Page 47 of Connectio
I can’t, but the alternative is cancelling, or Oliver doing it. Oliver doesn’t have a musical bone in his body, and I know how much the kids like music, so I don’t have the heart to cancel.
“I might not be very good, Jet, but I’m sure we’ll be fine and have some fun.”
* * *
Musicwhen you’re not the music teacher is not fun at all. In fact, I’m fairly sure sand in your undies or a rose thorn in your foot is a whole lot more fun than the hell I’m currently in.
The instrument rotation now has Jet on the drum kit. Yay! Five kids are continuously strumming the same chords on the guitars. Another five are bashing the xylophones like a Mole in the Hole game, and the rest are shaking maracas, tambourines, and seeing who can blow the loudest and longest on the recorders. If I wanted to torture my worst enemy, this is how I’d do it. I’d lock them in this very room. Now. Preferably without me. Why in God’s name did I think this was a good idea?
“Okay, okay!” I shout over the racket. “Hands in the air!” The kids all raise their hands. “Let’s try to keep in time. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.”
The ear-splintering noise resumes, and I’m almost ready to pull out my hair, when I notice Will leaning on the doorframe, ankles and arms crossed, an amused grin on his face.
I raise my eyebrows at him in acknowledgement then weave through the kids until I’m at the door. “Hi. Is everything okay?”
“I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
“Oh. Is it that bad?”
He nods. “What are they trying to do, kill each other?”
“No.” I wrinkle my nose. “Well, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”
Offended, because I studied very long and hard to know what I’m doing, I cross my arms and glare at him. “Of course I know what I’m doing.”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“You think you can do better?”
“At music? Sure.”
Waving my hand toward the class, I gesture he enter the room. “Then be my guest.”
Will pushes off from the doorframe, makes his way over to the drum kit, whispers something in Jet’s ear, then takes his place, lowering himself onto the stool. Jet steps back, covers his ears with his hands, and nods.
A loud thumping soon fills the room, slow, like a distant roll of thunder, followed by a faster tapping on the snare. Some of the kids stop playing their instruments and snap their heads in Will’s direction, but it’s not until he unleashes like a madman that everyone in the room freezes like statues, eyes wide, mouths agape.
Including me.
Now, I don’t know a lot about music, but I do know Will is an exceptional drummer. The way he moves across each drum, the tempo changing, sticks twirling in his hands. It’s impressive, mesmerising even… until he stops, and we all give him a round of applause.
“That was so cool!” Evan says, and it takes me by surprise. He’s not normally one to say much, let alone to someone he doesn’t know.
“Do you want to try?” Will offers.
Evan nods, so Will stands up and moves out of the way so Evan can sit down.
I grab a seat and notice the rest of the kids have all abandoned their instruments and are now completely focussed on Will. It makes me smile, but at the same time, I’m aggravated he was right.
“Okay, buddy,” he says to Evan. “You comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now place your foot on that pedal and press it down.”
Evan does what he’s told, and the bass drum thuds, loud. The sound startles him, and he cowers a little but then smiles when Will encourages him to do it again, this time while counting to four.
