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follow the song better than I had even just the last time I practiced. It was coming more easily, like my hands were finally getting it.
    I was about a third of the way into the song, drumming along with my eyes closed, when I felt a pressure on my arm. Startled, I threw my drumsticks in the air, narrowly missing my music teacher’s head with one of them.
    I pulled the earphones off my ears. “Oh no! Mr. Robertson, I’m so sorry!”
    He reached over and hit the stop button on the CD player, cutting the music to the earphones. “You missed. And I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, Lilah. How’s it going?”
    â€œGetting better, I think.”
    â€œIt sounds like it. You’re making some good progress.”
    I shrugged. “Me and Alex want to start a band.”
    He nodded. “You two could really rock it out.”
    I really liked Mr. Robertson. He was maybe thirty or so. He wasn’t all stiff and boring like some of the other teachers. You could imagine this guy wasa kid once, not like Mr. Burrows, who lived and breathed math. You assumed that guy was
born
bald and middle-aged.
    â€œYou and Alex both have talent. You just need to practice, practice, practice.”
    I nodded. “I know. We’re still not very good, but we’re determined.”
    â€œHey, Lilah, want to hear something really fun?”
    â€œYeah, for sure.”
    He grinned. “Okay, let me in there for a second.”
    I got up and retrieved my drumsticks from the floor, handing them to him.
    â€œThanks.” Mr. Robertson took my spot on the stool, took a breath, and started drumming.
    I was instantly awestruck.
    The drumming was like nothing I’d ever heard before and certainly nothing I’d aspired to be able to do, at least not for many years. But Mr. Robertson was totally kicking it, his hands a blur as he hit the drums in all the right places. His face was lit up, like this was what he lived for, his passion.
    I was in total awe.
    When he finished, with a big cymbal crash, he turned to me. There was sweat on his forehead but he smiled. “So, what do you think?”
    â€œThat was awesome, Mr. Robertson. I didn’t know you could play like that!”
    â€œPractice, Lilah. You’ll get there.”
    I seriously doubted it, but still, it was cool to watch my teacher drum like a rock star.
    â€œWhat was that?”
    He shrugged. “Just an old Van Halen song.”
    I’d never heard of Van Halen, but I was definitely going to look them up. Maybe my dad had one of their CDs.
    â€œThat was really so cool, Mr. Robertson,” I said, taking the drumsticks from him. But as my hand touched the wood, a jolt of something went through me. I looked up into my teacher’s face. “Ugh, did you feel that?”
    He tilted his head as though he was listening for something. “Feel what?”
    I looked down at the drumsticks. They seemed to be pulsing in my hands.
    â€œThe sticks, do they seem weird to you?”
    He glanced down and shrugged. “They’re not the kind I normally prefer to use, but there’s nothing wrong with them.”
    â€œOh, never mind,” I said, feeling really stupid. I mentally willed my grandmother to come and explain what was going on.
    No such luck.
    Mr. Robertson let go of the sticks and got up off the stool.
    â€œBubby!” I coughed into my hand, hoping he didn’t get that I was beckoning my dead grandmother to come help me decipher a new psychic quirk.
    He turned around. “Bless you.”
    Clueless. Good. But apparently, so was my grandmother.
    â€œSo, are you in a band, Mr. Robertson?”
    He shook his head. “I used to be, but most of the guys are married with jobs and kids now, so it’s hard for us to get together and jam.”
    â€œThat’s sad. You’re really talented. You shouldn’t let that go to waste.”
    He smiled down at me.