Grace Note

<p><strong>I'm the privileged youngest child of the famous McKallister family. He's a runaway foster kid living rough. We were never meant to meet. This is where our story begins. It's nowhere near how it ends.</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong>Grace</strong></p><p>The beat. The cheers. The thrill of the unknown. I shouldn't leave the safety of the music arena-my last name is McKallister after all and I'm intimately familiar with worst-case scenarios. But I'm drawn by the talent and the turmoil behind the weary eyes of the drummer on the streets. I've never seen anyone my age as wild and unrestrained a lightning bolt of electricity that never hits the same spot on his bucket drums twice. He plays with such confidence such rage. I have to know who he is and where he learned to bang out drum solos like he owns the night.</p><p> </p><p>I want to help him. No to save him. If only Rory will let me.</p><p> </p><p><strong>Rory</strong></p><p>When I play I'm in my element. I know how to draw a crowd and how to keep them riveted. For a small period of time every day I'm special. Talented. Going somewhere. Little do they know I'm going back to nothing: no family no friends no roof over my head. When the music ends I fade into the background like the undesirable I am. And then she shows up so pretty and polished and pure. I don't expect her to stay and talk. I definitely don't expect her to sit down on the sidewalk and drum a song onto my thigh. Yet here she is-anyone's ultimate dream girl-promising to save <em>me</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Too bad Grace stumbled upon me a decade too late.</p>