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“Now you’ll hurt me if you don’t trust me, alright?” Mooney’s face is the picture of earnest innocence.
Ryan stares at him blankly.
"No, no really. You have to listen to what’s inside of you," Mooney insists. "This stuff? It's a rhythm, a heartbeat." He taps his fingers on his chest. “You hear that? Ga-gum, ga-gum.”
“Right, a two beat.” Ryan starts to scribble that down but Mooney interrupts him.
“No, man. It’s not just the beat, you know? It’s the way you move. You gotta” - he pulls his beret down to cover his eyes and does a sort of quick side-step shuffle - “listen to the music inside of you.”
"God wouldn't have given you maracas if he didn't want you to shake them," Lu chimes in, not looking up from where he’s scribbling in his book, fingertips covered in ink.
Ryan pulls up short and scowls at the two of them. "Wait… is this-? Are you guys just-? I'm not an idiot, you know; I have seen Dirty Dancing."
"Oh" Mooney all but yodels, joyful. “Well, that’s perfect. So you know that poetry’s all about carrying the watermelon. You gotta feel the weight, man. It's all in the hips really." He crouches a little in front of Nuge’s drum and does a rapid little pat-a-tat before pulling away, finger-gunning all the while.
"You gotta let life lead you, you know? Follow the path but make the journey your own," Lu says, sage. “Leave your mark.” Lu waggles his fingers at Ryan. His face and turtleneck are covered in smudges of ink. As are the seat of Mooney’s pants.
Ryan resolutely ignores this.
"That's what I'm trying to do!” He whines. Then, after a certain amount of contemplation, he tries, “I don’t want anyone to put me in the corner?"
“Hey, hey, hey,” Mooney calls out, making the time-out gesture,“no. That’s… not. No. Too on the nose. Bad form.”
“What?”
“You gotta have nuance, kid. You have to feel the moment. That?” - Mooney gestures - “Was not the right moment.”
“Also, if you don’t want people calling you baby, don’t go there, man.” Lu’s is the voice of wisdom through the ages. He tips his glasses down his nose for an extra touch, and calmly watches Ryan scowl at him over the top.
Ryan ignores them to sulkily kick at the base of his drum, while Lu and Mooney share an amused, commiserating look.
"He's got so much to learn," Mooney says, and Lu nods. “I think he needs a partner, you know. Someone to teach him how to keep the beat, all spaghetti arms and keeping his space. Not spagetti now, though; all KD, you know. Pasta. Cheese. These kids, they love it.”
Lu leaves his notebook and pen on the floor and shoves to his feet. He puts a stained hand over his heart and intones, “There’s some things we can teach, like how to put pasta in cheese and add hot sauce.” - He points at Mooney who immediately howls “Preach!” - “But some things need time and space, an established base before an increase in pace. You’ve got floaties on but we’re deep, man, so deep. So if you don’t wanna drown in us, you gotta be like a tea-bag and steep.”
Mooney puts his hand up and Lu high-fives it. “That’s great, man. So great.”
“Fuck you guys,” Ryan spits, pointing an accusatory finger. “This isn’t helping me at all. I’m going home.” He hefts his drum and backpack and stalks off.
There’s a long pause. Then Mooney leans over to look Lu in the eye and croons, “You looked wonderful out there, honey.”
Lu grins. “Time of my life.”