Read Online One (One Universe) by LeighAnn Kopans - Free Book Online

he can’t see.
    We walk further down the hall, and he points to the next door. “This is the music room, and that down there at the end is the gym.”
    I turn the handle to what Elias lamely called “the music room.” He follows right behind me.
    “Lights, Rosie?”
    The room fills with a warm, golden glow, and I look inside. This is no music room — it’s a concert hall. Three of the room’s walls are glass — two sides and the front. Whoever plays in here has the stars or the clouds or the sun itself as their audience.
    The hardwood floor, the color of honey, gleams at me. Even though I’m only wearing rubber-soled flats, my steps echo gently. The acoustics in here are incredible.
    A baby grand piano sits in the center of the room, flanked by three electric guitars, two basses, and the sweetest amps I’ve ever seen. They’re all lined up and waiting for some action. But something more amazing than all that catches my eye. It’s shining and winking at me, I swear, and begging me to come sit and play.
    My freaking dream drum set.
    “Yeah, so that’s boring.” Elias says.
    “Wait,” I say, and it’s the first time I’ve said something bossy that’s also pleading, or nice in any way, in a very long time. Maybe ever.
    I move slowly over to the drum set and sit down, positioning my bony bottom over the seat that’s way too low, adjusting it to meet my body at the right height for playing. I let my hands hover over the spotless cymbals, not even touching them because they’re so perfectly shiny and gorgeous. I stare at the toms, painted a gleaming red, their clear tops unblemished. Never been played. The snares are the same color with star-shaped vents.
    “Wait a minute,” Elias says. “You play?”
    My voice shakes now, and my hands, too. “A little,” I say. “But my set is… Well, it’s not like this.”
    Elias crosses the room and rummages inside a drawer, but the drums are so beautiful that I can’t tear my eyes away from them, not even to look at him. I push my foot lightly down on the bass pedal, and the most satisfying boom comes from the soft contact. So firm and quick.
    I giggle again. That’s twice in one week I’ve giggled within twenty feet of this guy.
    My hands fumble for the screws on the tom holders and floor legs, lowering them enough so that I get a sense of what it would really be like to play. I let my foot hover over the high-hat pedal and twitch it, imagining.
    Suddenly Elias’s hand is on top of my left one, and his other hand puts something in my right. He brings my hands together. I stare up at him as my fingers clench themselves around two brand-new sticks.
    “The smallest ones we have,” Elias says. I want to tell him it doesn’t matter what size the sticks are, but thank you. Something stops the words from coming out of my throat, so I nod dumbly.
    He smiles — for real, not sadly — and says, “Go ahead. Let’s hear it.”
    I shake my arms around, loosening my shoulders, and I spin the stick in my right hand. My wrist adapts to the action like that’s what it was made to do. Elias’s eyebrows go up, and he laughs like he’s never seen anything so awesome.
    Heat floods my face, but as soon as that stick hits the tom’s clear head, making the first mark on it, I am in another world. The ends of my sticks explode with a long note on the side and then crash against the cymbals, their sound so crisp and clear that I can practically see the shimmers they send through the air. I bring it down to a steady beat on the snare and side for a few bars, and I’m stunned by how beautiful these drums are, how strong and solid. They don’t tremble or budge a bit.
    After twenty seconds, I start a driving thrum between the snare and the high-hat, my right foot bouncing my leg along to the rhythm I pound out on the bass.
    My whole body moves with the rest of the band I can only hear in my head, letting my drums shine, making them sparkle.
    I hear Elias’s feet shuffle. He