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I should have been proud of my strength but I was too busy struggling with feeling like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. Although I managed to keep my cool throughout the rest of the day, my brain was busy with things other than classroom lectures.

All afternoon, though, I considered doing exactly what I’d threatened with Zack, and that was quitting the band. The reasons now, though, would be entirely different. I’d keep my promise to play the shows I’d already committed to, but after that, I’d be gone.

I could do that. It would be less than three months. I should be able to handle that.

So I didn’t cry that afternoon. And, after school as planned, I drove to Zack’s house for practice. But I didn’t chitchat or joke around. In fact, I felt kind of like Cyrus, the guy who just wanted to come in, do his part, and then leave without creating or bonding—or even seeming to have fun.

But when I sat down on my stool at Zack’s house and held onto the drumsticks, something happened.

All my emotions charged through my arms and legs and exited through the drums. All my anger, frustration, and utter devastation released their hold on me with each motion, and I found myself playing with more passion than I ever had before.

Still…that wasn’t the only way my emotions found their way out.

In the middle of one song, a tear fell, followed by another and another, and when I felt my nose moisten and I was unable to wipe it away, I knew I had to get my shit together. Fortunately, no one noticed.

Every drum beat released something negative so that, by the end of practice, I felt free and almost new. The pain, the humiliation were still there, but I was more than just a girl who’d had her heart stomped on by the boy she’d loved the most.

I felt strong.

“Holy shit, Dani,” Braden said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you play like that.”

Ah…so the strength I felt translated into crappy drumming.

The other guys agreed, but I decided right then that I wouldn’t apologize. I wasn’t going to blame anyone out loud, either, but I knew the blame for my playing could be placed squarely on Zack’s shoulders. What a shitty thing to do.

“I have to agree,” Zack said. “You’ve moved from beginner to a real drummer with the potential to be seriously bad ass.” Grinning at me, piercing me through the heart like he always could, he said, “I knew you had it in you, Dani.”

Wait…they were saying my drumming was good . And that should have made me feel better.

But it didn’t.

And I wasn’t going to stay with the band just because I’d somehow evolved. Besides, I doubted the evolution to begin with. I was pretty certain whatever they’d seen was the effect of me letting my emotions completely go .

I wasn’t going to tell them that it had felt amazing. Never before in my life had I had something inside that not only let me create and express but also allowed me to release everything pent up.

If only I’d had the drums back in middle school.

And it was for that reason alone I wasn’t going to stop playing.

But was I going to remain in Once Upon a Riot?

That was a question I pondered on my drive home.

Ultimately, I came to the conclusion that no one else would want me.

I couldn’t read music and, even with my breakthrough earlier that afternoon, I was no Tommy Lee or Chris Adler.

There was also the problem I’d argued with Zack weeks ago: I was a girl.

Not many metal bands would give me a chance, of that much I was certain.

And maybe I’d overreacted. Maybe he was right—it might be a bad idea to be friends and lovers and bandmates, and maybe I needed to simply take what he was willing to offer. The bottom line was that I didn’t want Zack out of my life, not for any reason.

By the time I reached Nopal, I’d decided fine . If the only way I could have Zack in my life was as a friend only, I’d take it. I needed him in my life, because he was the best friend I’d ever had.

When I got home, I fell into bed. The muscles in my arms throbbed. My heart ached. But my brain kept going.

If he stays in my life, then there’s always a chance…but if I leave, I’ll never have that chance.

Maybe Zack needed time to realize we could work.

I fell asleep clinging to this thought.

A week later, we were practicing hard again, our goal to be as professional as possible once the date of our first show arrived.

It was another Friday night and we’d just finished another grueling practice. Cyrus had left right after, as usual, and Zack, Braden, and I sat around the TV chilling out.

Zack had the rum out again, and he and Braden were drinking it with Coke. Both were happy and laughing a lot and I finally said, “Fine. I’ll try a sip.”

