At Thursday’s practice, all the girls were on time, except for Kyra.
“I told her she could come late if she wanted,” Tig explained. “She’s performing just that one song, so all she has to do is run through ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ with us just to make sure she’s fresh on it for the gig.”
“That worked out nicely,” Robbie said. “I’m glad she was cool about it.”
“I think she’s come to grips with the fact that she’s not cut out to be a musician,” Tig said.
“It doesn’t hurt that she’s so into this Milo guy,” Olivia said. “Did you know that she’s started watching foreign films? With subtitles and everything? Milo’s a film buff.”
“Whatever floats your boat,” said Robbie. “Just float it away from the band.”
Tig laughed. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“I think you get my meaning anyway.”
Of course, they all knew what Robbie meant. Paris was a welcome change from Kyra on the bass. She practiced daily on her own and knew all the new songs for the gig. She was practically flawless.
After the girls had run through the set list once and were about to start the second run-through, Kyra showed up.
She wasn’t alone.
“Everybody, this is Milo,” Kyra said. A nice-looking dark-haired boy in a button-down shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots waved an awkward hello.
Tig was struck by the boots. Of all the things she’d heard about Milo—the brilliance in math, the philosophical conversations, the interest in foreign films—cowboy boots had just never entered her mind when she’d pictured him.
“Hi, Milo,” Tig said. The other girls also said hello.
Milo didn’t have much to say until after the girls, minus Paris and plus Kyra, played “Sweet Home Alabama.” Then he had a lot to say.
A lot a lot.
“Southern rock isn’t my preferred genre of music, of course . . .,” he began. “But one does have to admire this particular anthem, given its backstory.”
“What backstory?” Tig asked. That was a mistake.
“Didn’t you know?” Milo asked. “Of course you didn’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have asked.” Milo laughed. Tig hoped he was laughing at his lame joke instead of at her ignorance. Milo continued. “You see, this song was in response to a tune called ‘Southern Man’ by the artist Neil Young. Young, one might argue, being an artist of more subtlety and nuance, of course . . . but nevertheless, the Lynyrd Skynyrd fellows apparently took umbrage at Young’s critique of Southern society. Although I suppose that is actually debatable, as both the Skynyrd members and Young always maintained there was no real animosity between them. Nevertheless, this song was quite a clever riposte, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know,” Tig said. “I don’t know what a riposte is.”
Milo laughed. Again, Tig didn’t think he meant it insultingly. He seemed genuinely amused. “Forgive me!” he said. “Perhaps that’s not a readily familiar word.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” said Kyra. “I bet Robbie knows what it means. Don’t you, Robbie?”
“Well, yeah,” Robbie said.
“Tell us,” Kyra said.
“I don’t want to show off,” Robbie said. “You tell them, Milo.”
Again, Milo laughed. “It’s a fencing term,” he said. “A quick thrust following a lunge. Do any of you fence?”
“Um, no,” Tig said. “Do you?”
“Oh, indeed,” Milo said. “I enjoy it immensely. I must admit, though, I lack the hand-eye coordination and natural athletic prowess to be particularly good at it, but I do enjoy trying.” He then launched into a ten-minute explanation of the art of fencing and its history.
When the girls thought they could take not one more second of Milo’s tutorial, Robbie finally interrupted him. “That’s very interesting. But we have to get back to practice.”
“Yes, of course,” Milo said. “You must forgive me. I tend to prattle on at times.”
“You don’t prattle,” Kyra said. “We all thought that was really interesting, just like Robbie said!” Kyra’s goo-goo eyes showed that she was being completely honest. Claire and Tig looked at each other and stifled a laugh.
“I think we’re good on ‘Sweet Home,’” Tig said, almost afraid to mention the song title again for fear that Milo would remember something else about its history that he hadn’t shared. “Kyra, if you and Milo want to go in the house so you can talk, we understand. It’s hard to have a conversation over our playing.”
Kyra seized the opportunity to have Milo somewhat to herself, and took his arm as they left the studio. On her way out, she looked over her shoulder and gave the girls a big openmouthed smile as if to say, Isn’t he so great? The girls smiled and nodded in response, giving the thumbs-up or “okay” hand signals.
Once Kyra and Milo were inside the house, Robbie finally spoke. “Girls, this proves it.”
“Proves what?” Tig asked.
“It’s true what they say. There really is someone for everyone.”
The girls laughed. “When they first walked in, I was impressed,” Olivia said. “He’s kind of cute.”
“I thought so too,” said Claire.
“And then he started talking,” Tig said. The girls giggled. “Sorry. That was unkind.”
“But accurate,” said Robbie.
“Now y’all see what I meant about Milo,” Paris said. “He’s nice and real smart, but sometimes I just don’t believe his cornbread’s all the way done.”
“You have a lot of sayings about cornbread,” Robbie said.
“Hey,” Paris said. “Cornbread is life!”
“You’re making me hungry,” said Olivia.
Robbie smirked. “Shocker!”
“Back to Kyra,” Claire said. “The important thing is that Milo likes her and she likes him. Did you see the way he looked at her? He’s definitely smitten.”
“I wish Will looked at me that way,” Olivia said. “But he doesn’t. Do y’all think he likes someone else?”
All the girls groaned.
“Well, do you?” Olivia asked.
“‘For Your Love,’ from the top,” Tig said, counting off with her sticks.
She kicked the bass drum with a little more intensity than on the last run-through, wondering what girls who didn’t play the drums did to work out their frustrations.