Drummer Girl (2 page)

The things a person did for her best friend.

Maybe I'll just break a leg. If it's my left leg I'll still be able to play my drums.

Taylor revved the engine and started with a lurch. Sid squeezed her eyes shut. When they bumped through the gutter and into the street, she opened them. They cruised past her house and she wondered if she'd ever see that moss-green trim again. Puke green, she called it when she was trying to bug her dad.
He agreed to this? Could stomach problems drive a guy insane?

Taylor took it easy until the end of their block. He swung left and increased speed. So far, so good. He kept the bike steady. Sid started to relax and enjoy the wind in her face and the rumble vibrating through her legs and stomach. She didn't pay attention when he turned onto another street.

Then she glimpsed the S-curve ahead. They were on Jackson Drive, the most crooked road around. Fear tried to crowd back into her mind. She willed herself to stay calm, though her fingers started hurting from their vice-grip. She could imagine Taylor smiling as he sped up a bit more. Though she tried not to, Sid tensed as they hit the first curve. Taylor swept the bike around it like he'd been doing it forever.

Maybe he had finally found something that could overcome his klutzy nature. They cruised through the second curve with equal grace.

Sid freed one hand and pumped the air. “Taylor Janzen, you rock!”

3 |
rimshot on a high-pitched snare

The smell of cedar tickled her nose as Sid caressed the lining of the chest she'd been working on for almost two months. This was the best thing she'd ever made. She wondered if she could find some excuse to not give it to her cousin as a wedding gift.

“Nice job on the lining,” Mr. Franklin said from right behind her. Sid flinched but managed not to jump. He tended to sneak up on students, which wasn't so great when someone was operating the jigsaw or sander. But otherwise he was a decent carpentry teacher. He let students pick almost any project they wanted. Within reason. Last year he refused a student who wanted to build a lake cottage.

Mr. Franklin said, “Have you decided if you're going to stain it?”

“No. I like the pine exterior. I'll just give it a few coats of varnish. Satin finish.”

Mr. Franklin nodded and strode across the shop to where two guys were arguing over whose turn it was to use the router.

Sid stood and brushed sawdust from her knees. It was a good thing carpentry was her last class. All day she'd felt eyes drilling into her, but she could never catch anyone looking at her. It had been unnerving. By the time this class had rolled around she'd felt like she was a tightly strung wire ready to snap. But working with wood was almost as soothing
as playing the drums.

Taylor appeared at her side. “Hey, Sid. Done the chest yet?”

She narrowed one eye. “Don't you have English this block?”

“We're working on essays. I asked to go to the library.”

Sid glanced around. “I can see where you'd be confused. Books. Wood. Same source.”

“I'm doing a good deed, checking up on my sidekick. I saw you in the hall before class but was going the other way. You looked down. Monday blues?”

“Weird day. It's felt like everyone was watching me.”

“First sign of paranoia. Next thing I'll be visiting you on the locked ward at the hospital.”

“Yeah. I'll –”

Taylor's gaze jumped over her shoulder and widened. Rick, who'd been working beside her, joined them, gave Taylor a puzzled look and followed his gaze. “Whatcha lookin' at?” He grinned.

Sid turned. Through the glass partition, they could see the pottery workshop. Maria Morales was sitting at the electric potter's wheel, oblivious to everything as she coaxed a lump of clay into a symmetrical cone. She leaned forward slightly as she worked and her scoop-necked top revealed a generous amount of cleavage.

Rick sighed. “She could do that to me anytime.” He looked ready to start drooling. “Reminds me of that old movie,
Ghost.
Ever see it? I think I was twelve when the babysitter brought that flick with her. I still remember the scene where the woman is doing that pottery thing and her ghost husband sits down behind her and starts caressing her hands and arms. And they're both slick with clay and...” He released a long slow breath.

“Hot,” Taylor said in a matter-of-fact way.

“Oh, yeah.”

Sid shook her head. Usually the person working the potter's wheel wore a smock to keep clean. “She's playing you. She knows that almost every guy in the place is watching her.”

