Crossover Read Online Free Page B

of the
stage.
    The
master of ceremonies' voice boomed through the auditorium.
'...headlined at the Tokyo International Arts Festival,' he was
saying, 'featured at the Sunset Celebration of Percussion and named
best new female artist at the New Jersey Soloist Music Awards –
please join me in welcoming to the stage Daniella Burnett! '
    The audience started
clapping.
    Ash looked back at the
stagehand. He made a shooing gesture. 'Go!'
    She walked out onto the
stage. A spotlight fixed upon her as soon as she emerged from
behind the curtain. She walked out to the drum kit, trying to look
like she knew what she was doing.
    She sat down on the
foam rubber stool and looked out at the audience. A sea of
expectant faces stared back at her.
    Ashley's eyes widened.
There must be a thousand people in here, she thought.
    The drum sticks rested
on the largest tom. She picked them up and twirled them in her
fingers. A hush fell over the crowd.
    From the three lessons
she had taken, Ash knew how to produce a rock beat and a swing
waltz. But she wasn't very good at either of those things, and if
she attempted them now, she would surely be exposed as an
amateur.
    She raised one of the
sticks high in the air.
    Hesitated.
    Here goes nothing, she
thought.
    She
brought the stick crashing down on the snare drum. The crack echoed out across
the auditorium. She was relieved to discover that although the drum
was stuffed with her escape equipment, this wasn't evident from the
sound.
    Ash slammed the stick
into the high hat twice before hitting the snare again. Then she
tried some quiet taps on the floor tom before hitting the splash
cymbal with all her strength.
    The audience remained
in a state of silent hypnosis.
    They're buying it, Ash
thought.
    She
went all out, bashing the sticks against every drum and every
cymbal. With her foot, she stomped on the kick drum pedal to make
what she hoped sounded a bit like a heart beat. None of the strikes
seemed to fit with any of the others. She hoped this would be
mistaken for complex rhythm, rather than no rhythm.
    Abruptly she switched
from using the whole kit to using just one drum – the smallest tom,
which she bashed at as quickly and loudly as she could. After
almost a whole minute, she swapped back, tapping all the other
drums and cymbals quietly and unevenly.
    When it felt like seven
of the allotted eight minutes had passed, she started getting
louder. She struck the hat louder and louder, more and more
quickly. Sweat poured down her face. She tried hitting the drums
near the edges of their skins, and then moved back to the middle.
When it felt like she couldn't strike them any harder or faster,
she stopped.
    The last echoes died
away, and the auditorium was silent.
    Ash put the sticks
down.
    Someone clapped.
Someone else joined in.
    The claps coalesced
into applause. Ash realised she was still sitting down. She rose
and bowed stiffly. The clapping became louder. Someone
whistled.
    Ash walked off the
stage in a daze. In the wings, the stagehand was holding the door
open for her. A distinguished-looking man with a high widow's peak
and short, wavy hair stood next to him, holding a violin.
    'Very well done
indeed,' he said, in a way that suggested he thought she would need
the encouragement.
    Ash nodded modestly and
slipped back out in the corridor. The door slammed shut.
    He seemed like a nice
guy. She almost felt bad about her plan to steal his violin.
     
    * * *
     
    As Ash had hoped, the
green room was deserted. Tognetti was the last act, so there were
no other musicians warming up.
    She took the phone out
of her pocket, checked that the call to Benjamin was still
connected, and pressed it to her ear.
    'Benjamin,' she said.
'I'm inside the green room.'
    'That was the most
ridiculous thing I've ever heard,' he said. 'If you die before I
do, I'm going to make sure someone brings a drum kit to your
funeral and replicates that piece, note for note.'
    Ash smirked. 'I think
the other mourners would be less