I knew it was technically illegal and, if for some reason a cop crashed through the door, I’d probably be in big trouble, but I was beginning to realize that Zack drank a lot and he hadn’t suffered for it, save for the occasional hangover.

Neither he nor Braden ever pushed it on me, but Zack politely asked most of the time—and I figured I’d try it just once, and then he wouldn’t say another word until the next time. Or maybe he’d just stop asking.

The sip didn’t tell me much, so I drank half the shot he’d poured for me.

Holy shit. It burned going down, leaving me out of breath and questioning my sanity. As I adjusted to the feeling, coughing and shaking my head, I was then left with a warming sensation purring down my chest.

Not too bad.

But I could go the rest of my life without another one.

“What do you think?”

“I’m wondering why you drink so much of this shit, Zack. It tastes like it’ll make my hair fall out.”

“If you think that’s bad,” Braden said, taking the bottle from me, “you should taste the tequila we drink sometimes. I think it must be what fingernail polish remover tastes like.”

“My hair’s growing just fine.” Zack looked squarely at me when he added, “Nobody’s forcing you to drink. ”

“I know. I wasn’t complaining. Just letting you know you won’t have to fight me for your fair share.”

Zack took another long, slow drink, but the bottle was dark, so I couldn’t tell how much he’d really consumed. “Guys,” he said, his eyes glazed over, “thanks for joining the band.”

“Dude, I’m just glad you had faith in me.”

I had to echo Braden’s sentiment. “Me, too.”

“I wanted my best friends with me—‘cause you’re like my armor. I couldn’t do half this shit without you.”

I laughed. “That’s only because you can’t play two instruments at once, Zack.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” His eyes took on a watery appearance, but, at the time, I thought maybe the potency of the liquor was getting to him. “When I feel like giving up, I can’t, because I know I’ll be letting you down.”

“Do you need a break?”

“Hell, no. This is my dream. I need it.” He poured more into his glass of Coke before chugging another straight mouthful.

I almost shivered watching him do it, now that I knew what it tasted like.

“I need it like I need air, but sometimes I don’t know how to go on—and that’s where you guys come in. I can do anything with you around.”

Shaking his head, Braden waved his hands in an exaggerated fashion.

I realized after a moment that he wasn’t dramatizing his movements on purpose but he was inebriated and less able to control his motor functions.

“No way, Zack. You don’t give yourself enough credit.

You have your shit together more than most adults I know, let alone kids in high school. ”

“Thanks, man. But it’s all an act.”

Oh, God, he was breaking my heart. It was in that moment that I realized that I would be by his side for as long as he wanted and needed, even in the friend zone. That was how much I loved him. “I hate to even say this, but…maybe you shouldn’t be drinking this stuff.”

Half a smile appeared on Zack’s face but it never reached his eyes. “Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s—it seems to be making you depressed or something.”

“Nah. I just sometimes let my guard down when I’ve had too much.

I live with this shit all the time. I just don’t let you see it.

” Zack’s eyes focused on the glass that held his mixed drink and I looked over at our other friend.

Braden’s mouth was screwed up and he gave a little nod, answering my unspoken question: he knew this already—and Zack wasn’t exaggerating.

Oh, my friend. How could I help you when I couldn’t even figure out how to help myself?

It was the strangest thing, but learning to master drums gave me a quiet confidence I’d never had before.

Up until that point, I’d been a little insecure (or a lot, depending upon the situation), but day by day, my self-assurance grew.

It manifested itself in the way I walked and talked with people, both in and out of the classroom.

I began carrying myself with my shoulders high, no longer hunched over, as if that would hide my breasts from the world.

I started wearing different clothing, too, and trying new things with my hair and makeup.

And, for the first time in my high school career, I managed to attract the attention of a couple of boys.

I often wondered if they hadn’t noticed me until I let myself be seen or if they had tried to ignore me because I wasn’t interesting—and now I suddenly was.

But here they were, whether I was ready or not .