Rick released another breath. Taylor stared, unblinking.

Someone nudged Sid's back. She glanced to see Wes Remichuk, star basketball player and one of the jock set, smirking at her. “Maybe she's trying to get your attention, Sidney.”

Sid's stomach twisted. “What do you mean?”

He peered down his nose at her. “Like you don't know.”

Sid faced him, arms akimbo. “No, I don't. Explain
it,
Wesley.
”

One eye twitched. “Everyone from the party knows what happened. Picked Joanne and dumped her on the same day. That's harsh.”

“I didn't pick –”

“Though I can see why you dumped her. Next time go for someone at least a little cool.” His gaze flicked down and back up. “Not that you're much better. Raving dyke.”

Sid poked him in the chest. “I am not.”

“Right. Like you weren't just ogling Maria along with the rest of us.”

All Devin's lessons on how to take down an enemy rushed into Sid's mind. She clenched her fist but resisted to urge to plow Wes. “Commenting on the obvious isn't ogling.”

Wes sneered. “Your friends might be too afraid to say anything – ever notice all your friends are guys? – but you're so butch it hurts. Admit it. Confession's supposed to be good for the soul.”

“Yeah? How do you like this confession?” Sid caught him with a right hook to the underside of the jaw that staggered him back two steps.

Wes shook his head and came at her with fists raised.

“Don't move!” Mr. Franklin bellowed. Sid and Wes glared at each other but obeyed. The shop teacher inserted his lanky form between them. “Remichuk and Crowley, get to the office. I don't even want to know what this was about. You can explain it to
vp
Finning. And Taylor Janzen, get out of my class.” He marched off, red-faced and muttering. They both stared after him. He spun and shouted, “Move! Now!” He
reached for the phone on his desk and pointed toward the door.

Taylor grabbed Sid's arm and steered her out of the shop. “You haven't hit someone like that since you beat me up in grade four.”

“You beat me up first.” Sid yanked her arm free and stalked down the hall.

Footsteps followed but she didn't look. She'd been right about being watched all day – it had been the jock set, part of the inner circle of cool. Was the band having the same thoughts as Wes? Her fists were clenched when she walked into the office with Wes three steps behind her.

The secretary frowned at them. “Mr. Franklin called ahead.
vp
Finning is waiting.” She used her pen to point at an open door behind her.

Sid took the seat nearest the door and made Wes step over her outstretched legs. She linked her fingers on her stomach, hoping she appeared calmer than she felt.
Jock set? Jerk set.

The
vp
's expression was probably supposed to be firm, but her loose jowls just made her look like a bulldog with gas. Sid lowered her head to hide a smirk. The
vp
's tone, however, was harsh. After a staccato lecture, she said, “Ms. Crowley, the school has very strict rules about hitting. It's your first offence so you'll only be suspended for two days. Mr. Remichuk, if you were in any way an instigator in this incident, you will receive a one-day suspension. Now, who is going to tell me what happened?”

A silver analog clock ticked on the wall to their left. A fly buzzed in the window. The light from the window threw the
vp
's face into shadow, except for the whites of her eyes, which appeared brighter than normal. Alien. Sid looked down at her hands again and started tapping a beat with one index finger. This sucked on so many levels.

“Ms. Crowley,” the
vp
finally said, “you can start. Why did you hit Mr. Remichuk?” Sid shrugged. She wasn't going to say anything that might get Wes suspended for a day. The
vp
sighed. “Mr. Remichuk?”

“I called her butch. She hit me.”

He said it in such a cocky way Sid wanted to hit him again. Her finger tapped a faster rhythm. Again the clock and fly filled the silence. Finally the
vp
spoke again.

“Gender identity issues are not fodder for mocking or teasing, Mr. Remichuk. You'll be suspended for one day. Report to me on Wednesday morning. You are dismissed.”

Wes stepped over Sid's legs just as she was bending them. He almost tripped, gave her a dark look and left the office. Sid braced her hands on the arms of the chair and started to push up.

