single comment about the tiny poster above my bed that said, “Be patient. God isn’t finished with me yet. ” Why did I still have that in my room?

He did , however, nod at my A7X poster—not that I needed him to approve.

Still, having him in my bedroom was like letting him look inside my brain—with the exception that I’d tidied up.

My room would have been embarrassing had I not cleaned.

The bed was made and I’d put all my makeup neatly into the top drawer of my dresser instead of having it scattered all over the top like I usually did.

My closet door was closed and the pile of books usually beside my bed were now hiding underneath it.

The drum kit was going to make it hard to maneuver in that space, but I’d manage. Now that I’d had some time to sleep on the idea, I was excited. Zack was right—I could be an inspiration to women everywhere.

After he got it all set up, he sat on the tiny black stool behind the collection of drums and used the sticks in his hands as pointers to begin instructing me.

“These are your toms—high, mid, and floor,” he said as he touched the top of each one respectively.

“And this is your snare.” Suddenly, his focus shifted. “Oh, hi.”

I turned around when I realized he was talking to someone.

And, of course, it would have to be my mother.

“Uh,” she said, clearing her throat, her brows furrowed.

I tried not to let my anger flare because I knew if Zack had been a girl, she wouldn’t have used that tone. “Who is this and what are you doing?”

But she had to know who my friend here was, because I’d talked about him a lot over the past few years—and she’d wanted to meet him at one point. “Mom, this is Zack Ryan, my friend from Chess Club. And this is a drum kit he bought me.”

Although she flashed me a confused expression, I could tell she was trying to keep the anger out of her features. “There’s no room in here.”

“There’s enough room,” I said, as sassy as I’d ever get, “and you won’t be home when I play them.”

“Hello, Zack,” she said, trying to be civil, albeit a little too late, before turning back to me. “You don’t know how to play.”

“I’m gonna teach her, Missus—Miss…” Zack’s voice faded away as he realized he had no clue what to call my mother. Calling her Miss , however, had earned him a couple of points.

“It’s Ms. Mankin , but you can call me Lisa.”