The first guy caught me off guard. It was in art class one Wednesday morning early in October. “Danielle, right?”

“Yeah, you can call me Dani. And you’re Randy?”

When he nodded, I thought he was cute in his own way, with dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and a cleft in his chin that made him appear rugged and masculine. He was a basketball player—a good one, at that—and I knew he was gearing up for the season. “Yeah. Do you have a blue pencil I can borrow?”

“Sure.” Instead of reaching inside my pencil bag, I handed it to him so he could find the shade of pencil he wanted.

Once a week, the teacher had us sketch a still life arrangement.

Not once had she given us a bowl with fruit in it, although she’d promised to do that before the end of the year.

Today, she’d arranged a vase, a large textbook, a small wastebasket, and the whiteboard eraser on a table in the middle of the room.

Already she’d taught us concepts of perspective and shading and the like, but we could only get good at them, she’d said, if we practiced.

While I enjoyed the practice and loved learning how to create the look of three dimensions on paper, I knew after a couple of months in there that while I liked art class and was a decent artist, it would never be a passion for me.

Not like playing drums.

And what an odd way to come to that realization.

Randy set my pencil bag on my desk. “Thanks.” He’d found a light blue pencil and got ready to begin sketching the textbook.

“Hey,” I whispered, digging in my bag, “I have a better match for that color.”

“Yeah?” He hadn’t started outlining the book, but I wondered why he wasn’t just sketching with a regular pencil anyway.

Still, who was I to question his art? After finding it, I handed him my blue-green pencil, something closer to the correct shade of the book, and he gave me the blue one back.

After thanking me again, he began sketching the book using my colored pencil.

The teacher was busy sketching it herself until a student called her over with a question. Then Randy scooted his desk a little closer to mine. “I have some trouble with colors so thanks for your help.”

“Are you color blind?”

“Yeah. They have some other name for it, but that’s it.”

“Wow. I can’t even imagine.” The girl on the other side of Randy gave me a look, apparently wishing we’d stop whispering, but I decided to ignore her.

“It’s not that bad, really. I don’t know what I’m missing. It’s only stuff like this that trips me up.”

I glanced at his drawing thus far. He was half done and the rest of the drawing had been with regular pencil.

I was going to ask him if all those things looked gray to him, because what I saw was a clear vase, a beige wastebasket, and a whiteboard eraser that was mostly gray and black.

And I didn’t see that he had any colored pencils at all.

“You should get some colored pencils, Randy. I think we’re gonna need them for class a lot. ”

“Maybe. You’re not gonna let me borrow from you anymore?” He grinned at me before the teacher looked over at us, clearing her throat.

So we were quiet for the rest of the period, but at the end of class, Randy caught me as I was walking out. “Here’s your pencil back. Thanks for letting me borrow it, Dani.”

“Of course. Happy to.” I fished out my little pencil bag and unzipped it before dropping in the blue-green pencil.

“Do you ever go to football games?” he asked as we began making our way down the hall.

Um…I was starting to understand now why he was being friendly—if I understood his intention.

I still doubted myself. But if I was right, he didn’t stand a chance.

Because Zack was my number one interest, I knew I’d have to deflect any sort of invitation now—and if I did it right, I could also avoid hurting Randy’s feelings.

“I used to, but now I’m a drummer in a band called Once Upon a Riot. ”

“Oh, shit. That Zack kid’s band?”

That Zack kid? I thought our school was small enough that we all knew each other pretty well, especially after spending four years together—but apparently not. I cooled off immediately. “Yeah. Zack Ryan, Braden Mitchell, Cyrus Gilliam, and me.”

“So you guys are good then?”

At least he hadn’t asked anything about me being a girl in a band. “Hell, yeah. We’re great. And we’re gonna be playing a show in Lamar the end of this month. You should come watch us.”

“I should. What’s the venue?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Zack. I just show up and beat the drums.” And I turned on my heel so I could head to Government where I’d see that particular man.

Randy hadn’t stood a chance.