Page 82 of Love Song, Take Two

Until she walked into the store, twirling her drumsticks like she was ready to take on the world. Fletcher was glad Benson and Nico were off on their respective holidays, because he definitely didn’t want Emery to feel embarrassed later. Not that she’d been embarrassed the last month of lessons, but there was a first time for everything.

“So…what do you want me to do today?”

Setting his clipboard aside, he gestured to the second drum kit he’d set up for himself and smiled. “We’re going to play together.”

“For real?” Her eyes were wide in shock or awe, he couldn’t tell.

“I’ll be honest with you, Em,” he started and pulled his hair out of his face. “You’ve been working really hard, but you still have a long way to go.”

Emery’s mouth dipped and she nodded, shuffling on her feet. “I know.”

“Hey—” he squeezed her shoulder and smiled when their eyes met “—you’ve got this. Come on, settle in. Pick a song and let’s do this.”

She nodded, a small smile on her lips. He settled behind his drum kit, sticks twirling between his fingers. She stopped at the music player plugged into the store speakers and went through the list. Once she had a song selected, she rushed to her seat and tied her hair back as well. Glancing at him, her face brightened and she hit play on the remote. The open beat started and Fletcher smiled at the choice—“Billie Jean” by Michael Jackson—and nodded at her to hop in when she was ready. It was mostly kick drum, toms and hi-hats, but he could see Emery struggle to match the beats.

“Deep breath, Em. Go with me,” he told her and then joined in. It took her a few more fumbles before she was able to match his beat. He kept it steady, eyes on her so that she knew he wasn’t going to leave her behind. For most drummers, this was an easy song to play, but it was also a really good starting point for new drummers.

When the backing track ended, she groaned and waved her sticks in the air. “Why do I suck at this?”

“Will it help if I say that I was terrible at it too?”

“Nobody will believe that,” she mumbled, setting her sticks down.

He smiled and gently tapped a stick against the snare. “The reason I taught myself the drums is because every instructor I met told me I sucked. Yeah, they used that word. It was hard for me to hear it and I refused to let them be right.”

“Are you saying I suck?”

“No, but you’re also not very good.”

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Rude.”

“Em.” Fletcher sighed and pushed back from the kit, moving to stand in front of her. “Do you want the truth or do you want me to sugarcoat it?”

“Which will make me cry less?”

He laughed and picked up her sticks, holding them out to her. “I guess we’ll find out. Okay, let’s play this without the track. You know the basic progression, play it, but follow the beat I set. Got it?”

She hesitated, but took the sticks and Fletcher snapped his fingers at a much slower pace than the backing track. She took a few minutes to start playing, but once she did, she was going at his beat. Gradually, he increased the speed and she matched him. But then when the snare came in, she fumbled. This time, Emery let out a cry and threw her sticks to the side before burying her face in her hands.

Fletcher came around the drums and kneeled beside her. “Hey, hey, come here,” he whispered and Emery collapsed into his arms. He wrapped both arms around her as the teenager dissolved into quiet sobs. Leaning against the wall, he held her, letting Emery go through the motions. Maybe Micah was right, telling her upfront would have cut back a lot of this pain. But he also didn’t want her to give up because someone else told her she couldn’t do it. Besides, Emery had the drive and passion, the interest and determination. She lacked the musical ability.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled and slid out of his lap, sitting beside Fletcher. “That was embarrassing.”

“I happen to think crying is good for the soul.”

A laugh escaped her as she wiped her face and then she turned to him. “I suck.”

“You don’t suck.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m not very good,” she echoed his words from before, putting quotes around them. “Does that mean I should give up?”

“I’ll answer that question, but I want to know what you think you should do.”

Emery pursed her lips, pulling her knees up to her chest and shrugged. “Give up.”

“Why?”

“Because drums are clearly not my thing.”

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