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Chapter One
Kinsey was a seasoned performer but her heart was pumping extra hard in her chest as they walked on stage that night. It wasn’t even a particularly big stage - perhaps only a couple of hundred people in the crowd - but tonight she had an inexplicable feeling like the stakes were high, for her personally, and not just the young woman walking on in front of her.
It had all started two weeks ago when she’d seen the tiny flier attached to a noticeboard at Aloha. In neatly printed handwriting it just said Girl drummer/singer wanted and a number. Kinsey had been coasting up until this point, playing in a couple of bands, never quite finding a good fit. There was zero information on the flier as to the who or why of the situation but if Kinsey ever had to sum herself up in just three words girl drummer/singer would probably be a good contender.
She was, she hoped, a lot of other things too. Even just musically: Kinsey played guitar, bass, piano and keyboard. Her voice was trained too - all of it at Juilliard, no less - though she found she was better off keeping that information on the down-low. There was a kind of reverse snobbery that she came across in the Nashville scene, like being self-taught or innately talented as a birthright was naturally superior to formal training, no matter how good it made you.
She’d called the number and was pleasantly surprised to hear another girl answer the call, and one who seemed - so far, at least - more or less normal, so she’d met up with her in a cafe in downtown Nashville.
Cassidy was around her age or maybe a little younger. White, small, and blonde, she was extremely pretty in a weirdly familiar way that Kinsey couldn’t quite put her finger on. At first she wasn’t quite sure what to make of her as they faced each other in a window booth seat, each holding onto drinks for something to do with their hands. Cassidy told her that she hadn’t performed live yet - literally ever - but she also seemed comfortably confident she could pull it off. She was both nervous and sure of herself.
“Why a drummer-singer?” asked Kinsey. “That’s super specific.”
Cassidy smiled as she stirred her coffee.
“The song I want to sing at the open mic needs a rhythm section. And some back up vocals would give it more depth. I figured two birds, one stone. Plus,” she added, “I know a drummer who sings and it’s always seemed like a killer combination.”
Kinsey nodded. She thought so too.
“So,” Cassidy smiled, “where are you from?”
Kinsey tried not to sigh. It was the number one question she got asked by everyone she encountered, usually followed up with but where are you really from? Her skin was golden-brown all year no matter the season, her long hair a sleek black, and her big brown eyes had just enough of a hint to them that made white people look twice before they just had to ask.
“I moved here from New York,” she said. “But if you mean where was I born, then Chicago,” she anticipated the next question before it could get asked. “And yes, I’m American and English is my first language. But if you mean what’s my ethnic background, then my mom is Filipino and my dad is white.”
Cassidy went slightly pink.
“I just meant your Yankee accent,” she said. “You’re obviously not from Nashville.”
“Oh,” Kinsey said, not entirely convinced. “No, I’m not.”
“You get that stuff a lot, huh?” Cassidy seemed to be commiserating, which was interesting for a conventionally attractive, all-American, Tennessee white girl.
“Literally always.”
“People can suck,” she shrugged. “My boyfriend…” she trailed off, her eyes flicking up to Kinsey’s and shook her head. “I kind of get it, in a way. How long have you been in Nashville?”
“A year,” Kinsey said. She’d been just about considering maybe getting a tiny crush on Cassidy - she really was unbelievably easy to gaze at with her big blue-gray eyes and full lips - but the boyfriend comment put an end to that idea. Mostly. She told Cassidy about the other bands she played in, the other musicians she supported. “I guess I’m just looking for a better fit, you know? Someone I can really work together with to make some great songs.”
Cassidy considered her.
“Do you… maybe want to go give it a try?”
Since neither of them seemed to be an obvious psychopath, Cassidy came over to Kinsey’s apartment, her guitar in tow. With just a hint of nerves she played Kinsey a song she’d written, the one that she was planning to perform. Kinsey had sat on the floor of her living room and listened, then nodded thoughtfully.
“You know,” she said slowly, “I think that just might be one hell of a pop song.”
Cassidy’s hopeful expression collapsed into a frown.
“It’s not supposed to be pop,” she said. “It’s a country song.”
“Sure. Country pop.” Kinsey smiled. “It’s a compliment, not an insult. Hear me out. Try it like this,” she tucked herself behind her drum kit and tapped out a faster tempo. Cassidy looked at her dubiously, but she started strumming again, this time in rhythm with Kinsey. Just as her vocal kicked in, Kinsey began a harder beat, like a racing heart. Cassidy kept pace. She looked startled. The longer she kept up, the more Kinsey had to hold in the manic grin she was feeling on the inside.
When the song finished, they were both breathing faster.
“Holy shit,” Cassidy said, her eyes wide.
“Right?” Kinsey pointed at her, the grin spilling out. They ran through it again, this time with Kinsey joining in on some ad-libbed back-up vocals and when they’d finished Cassidy was the one smiling.