“I mean, not currently, but I’ve played in a couple school bands. It’s just not easy to hone your skills on an instrument you don’t have access to on a regular basis, so I started playing on buckets instead.”
“Dang. I’m so impressed. How has no one discovered you yet? You should be in a band.”
“Yeah, well, not many bands are looking for their next drummer in the gutter.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it again, no doubt to stop herself from asking sensitive details about my situation. Being a foster kid. A runaway. A homeless teen. Those weren’t topics for the faint of heart, so instead, she just stared into the darkness and pretended she wasn’t dying to ask.
“You’re not in the gutter,” she said, in a possible attempt to bolster my self-esteem.
“That’s not what your boyfriend said.”
“Okay, let’s get something straight. He’s not my boyfriend. He was a date. And now I hate him.”
“You should.” I spun my sticks, flipping them in a series of threes. “He’s a dick. You really need to start making better choices.”
“Yes, complete stranger guy.” She smiled down at me.
God, she was pretty.
“You’re right,” my dream girl continued. “I definitely need to make better choices. But at least it led me to you.”
“See, now…” I winced for effect. “There are plenty of people who would look poorly on that decision as well. Your parents, for example.”
“Eh.” She waved off my observation, as if it were beyond ridiculous. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
“Careful there. Those are the famous last words of many murder victims, and you’re standing on prime hunting grounds. I think maybe it’s time for you to scuttle on back to the safe side of town.”
“Don’t you think I’ve been trying?”
I scanned her from top to bottom. “No.” My voice pitched an octave. “Not real hard.”
“What do you want me to do? I don’t have a phone or my money, and I can’t remember any numbers to borrow a phone and call someone.”
“That’s it? Those are your obstacles? Shit, if I had only twice as many, I’d be halfway to Cancun by now.”
She laughed, her eyes taking me in. “Who… are… you?”
“They call me Beats.”
“Who does?”
“Anybody who asks my name.”
“But that’s not your name?”
“No.”
“And you’re not going to tell me what it is?”
“No. That’s the whole point of running away.” I lowered my voice to get her to lean down. She did. “If you don’t want to get caught, you don’t tell anyone your real name. So, yeah. The name is Beats.”
“Okay, then, I’m not telling you my real name either.”
“It doesn’t work for you.”
“Why not?” She nudged me with her foot. “Why do you get an alias and I don’t?”
“You gotta earn it. Sleep with the rats.”
