Page 49 of Connectio
Will winks at Dylan then scruffs Jet’s hair. “All good, my man. Now, I want you and…” He looks at me for help with Evan’s name.
“Evan,” I say.
“I want you and Evan to count to four, two times while playing your drum. The trick is to keep in time. The rest of you,” he says, looking out at the kids sitting on the floor before him, “I want you to pat your legs with both hands and do the same. You, too, Ms Hanson.”
“Oh!” I point to my chest and smile at the kids, excited that I get to join in, then ready my hands to pat my lap.
“Like this.” Will taps the cymbal, counts to four, then repeats himself. “Are you all ready?”
We chant, “Yes,” and Will begins to count again.
“One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.”
The kids follow but at different speeds, some counting slow, others racing through it.
Will’s eyes grow wide, and he raises his hands to his head, showcasing his enormous biceps. “Let’s try that again.”
My eyes slide over the rise and fall of his skin, and they flex.
“Ms Hanson,” Will says, voice amused.
“Yes?” I snap my attention back to his face, my heart rate accelerating.
“I need you.”
“W-What?”
“To be my assistant.”
“Oh. Okay.” I stand up. “What do you want me to do?”
“Come stand next to me.”
Walking around the kids, I step up to his side, and he grabs my hand. My first instinct is to wrench it free, unsure of his intentions, especially in front of the kids. But I don’t want to cause a scene, so I leave my hand in his, even when he places it on his chest, over his heart.
“A drumbeat is a feeling,” he says to the class. “A heartbeat.” A smug smile tugs at Will’s lips as his eyes zero in on mine, his fingertips tapping my hand. “Go-gong. Go-gong.”
I narrow my gaze, a smile tugging on my lips too.
“One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four,” he says.
The kids tap the beat perfectly, and I giggle.
“You totally just stole that line from Dirty Dancing,” I murmur.
He flicks his eyebrows then leans in and whispers, “Patrick Swayze knew his shit.”
Throwing my head back, I crack up laughing, which is when Oliver enters the room, a scowl on his face.
“What do we have here?”
I slip my hand out from underneath Will’s and step back. “Will was just kindly showing us his knowledge of percussion.”
“Percussion?”
“Yes.” For some stupid reason, I feel as if I owe Oliver an explanation. “How a drumbeat is like a heartbeat.”
Oliver hitches one brow at Will.
