“I guess,” Chad said. “I forgot the record.”
“I think it’s time we do it without the record, don’t you, Tucker?”
“I…um… Yeah. I think he’s ready.”
Mrs. C. handed Tucker and Chad copies of the song, “Age of Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In.” She sat at the piano and played the introduction. She nodded to Chad. He opened his mouth, but not a single sound came out—not a lyric, not a note.
Mrs. C. stopped playing. “What if Tucker took the first four measures, and then you did the last two? Would that be better?”
“No,” Tucker said. “He can do it. You can do it,” he said to Chad. “It’s just like in the van.” Tucker was close to choking up. “Just like that.” He touched Chad’s arm. “Dig?”
Mrs. C. played the intro again. This time, Chad sang—if one could call it that. A sound came out that was a
