“I’m putting a band together,” I say, my gaze swinging to the sticks. “And I need a drummer.”
“A band?” He glances around me, as if waiting for Kurt Cobain’s ghost to pop out of the bushes. “I don’t know, man. I’m kinda over the startup-band grind. They’re all busted strings and sheer luck these days.”
Can’t say I disagree. But maybe I can improve the luck.
“Listen, we’re sort of scrambling. And I can tell that you’re good, thanks to the 3:00 a.m. jam sessions rattling my walls.”
He sends me a salute.
“We’re still on the hunt for a bassist, but the rest of us were asked to perform at The Soundproof,” I continue. “It’s a music venue out in New York—”
“No fucking shit.”
“Yeah. It’s a big deal.”
His eyes widen as much as they can. “Whoa. Hell yeah. Shit yeah.”
“We practice a few miles away at my buddy’s house. It’s just been covers up till now, but we have some new stuff we’re piecing together. If you’re interested—”
“Sign me the fuck up.”
“Really?”
“I’m in. I don’t have shit-else to do.”
“Cool. Give me your number and I’ll send you the details. We usuallypractice around midnight, but I realize that’s not normal. We can figure something else out.”
“Nah. I’m a night owl.” He stares at me, eyes narrowing. “Hey, what about that girl you’re friends with? Borrowed my phone a few months back. She’s got blueish hair. Kind of pink.”
I blink at him. “Purple?”
He jabs a finger in my face, nodding. “That’s fucking it. Purple. She in the band too?” A drowsy smile stretches. “She was cute as hell.”
“Uh, yeah. She is.” My hands curl inside my pockets. “Annalise.”
“Nice, nice.”
“Her brother plays rhythm guitar and sings backup vocals. Tag. If you’re free tonight, I’ll introduce you.”
“Freer than a mall Santa in January.”
My left eye twitches. “All right. Sounds good.” I add his number into my phone, my gaze lifting. “Is Rock your real name?”
“Nickname. Last name’s Rockwell.”
“And your first name?”
“Norman.”
My head snaps all the way up. I stare at him, scratching my cheek. “Norman Rockwell.”
“Yeah, man. Don’t make a big deal about it. The folks didn’t realize it was already taken.”
“Got it.” One more question simmers. “So, is the nickname because you were already into music, or did the nickname trigger your love for music?”
Rock’s pupils dilate to giant inkblots. He breathes out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Dude. That’s deep. I’ll get back to you on that one.”
I hold back the laugh. “I’ll text you later.”
