Page 40 of Charm City Rocks
Caleb has never seen his dad on TV before, so it’s the cardigan he recognizes first, as inMy dad has the same sweater as that dude on TV. But then Margot Hammer is there. As the crowd cheers, his dad and Margot…start kissing.
“Wait, what?” says Caleb.
“I give you world-class-rock-drummer-turned-viral-sensation Margot Hammer, seen here on the kiss cam at an O’s game with everyone’s new favorite random cardigan guy.”
“At least someone in an Orioles hat got to first base tonight.”
“Zing! But, yeah, Tina’s right, the Orioles got beat down by the Sox. But who cares? I mean, come on, look at those two. Go get ’em, Cardigan Guy!”
Caleb’s laptop screen pings.
Shin-Soo:Dude. Cay. Are you watching SportsCenter?
Chapter25
“It’s a beautiful piano.”
“Thanks,” says Billy. “I catch myself staring at it sometimes. Is that weird?” He plays a few lazy bars of his go-to, “She’s a Rainbow,” and offers her an espresso.
Margot frowns at the robot octopus of a machine on the counter. “I’d be up all night,” she says. “And no, it’s not weird at all. I stare at my drums all the time.”
They’re back from the game, side by side at the Steinway, and he logs these details about her: she can’t drink coffee at night, she stares at her drums. Also, she doesn’t know how to match socks. “Those’re different,” he says.
Margot looks down at her feet, curls the toes of the right one. “I’m a little color-blind.”
“Okay. Are you a littleblindblind, too? Because that one’s striped and that one’s got polka dots.”
“I guess it’s been a while since I cared,” she says.
This could mean a couple of things. Perhaps she’s too much of a mad genius to care about such inconsequential things as socks, like how Einstein used to forget to put on pants. Or maybe itmeans she’s been on her own for a while, and there’s been no one around to match socks for.
On their way back from Camden Yards, he asked if she wanted to stop for a drink or maybe ice cream. “I think that’d be more of a production than you realize,” she told him. After the kiss cam, their cover was totally blown. People came up to them to wave and take pictures, to shout encouragement and to tell Margot that she rocks. Billy found it impossible to follow what was going on in the game. Now that he thinks about it, he’s not even sure who won.
“I have other things to drink,” he says now. “Beer, soda? I have some pot gummies. That was a true story, by the way—the gummy bear thing.”
“All good.” She holds her palms over the keys and leans in to look at the sheet music he made for Sophia. “I like how you simplified it.” She plays it perfectly.
“Damn. So, you’re not…”
“Just a drummer?”
“Would that be an insult?” he asks. “Is being calledjusta drummer offensive, if you’re one of the best drummers of your generation? Like, oh, so, LeBron, you’re notjusta basketball player, you play a little tennis, too.”
“Stop it,” she says, smiling. It’s not a break-the-Internet, full-wattage smile, but he’ll take it. She plays the beginning of “Let It Be” then “Karma Police,” and it makes him dizzy to imagine the Billy of twenty years ago seeing this: Margot Hammer in mismatched socks, afraid of caffeine, wearing an O’s cap, playing Radiohead beside him. He’s glad she didn’t want to get a beer or ice cream earlier, because what could be better than this?
“All right, move it, sister,” he says. “My turn.”
He plays “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” by Elton John, then “Oh! You Pretty Things” by David Bowie.
Margot rolls her eyes. “Ugh, dudes,” she says, and then plays“Borderline” by Madonna so well that all he can do is watch with his mouth open.
“Did you prepare for this?” he asks. “I’m calling bullshit. You rehearsed.”
“What, this?” She keeps with Madonna, starts “Like a Prayer,” but stops because someone is yelling outside.
“Yo, Piano Man! Where’s my Stevie at?”
They look at each other then go to the window. It’s the guy with the pit bull. He and his dog are looking up from the sidewalk.
