Drummer Girl

by Karen Bass

  His expression closed like a shuttered window. “Forget it. You don’t want to know my problems. All you care about is getting in the band.” Taylor let the bike lean against his thigh. He took hold of Sid’s jean jacket under the collar. “You wanna know what I want from you, Sid?”

  Still reeling from his jumbled confession, if that’s what it was, Sid nodded.

  Taylor shook her. “Smarten up. You’re smarter than this. I thought you had limits. I thought you’d walk away if things got too crazy.” He released her, pulled a crumpled sheet from inside his leather jacket and shoved it at her. He jammed his helmet on and steered his bike toward the street. He turned the key, flipped the choke out with his toe and gave a vicious jump start. “I guess I was wrong.”

  “Tay! What is this?” She shook the paper at him.

  He glared at her with a mix of anger and hurt, gunned the engine and roared down the street.

  The mist increased to a drizzle. Sid frowned at the paper in her hand, opened it and frowned more. The header shouted, Video Online! Below it said, You know what site. Search: french kissing Edwards High. Sid crumpled the paper in her fist and raced home, slammed the door and darted into the far corner of the living room, beside the archway that opened to the table where James insisted the only Internet computer be kept. The computer was still booted up from when she’d checked email while the spaghetti had boiled. She logged onto the Internet. Sid’s fingers quivered as she typed in the search terms.

  She muttered, “He wouldn’t dare. He wouldn’t...”

  He had. The first video to come up showed a familiar brick wall, a familiar skirt and top. Sid’s gut wrenched. Those jerks had videoed that kiss? She stared at the thumbnail of the video for a minute as her breathing became louder. Finally, she clicked the thumbnail. The video loaded in three blinks.

  Her stomach churned as she watched a close up of Rock

  forcing his tongue down her throat. In the video she groaned, wiggled. She had been trying to free herself but it was hard to tell. Then the picture panned back and she saw his big hand sliding up her thigh to reveal blue lace. “Nice,” came a whispered voice-over. The video cut to brick wall and Rock’s voice: “She was hot for it. Did you see her squirming for more?”

  The view panned left to show Wes’s mouth and nose. “And now, for Sidney Crowley’s next trick...” The mouth smiled. “Are you ready for it, my friend?”

  The camera panned left again to another mouth. “Oh yeah. Bring it on.” Clem’s voice. The camera panned down to his zipper. Hands flexed and unzipped. The screen went black with “Censored!” slanted diagonally across the screen. Clem must have been the one videoing the kiss. He’d been friendly on Monday to get her to drop her guard and get ammo to use against her. Now he’d teamed up with Wes and Rock to stick it to her.

  Was it Wes who had arranged this, or Clem? Did it matter? Bile surged up Sid’s throat. She swallowed twice to force it down. She was shaking when she closed the screen. She stared at the computer’s background picture of ocean waves as anger rose with far more force than her stomach juices had. She jumped up and kicked over the chair. “Those jerks! Those freaking jerks! I’ll kill them!”

  “That sounds a little drastic,” James said from beside the front closet. “Who has caused such wrath? And why are there shoe tracks across the rug?”

  Air was still heaving in and out as Sid gaped at James. The anger was still pushing, still demanding release. It felt like her chest was going to explode. She shouted, “I hate being a girl! It’s crap. All of it! The game is made for us to lose and I’m sick of playing it!”

  She stormed through the kitchen. James cut her off in front of the door to the basement. “Can we talk about this?”

  “No!” She pushed past him and slammed the basement door behind her.

  20 | flipping the beat

  Some time in the middle of the night a hand shook Sid awake. She was on the green sofa in the drum pit and she was cold.

  “Sid?” James asked. “Taylor’s mom is on the phone. Do you know where he is?”

  Sid tried to wake up, to make sense of the question. It

  was dumb. Taylor would be in bed. She mumbled, “Sleeping.” Hands tucked a quilt over her and she dropped back into oblivion.

  “Sid? You need to wake up.”

