Thedrummerslumpedontothesnare,gasping.Thevocalistchuggedwater.Elianstoppedstrumming,hischestrisingandfalling.Hebrusheddampbangsbackwithhisfiurned—

        andimmediatelyspottedtheercouch,watgthemwithagazethatfeltalmostlikeanevaluation.

        Elian’smouthcurvedintothatfamiliar,slightlydelismile.Helettheguitarhanginfrontofhimandstrodeover.

        “Seenenough,undercssman?”Helookeddownather,voicethreadedwithchallengeandfidence.“Sowhatdoyouthink—how’sourseniorband?Goodenoughforthe*number-one*eleventh-gradebassist?”

        Cradidn’tavoidhiseyes.Sheadjustedherrimlessgssesandroseslowly.

        Shewasonlyfive-foot-three—shehadtotiltheruptolookathim.Butthecalmcertaintyshecarried,thatsce-studentsteadiness,keptherpresenlosinganinchtohisheight.

        “Mm.”Hervoicewaslevel—andcruel.“Theguitar’sloud.Thedrummer’sdouble-kicksounds…weird.”

        Thenshedrovetheneedlestraightintothewound.

        “Andwithoutlowend,itdoesn’tsoundlikeall.”

        Thedrummer,mid-sip,nearlychoked.Thevocalistahmguitariststaredatthisaudaciouseleventh-gradegirsifthey’dneverseenagirlintheirliveswhodaredtalktoElianShe.

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