Leah on the Offbeat (Creekwood #2)(45)

“Sure.”

We walk out to the elevators—and Abby grabs my hand, squeezing it quickly, before pressing the button for the fifth floor. It feels strange and surreal to be here, to be doing this. It’s like a tiny trip through time. This could be us next year, wandering into Tuesday-night parties off campus.

I’m not 100 percent sure how I feel about that.

Or how I feel about the fact that she’s still holding my hand. Why do straight girls do that? How do I interpret that?

She checks the room number one more time and then knocks on the door.

It swings open right away. “Abby!” says Caitlin. She’s holding a drink—something pink in a clear plastic cup. “Guys, come meet Abby and Leah! They’re friends with my brother.”

“Just so you know, I’ve literally never met Caitlin’s brother,” Abby murmurs, a breath away from my ear. I follow her into the apartment, heart pounding in my chest.

The layout is identical to Caitlin’s—same floor plan, same chrome appliances—but the décor is so different, it’s almost disorienting. The room is lit only by dim floor lamps and a jumble of hanging Christmas lights. There’s a giant red-and-purple batik tapestry draped across one wall and woven throw pillows on every surface. I’m pretty sure there’s no TV.

There are only eight or nine people here besides us, packed onto the couch and around the kitchen table. A guy with a beard plays guitar while two girls sing along in harmony. We meet Eva, who is stop-you-in-your-tracks gorgeous—tall, sort of androgynous, with light brown skin and closely cropped hair. Caitlin rests a hand on each of our shoulders and asks if we want drinks.

Abby says yes, and I guess that sort of bugs me. Sometimes I think I’m the only person in the world who doesn’t drink.

“Oh, Abby, I love your little boots!” Caitlin says, returning moments later with a plastic cup. We all settle in cross-legged on the floor.

Abby’s wearing the ankle boots she bought yesterday and a short patterned skirt, and the effect is disarming. She’s just so fucking wholesome. It almost pisses me off.

“Yo.” Abby pokes me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Holy. Fuck. My cheeks are burning.

“Like you want to kill me.”

For a moment, I’m speechless. I’ve never been so grateful for my resting bitch face. Ever.

Eva sinks down beside me. “So, Caitlin says you’re a drummer.”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of?” Abby shoves me lightly. “She’s an amazing drummer. Like, amazing.”

“Huh,” Eva says, turning to the guitarist on the couch. “Tom, Caitlin’s friend is a drummer.”

“No way,” says the bearded guy.

“Way,” Eva says. Then they turn back to me. “So, I don’t know if Cait mentioned this, but they’re going to need a new drummer after I graduate. You’re going to be a freshman, right?”

I nod.

“Interesting,” says Eva.

Meanwhile, Tom and the harmonizing girls have wandered over. The girls introduce themselves as Victoria and Nodoka, and they hug me like it’s nothing. Like it’s a handshake. They hug Abby, too.

It’s as if someone unhooked my brain from my body. I’m here, but I’m not here. Smiling like it’s a reflex. Nodding without knowing why.

“No pressure though,” Nodoka says.

I look up with a start and realize everyone’s looking at me.

“I’m . . .”

“Have you ever used an e-kit before?” asks Eva. “Took some getting used to, but now I’m a convert.”

“Nick’s kit is electric, right?” Abby says.

I nod slowly.

“Well, if you’re up for it, we’d love to hear you play,” Tom says.

“Right now?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.” I feel dazed. Like, holy shit. I’m at a college party full of gorgeous people, and I think I’ve just been invited to try out for a band.

“Let me dig out my headphones,” says Eva.

Five minutes later, I’m perched on a drum stool in Eva’s bedroom while Abby tucks into the desk chair, arms wrapped around her knees. Meanwhile, Eva, Nodoka, Tom, and Victoria sprawl out on the bed. My heart thuds against my rib cage. I don’t know why I even bother drumming. I could just stick a microphone next to my chest.

I adjust Eva’s headphones over my ears and give a few experimental taps on the snare. Electronic kits always throw me for a second. Not to mention the fact that I’m being watched by a bunch of actual musicians in an actual college band.

And Abby.

I’m just so aware of her sometimes.

But this is drumming, and I know drumming. If I could kick ass in the school talent show two years in a row, I can kick ass now. It’s actually easier with headphones. They make me feel like my rhythms are a secret, like they live between my ears only. Even though I know that’s not true. The sound’s not deafening, like with an acoustic kit, but you can hear every thwack and tap on the pad. I just need to stop overthinking it.

I have to get in the zone. I have to find the pulse of the song and fall into it. I let my eyes drift shut as my sticks find the pads. I’ll pretend I’m just messing around in Nick’s basement. I don’t even have to play a real song. Just wherever my hands take me.