  She pried her eyes open. They were dry and itchy and didn’t want to work. Neither did her voice. It slurred as she asked, “Wha’ time’s it?”

  “Six o’clock. I’m getting ready to go to work.” Sid groaned and tried to roll over. James stopped her. “Sid. This is important. Wake up. Taylor’s mom called back. He’s in the

  hospital. I thought you might want a ride over.”

  “What?” Sid sat up and tried to rub the sleep from her eyes. All she succeeded in doing was pushing some lumps of mascara in. Her eyes stung. “What do you mean, in the hospital?”

  “He had an accident with his motorbike.”

  21 | ghost notes

  Sid paced up and down the antiseptic hospital corridor, hating the pungent smell, hating that she was here. That Taylor was here. He was in surgery and no one would tell her how he was doing. The two times she had headed toward the surgery waiting room, nurses at a nearby station had looked daggers at her, as if they knew she didn’t belong, and she had retreated. And it was fear, raw and stinking, that kept her lingering a few metres away from the waiting room now. She was so afraid for Taylor, but even more afraid of what she might be told about Taylor.

  A familiar figure stepped into the corridor, stretched and rubbed the back of his neck. Mr. Janzen looked like he hadn’t slept. Of course he hadn’t.

  He started to turn away. Suddenly, Sid needed to know. “Mr. Janzen!”

  He spun around. “Sid. How long have you been here?”

  “Since seven.” The big clock in the nurse’s station read 9:14.

  “Why haven’t you joined us?”

  Sid used her thumb to point at a scowling nurse. “The wardens. Armed and dangerous.”

  The nurse’s scowl deepened.

  Mr. Janzen said, “Could she wait with us, nurse? She’s like one of the family.”

  The nurse sniffed. “I never stopped her from joining you in the first place.”

  Sid gave Mr. Janzen a shrug. “Her eyes said different.” He smiled weakly.

  Soon, Sid wasn’t sure if being with the family was such a good thing. No one spoke. No one looked at each other. Mrs. Janzen was a bit heavy, and now her rolls bulged, as if she had compressed and was folding in on herself. Despite her dark hair and permanent tan, she looked pale and

  haggard. Sid had always wondered about that word –

  haggard – and now she knew it looked like an alien was sucking the life out of you, making you shriveled and old.

  Taylor’s older brother, Miles, was asleep, tilted sideways on the orange molded chair, its arm cutting into his ribs. Sid caught Mr. Janzen watching her. He had the same hazel eyes as Taylor but there wasn’t much green about them now. Sid swallowed. “Do you know what happened?” She winced at how loud her voice was over the drone of hospital lighting.

  Mr. Janzen looked at his clasped hands. His scalp, kept shaved bald for the last five years, reflected a shiny spot of light that seemed very eye-like. Accusing. His voice was quiet. “The officer said Taylor swerved to avoid a car pulling out of a side street on Jackson Drive. He might have made it...” A sigh spilled onto the polished linoleum. “...but the road was wet and he went into a skid. He hit the car and went flying. His helmet was cracked ...” Mr. Janzen’s voice had speeded up but now it came to a crashing halt. Like Taylor had.

  Cracked. Sid shivered. That could have been Taylor’s head.

  “Why did he go riding in the rain?” Mrs. Janzen cried. “Why?”

  Miles shifted but didn’t wake up. Sid winced. She started
for the hallway, stopped. These were her best friend’s parents. They deserved the truth. “It was my fault.”

  Taylor’s parents stared at her. Sid forced the words out. “He was pushing his bike into the garage. I stopped him. We argued. He was really angry and took off on his bike.”

  Mr. Janzen cleared his throat. “What did you argue about?”

  “Does it make a difference now? I’m really sorry.” She walked out. After trying all morning to find the courage to join them, she couldn’t stay, couldn’t bear their looks of curiosity or pity. She knew them well enough to know they’d refuse to blame her. But they’d be wrong. If she hadn’t started this whole reinvention plan, none of this would have happened.

