DRASTIC (Book 4 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 4: Drummer Boys Before They Were Drummer Boys

I don't know about you, but I'm loving Drastic. When you read this chapter, remember that my BRILLIANT DRUMMER BOY is FIFTEEN, K?

K.

The song...Smile by Kota the Friend...Love this song for my Bae-B-Bodie. The Youtube seems a little blurry in the bass end, and it's definitely not supposed to be. I'm used to a cleaner cut on Spotify. Sorry for this version, but the vibe and the lyrics are so Bae-B-Bodie in this chapter...

Clayton Twelve and A Half Years Ago @ Mrs. JJ's Yard Sale

"It work?" I say skeptically, circling the toaster over like it's a used car. I flip open the door and peer inside.

Mrs. JJ nearly takes my nose off as she whacks the door closed and shoves the appliance at my chest. "Go on inside and make you some toast, boy. There's some plum preserves." She points a finger. "Don't you eat all my bacon. You can have three pieces."

I grin and take her porch like a parkuor court, vaulting off the third step, grabbing the spindling column with one hand and swinging over railing, landing with toaster oven tucked under my arm.

I only did that because of the girl.

As I pull open the screen door, I turn around to make sure she saw.

She's staring at me. The girl. Her head tilted just slightly, like she's curious, one perfect eyebrow arched slightly. As I give her a lazy player look, she raises her other eyebrow to match, and the look turns from curious to challenging. Then she rolls her eyes and returns her attention to the table of used books.

Ok. So she ain't easy to get up next to. That's cool.

I stroll to the kitchen—Mrs. JJ used to babysit me so she ain't worried about me being in her house. Through the window, I watch the girl checking out the books as I make toast.

It's not about her being the prettiest thing I've ever seen—even though there are a lot of pretty girls that hang around Dae's stash house—and she's cresting the top of all those. She might look like just another one of the dimepieces, but there's something in her details that's different.

Her nails are fancy...matte purple, all except the ring fingers that are sparkly silver. And her outfit—the way that tight, long waisted jean jacket hits just below the hips—keeping all the best curves in those beige leggings frustratingly hidden...I like that.

And the way her expression changes as she picks up and puts down books? She's reading the first pages, reacting subtly but differently to each one.

That girl is classic. And smart, I think.

What do you know? The toaster works fine. I smear the two pieces of toast with Mrs. JJ's famous plum preserves and shove them back in the toaster as I book it out the door because she's paying JJ.

I join them. Up close I can see caramel mixed into the darker colors of her hair and her eyes are the same—not quite any color, but streaked with amber. The way color weaves through her braids and matches her eyes makes her look like one of those stray tortoise shell cats that my mama gives scraps too.

A little skittish, but soft. A creature of beauty you watch from a distance for a while, but eventually you get the urge to see how close she will let you get.

Not too close, because she doesn't smile back when I grin at her. She just thanks Mrs. JJ and doesn't even look at me.

I give Mrs. JJ seven bucks for the toaster even though she argues with me that I can just take it—she loves me like that.