“Not bad,” Izzy said, twirling a drumstick. “Can you improv?” Without waiting for me to reply, she hopped onto the drums and jumped straight into a beat. I matched her as tightly as I could, making up the tune as I went along and ignoring the closely watching eyes of Emerson and Sayid. Before long, I stopped noticing them anyway. All I knew was the beat, and the bass under my fingers, and the perfect intermingling of the two instruments. It’d only been a couple of months since I’d played with others, but I’d forgotten how awesome it was. Like blending your soul with someone else’s for three and a half minutes. For the first time since I stepped foot in this school, I felt comfortable and calm. I could picture the tension pouring out of my pores like a noxious gas.
Suddenly, Izzy stopped,
