The Checklist Addie Woolridge (pocket ebook reader TXT) 📖

of the video. The room was so vast and so personal that it felt like Dylan was melting into the music and darkness, becoming part of the building itself. She ignored how tightly she and Mike had packed themselves into the couch. And how the lights played with his features, highlighting his nose and the muscles in his neck. Instead, she directed her focus toward the room, shimmying down the couch so she could watch the ceiling and the screen at the same time.

The next video hit the walls with a blunt force that made both of them jump. Dylan’s hand flew to her scarf with a compulsive urge to put her heart back where it belonged. Laughing next to her, Mike leaned in. “Ready to go upstairs?”

She felt her cheeks heat up as his words brushed the soft spot on her neck below her jaw. Was she going to spend the rest of the afternoon looking like she had just gone for a run, or was her body going to give the hyperactive-spatial-awareness thing a rest? Giving her head a shake she hoped passed for a nod, she stood up and tried to duck out of the view of the people watching behind her, slinking toward the elevators.

“The children’s area is on the third floor. This space is the closest to what I hope to do at Crescent.” Mike sounded giddy as he spoke over the heads of several people who had managed to pack into the elevator with them.

“This is bound to be exciting,” Dylan said, giving Mike a bit of side-eye as he rocked on the balls of his feet.

“Be as sarcastic as you like. Your mind is going to be blown.”

Mike strode out of the elevator like a dog being let loose from his crate. Noticing she was about ten feet behind him, he stopped short, joy radiating from him. The floor was covered with kids, the most excited of them being the grown man in front of her.

“Tell me about this place.” Dylan gestured around before carefully tucking her hands in her pockets, away from fourth-grader germs.

“I don’t have to tell you; you’re going to experience it,” he said, leaning heavily into the word.

“Did you just make a pun out of the Experience Music Project?”

Smirking like a cat who’d caught a canary, Mike wiggled his eyebrows.

“Punny! Your soccer dad is showing.” Dylan laughed despite herself.

“Before I show you around a truly wonderful interactive children’s exhibit, I’d like the record to reflect that puns are really more grandpa-joke territory.” Mike flashed a hundred-watt smile.

“Fine, old man, lead the way.” Dylan extended her arm in an after-you gesture as he reached for a set of double doors.

The reason for his enthusiasm slammed into her like a brick wall. The space was soundproofed well enough that she hadn’t been able to hear what was going on behind the doors. Once inside, she could see that every corner was covered in instruments. At the center of the room, a giant screen was surrounded by children tapping at digital versions of drums, while small sound studios held guitars, keyboards, and other instruments hooked up to monitors. Mike made a beeline for one of these rooms, grabbing Dylan’s hand and weaving around the children yelling to one another.

Inside the small room, things quieted down again. In front of her was a keyboard and a computer screen listing exactly three songs: by Journey, the Beatles, and the Jackson 5.

“Isn’t it great!” Mike’s smile was bordering on Christmas-level big as he gestured to the panel in front of him. “This software is so cool. Pick a song.”

“And do what with it?” Dylan looked down at the keyboard and over at Mike. “I don’t have a musical bone in my body. I know you know this; you can hear my dad hollering clear across the street.”

“That’s the best part. You don’t need skill. The program is here to teach you, in a soundproof, almost judgment-free setting.” The corners of his mouth quirked as he said this, giving away what little sincerity he managed to muster. “Besides, you aren’t required to sing. Just play.”

“Oh, is that a challenge? ’Cause I’ll sing if it’s a challenge. Then we will see who’s laughing.” Dylan poked at a button marked I’ll Be There and shook off her inhibitions. Outside of one drunken karaoke mistake roughly five years ago, she had yet to sing in front of another soul. For one thing, she was terrible, and for another, Nicolas didn’t like her to drown out the car stereo. He claimed the sound from his speakers was too nice to spoil with her screeching. Luckily, Nicolas isn’t big on road trips, she thought, stretching out her arms and half watching as the computer walked her through a series of quick keyboard exercises.

“Let’s try again,” the robot voice said as she mashed at the keys with one finger, trying to remember the pattern the software had taught her. She was vaguely aware of Mike laughing as she squeaked in frustration.

“Hey, buddy, you think this is easy?”

“No. Not at all. I think the kids around us are tiny musical prodigies, and that’s why they picked it up so fast.”

“I’m sorry not all of us played the tuba in middle school.” Dylan sneaked a look away from the screen to catch him wrinkling his nose.

“I’d pay money for you to forget about that.”

“Never. I’m going to ask your mom for pictures, then mail a copy to you on your birthday every year so you don’t forget where you came from,” Dylan said, managing to properly execute the pattern despite the distraction.

“That is low. I’ve grown as a person. My musical taste has improved dramatically and—”

“Congratulations! Let’s put it all together,” the computer cheered, cutting Mike short.

“Wait, there’s more?” Her triumphant smile faded as the screen split. On one end was the piano part, and on the other a young Michael Jackson clutched his mic, ready to croon his twelve-year-old heart out. “Shoot.”

“Hope you