Elianblinked.
Then,insteadofgettingangry,somethingbrighterfredinhiseyes—i,sharpandhungry.
“Gotanastymouth,”hesaid,smilingashenodded.Hesteppedbadpoihebiggest,mostexpensivebassampintheroom.“Ifyouthinkwe’remissinglowend,thenwhatareyouwaitingfor?”
Cradidn’tanswer.
Sheunzippedhergigbag.Theheavybckfive-stringbassslidintotheair.
Withpracticedease,sheslungitoverhershoulder,pluggedinthecable,andcasuallyturheamp’sbassandmidknobs.Whenherrightthumbstruckthethickeststring—thelowB—
Boom—
Adeep,fullwaveoflowfrequencyrolledout,soheavyitfeltliketheflooritselfvibrated.Itwastheabsolutelowendtheseseniorshadbeenwaitingforallweek—andcouldn’trepce.
Cramutedthestringswithherpalm,cuttingoffthesustain.TheedherheadandlookedatElianwithcalmeyes.
“Ionlygotthesetliststnight.Istillhavetoreviewathomeanddealwithcramschoolinthem.”Shesaiditwithplete,shamelesslogic.“SoIhaven’tlookedatthechart,andI’tpyyour*DoNothing/Bitchsp.*”
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