“Ms. Crowley, I did not dismiss you.” Sid sank back down with a sigh. The
vp
picked up her phone and spoke to someone, asking if they had a moment. She dropped the handset in its cradle and folded her hands together. “The counsellor will see you now.”

Sid rose. “I don't need to see any counsellor. I'm going home.”

Her hand was on the knob when the
vp
said, “Walk out of this school and you will be suspended for the week.”

Sid dropped her hand. “Fine. I'm going to the counsellor's office. Okay?”

“Good. But I am making note of your attitude, Ms. Crowley. When you return on Thursday –” She opened a file folder
and skimmed the contents. “Bring your father with you.”

Minutes later Sid was sitting across the desk from the school counsellor, a twenty-something guy with collar-length, wavy blond hair and dark-rimmed, rectangular glasses. He wore his shirt untucked over beige jeans – maybe it was how he normally dressed but it made Sid feel like he was trying to win over the students. A laid back Mr. Casual whom you could trust with all your secrets.

He scooted his wheeled chair out from behind the desk and parked beside it, closer to Sid. He smiled. “We haven't met. I'm Mr. Brock, but you can call me Paul.”

Sid blinked at this obvious “trust me” ploy. She said nothing.

A secretary stepped in and handed him a file. Sid could see her name. He didn't open it. “Tell me why
vp
Finning sent you here, Sidney.”

“I'd rather go home and start serving my two-day suspension.”

“I'm sure you would.” He leaned back and gave her a little smile.

Sid looked around. The wall to her right, behind Brock's head, was a wall-to-wall bookcase, full except for a space in the centre of the middle shelf where a small
tv-dvd
combo player sat. Some
dvd
s were stacked beside it. Beside the window an inspirational poster urged you to strive for your dreams. On the wall to her left, another poster declared that you are special just the way you are.
Unless the way you are gets you into trouble,
Sid thought.

Three minutes passed with Sid looking at everything except Mr. Brock. She felt a twinge of victory when he finally opened the file. Sid got up and went over to the bookshelf. She wasn't much of a reader unless it was about drumming, but she ran her fingers over the spines and read titles just to pass the time. The
dvd
s were National Geographic specials.

Another few minutes passed before Mr. Brock said, “Please sit down, Sidney.”

She pushed the chair farther away from him and sat.

“You resent being here.”

This guy was quick. There'd be no fooling him. Sid shrugged.

“It seems, Sidney, that you were pretty fast to resort to violence.”

“A jerk called me a name.” She paused, searching for a pop psychology phrase that danced on the edge of her thoughts. “He invaded my personal space. I moved him out of it.”

“By punching him in the jaw?”

“It worked.”

“It's not likely, but he could lay charges. Why were you so quick to strike out?”

Sid cringed inwardly. Any moment she expected him to start talking about
anger issues.
This school was giving her anger issues. She'd been fine before today. She was done with this. Sid crossed her arms and started tapping a paradiddle rhythm against her ribs.

Mr. Brock droned on, trying to cajole her into talking. Sid blinked when he said something about Dragonforce. She peered at him curiously.

“Glad you've decided to rejoin me.” He pointed at Sid's black
t
-shirt. “I asked if you like Dragonforce.”

Sid stared. Why would she wear their
t
-shirt if she didn't like them? Mr. Brock smiled in a mysterious way, like that Mona Lisa painting. “Dumb question, right? I used to listen to them, but metal isn't my thing anymore. What about them do you like? The lyrics?”

Sid considered whether this might be a trick question. After all, some metal lyrics could be considered a little, well, angry. His face remained open and curious, so she said, “Dave Mackintosh.”

“It's been a while. What's his role again?”

“Drummer.”

“Right.” He paused. “Do you drum?”

Sid nodded at the same moment that the bell rang to end classes.

Mr. Brock took off his glasses. “Nothing like being saved by the bell, right Sidney?”

Instead of agreeing, she moved toward the door.

“I'll see you when you get back from your suspension.”

“What?” Sid burst out.

Mr. Brock just smiled that annoying smile. “Thursday. Same time. I'll arrange with Mr. Franklin to release you from class.”

Sid slammed the door.