  Reinvent herself. What a laugh. Everything she’d done had backfired. And this was the worst part of it. Taylor in surgery, getting pins to hold his leg together. And James had said something about a broken arm and stitches on his chin. They hadn’t even been able to send him into surgery until this morning because they were worried about a concussion.

  The phrase she’d heard when James had dropped her off at the hospital was “lucky to be alive.” That was just supposed to be for people in movies, not real people. Not people she knew.

  Not Taylor.

  Sid charged into a bathroom, splashed water on her face, and studied a reflection that looked battered. Other than the haircut, it looked remarkably like the old Sid, the one that Taylor had said he wanted back. The only “new look” part of her was her jeans, the same pair from yesterday. The Dragonforce shirt was a lie – she didn’t feel like a force of any kind, certainly not dragonly. She felt like a timid rabbit, quivering in the corner while she waited through the worst day of her entire life. Even Wes the jerk couldn’t match today for making her feel miserable.

  She retreated to the cafeteria, got a muffin and a large coffee and found an empty table off to the side, partially behind the fingered fronds of a two-metre tall tropical plant. She emptied three creamers and three sugars into the coffee and stirred. Finally she took a sip. Winced. Took another. This was vile. What did James like about it?

  Two-thirds of the way through the cup of coffee, Sid’s nerves started buzzing and her fingers vibrated. She held up her hand and watched. This is what coffee did to a person? Weird. How could anyone even drive safely when they were this high?

  Someone sat down. Sid’s head twitched to the left. Mr. Brock pointed. “You might want to eat that muffin, especially if you aren’t used to drinking coffee.”

  Sid dropped her hand to the table. “Am I that obvious?”

  He smiled. “You’re looking a little buzzed.” He took a sip from his silver travel mug.

  Sid bit into her muffin. When she’d chewed and swallowed, she said, “Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”

  “Your dad called to let us know what was happening so I decided to come down and see how you’re doing.”

  Tears suddenly welled up. “What do you care?”

  “I care.”

  “You’re paid to care. You don’t. Not really.”

  “Actually, most counsellors care a great deal. We have a very high burnout rate because a lot of us can’t leave our cases at the office. We worry and wonder and lose sleep.”

  “So I’m a case.”

  “That’s only a term, Sid. Call yourself my patient if you want, though that sounds way too doctorly. Client, maybe. You’re a student I’ve been asked to keep an eye on.”

  “So do you ever lose sleep over me?”

  Brock sipped his coffee and adjusted his trendy glasses. He leaned back, opened his suede jacket and slid a hand into the pocket of his green jeans. All the time he studied her, as if deciding how much to say. “Yes. I have lost a bit of sleep thinking about you.”

  “Good.” He raised his eyebrows. Sid picked up her muffin. “Makes me feel like I’m getting my money’s worth.”

  He chuckled. “Doesn’t take much to get value for nothing. How is Taylor doing?”

  “He’s in surgery.” Sid peeled the paper off the muffin. She pinched off a piece, dropped it on the paper, pinched off another bit, and squished it between her thumb and index finger.

  “So how are you doing, Sidney?” She didn’t reply. Brock said, “Scared?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s pretty normal.”

  “Doesn’t feel normal. Feels like shit.”

  “Like I said. Normal.”

  Sid snorted. “What’s normal anyway?”

  “For me?” Brock sipped his coffee. “Normal is any behaviour that falls within a socially acceptable or predictable range.”

  Sid continued to mangle her muffin. “Yeah? Well, I don’t feel acceptable or predictable. The only thing predictable lately is my desire to scream my head off.” No reply. Sid looked up. Brock paused in mid-sip and raised his brows in a “please continue” kind of way. He’d like that. She lowered her head and began to nibble the bits of muffin. Her head was still buzzing. It didn’t help that the noise in the cafeteria, the talking and humming lights and echoing clinks, all sounded like one giant buzz.

  “I’d like to keep you company for a while,” Brock finally said.

  She shrugged.

  “I’ll be quiet if you want. Unless there’s something you want to talk about...”

  Sid peered at him. Concern was stamped all over his face. He knew about the video. Shitshitshitshitshit. She kept her head down and ate the rest of her muffin in silence. Then she said, “I think you should go.”

  “I think I should stay.” He sipped more coffee. Very controlled. Annoyingly comfortable when Sid was squirming inside. He leaned forward. “Why don’t you tell me...” Sid winced, waiting for the words that would cut her into pieces. “About Taylor.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me how you met. How you became friends. Whatever you want.”

  “Just Taylor?”

  “Unless you want to string me along with more stories about how your mother’s leaving is still traumatizing you.” He gave her a knowing but amused smile.

  He knew she’d lied and hadn’t called her on it? Somehow that made her like him a little more. Sid narrowed her eyes. “Was that stuff about losing sleep just bs to get my guard down or did you really mean it?”

  He sighed. “Unfortunately I really meant it. I get up and journal whatever I’m worrying about. I can show you the log dates on my laptop if you want.” He pointed down at the soft-sided briefcase on the floor by his feet. Sid hadn’t noticed it before.

  She shook her head. “I’ll believe you.”

  His response was dry. “Why, thank you. Do you want to tell me about Taylor?”

  “Yeah.”

  Two hours later, Taylor’s brother, Miles, found them. “Sid, Taylor’s out of surgery. Mom and Dad said you could come up for a few minutes if you want.” Miles grimaced. “He doesn’t look very good right now. In ICU, tubes everywhere. But if you want, I’ll show you...”

  Sid dropped the crossword puzzle book Brock had lent her – even the easy puzzles were enough to give her a headache – and jumped up. “I do want. That’s why I’ve been here all morning.” She considered Brock. “Want to come? In case I need back up or something?”

  He nodded, gathered some papers he’d been reading, stuffed them and the puzzle book into an outer pocket of his briefcase. He offered his hand to Miles. “Paul Brock. School counsellor. I was just keeping Sidney company.”

  Miles shook hands, gave Sid an odd look and walked off. She hurried to keep pace. They got to the icu and Miles told the nurses who she was. Five minutes, they said. Brock accompanied her to the door where she hesitated. She tapped her thigh, not wanting to see what was beyond that door.

  “I need to head back to school soon, but I can go in with you if you want,” Brock said.

&nb
sp; Sid started. “No. But if you hear a thud that’ll be me hitting the floor. You can scrape me up.”

  “I’ll ask the nurses if they have any shovels.”

  Sid tried to smile. She took a breath and sidled into the room, back to the wall. The person on the bed was hidden by tubes and bandages. A high frame and a sling suspended the right leg in the air. She pushed away from the wall and inched closer. The head was turned the other way so she circled the bed to get a better look. Miles had said he looked bad and the nurses had said this was his room, but Sid had, deep inside, hoped that they’d all been lying. That Taylor was fine. She gasped when she got a good look at his face.

  The bruises and bandages immediately blurred as tears threatened to escape. She wiped them away and blinked rapidly so no more could take their place. Taylor’s eyes were closed. She had wanted to look into them and see that everything was going to be okay.

  How could it be okay when this was her fault?

  22 | bridge to the solo

  Sid had found it easy to blend in. She haunted the halls of the hospital, slipped in and out of rooms filled with people waiting for life to resume and fearing it might not. So many faces looked as lost as Sid felt, intimidated by the walls and ceilings and antiseptic air pressing in on them, by the nurses and doctors in their sanitized uniforms tossing incomprehensible words around like they were in some kind of obscure spelling bee. The hum and drone of machines and lights made the building feel alive. Somehow malevolent.

  Time and again she returned to Taylor’s room, hoping he would be awake, hoping she could look into his eyes. If one of the family members was in the room, she returned to her ghostly wanderings. If Taylor was alone, which wasn’t often, she would go in. He was never awake.

  The nurses were silent. She was lucky they let her in the room, which they did only on Taylor’s parents’ okay. She wasn’t family and Taylor’s information was for their eyes only. She could have asked his parents but was afraid they’d press to know more about what happened before the accident.