by Lizzie Vega
“Uh-oh,” she heard Kelli whisper under her breath.
“More like this?” He asked as he played the chord sequence again. this time in a more stately and formal manner. As he finished, Mikayla could feel the eyes of the entire classroom boring in on her. She nodded, “It gives the minor tones more time to resonate. Just, um, my thoughts of course.”
“Anyone else?” he asked looking around the room, “Have thoughts?” The redness of his face and neck suddenly contrasted sharply with his crisp white dress shirt.
There was uncomfortable silence as he walked over to set of speakers, “Mikayla, see me after class.” Punching a button on an old stereo mixer, the room was instantly filled with a rousing symphonic flurry as the teacher retreated into his office.
Impossible to be heard over the music volume, Kelli jotted a quick note to Mikayla and slid it over onto her tablet arm. It was nice knowing you. That’s his original score.
As the clock chime signaled the end of class, none of the well-trained students moved until the music ended. Kelli gathered her books as Mikayla sunk further into her seat, “How was I supposed to know that?” she glared at Kelli.
“He played it the first day of class. It’s almost ready for recording. You transferred in late. Sorry.” She stood up, “Find me at lunch.”
Amanda stepped down from the rows above them, “If you’re still among the living, I guess.”
The teacher seemed to ignore her until the last student was just about to leave the room, then signaled her to join him back at the piano. His glare hadn’t softened, “Okay be honest, you were sleeping in class and you just said the first thing that popped into your head.” It wasn’t a question.
“I was listening,” she stammered, “but I was distracted, not a hundred percent, I’m sorry.” She looked down at her shoes, “I didn’t mean to criticize your own composition.”
“You have balls,” he sniffed then waved his hand weakly at her, “Sorry inappropriate, I know. Have HR write me up.” His tone wasn’t so much arrogant as exhausted. “I’ve struggled with the break on this piece and the transition into the bridge is something I’m not really happy with.”
Disarmed by his sudden candor, she spoke without thinking, “Play it again. I’ll give my undivided attention.” Inside she was already scolding herself for being so forward.
“The whole thing?” he asked.
“Please,” she answered, “I have a break until my next class. And, if you don’t mind sharing, who was it written for?”
He stared at her, “Ah…no. It’s something I’ve been working on for a long time. Another time perhaps. Here goes.”
As he began to play the through the first two passages, she anticipated his tone as the troublesome bridge approached. Instead of powering through it as he had just done in class, the tempo slowed and for Mikayla, the missing part of the song fell into place. Two more stanzas and the composition ended. She hesitated to speak as she watched him take his fingers off the keys, the last chord still resonating from the soundboard. “The pop sound says guitar, but the classical flavor says violin.” She shrugged, “Like an electric Mozart.”
“Really,” he said, jotting a quick note on the score, “You hear it as violin. Interesting.”
She glanced at the door nervously, “I play so I guess I hear it all the time.” She shifted toward the classroom door, hoping for an exit. “Maybe too much all of a sudden.”
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Denver,” she answered, but her mind was busy replaying his music in her head and what she’d seen with her eyes. “The bridge between the verses is closer in color to the other sections. What did you think?” She gasped at her own disclosure, but he’d caught her slip.
“What colors did you see?” he asked quietly.
She closed her eyes with a deep sigh, “I misspoke. It sounded better.”
He ignored her dodge, “Synesthesia. That’s fascinating.” He saw her blush then look down at the floor, shaking her head. “Okay, I didn’t say that,” he quickly added, “I don’t know this.”
She looked up at him with a hopeful look on her face. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said softly, “I go to great lengths around here to cultivate my resident asshole status. I’m kinda proud of it since it gets you young’uns to work harder. I’m not gonna cut you any slack.”
“Yes sir,” she said quietly, “thank you.”
He leaned forward, “Just between you and me, I throw that old trumpet every semester. If you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen, but as far as I’m concerned, it will be our little secret. I mean that.”
She stared at him, trying to find a connection between the confession and his offer, “It’s exhausting sometimes. It’s one of the reasons I transferred.”
“Okay. Also, our little secret. Some late-comer advice for you?”
“Please.”
“Stay away from Amanda. She’s good but she’s been a pain in the ass around here since her father was made School President. I realize the social structure around here is pretty cold-blooded. Kelli’s got some chops, but she seems more desperate for acceptance rather than to hone her talent. Find the real people around here, hang with them.”
He stood up, gesturing toward the door, “Time for you to go. I’m gonna get louder in a minute and, if I ever single you out in class, understand that I’m not picking on you from a personal level. What instruments do you play?”
Now she smiled at his randomness, “Um, violin of course, and viola, oboe. Louder? Oh, I get it. Thank you for not picking on me.”
“No more, or less than anyone else.” He yanked hard the door to the classroom, only to see Amanda and her cronies gathered at the end of the deserted hallway. “So, pay attention, young lady,” he bellowed as she walked past him, eyes wide, hugging her books to her chest, “And it’s due tomorrow.”
The classroom door slammed with a resounding rattle as the hallway fell silent. Kelli’s text chimed in on Mikayla’s phone, “Meet me for lunch. What happened????”
Mikayla grinned at the text, thinking about how Kelli had thrown her a lifeline in class. “Which cafeteria? she texted back.
“West Union.”
Mikayla sighed. She gotten lost twice after the orientation walk, then once on the first day of school. The old university, especially the Memorial Union was renowned for its continuous renovations and additions. Hallways ended abruptly, stairwells and awkward level changes were everywhere on campus. Making her way out of the music building, she looked back over her shoulder imaging how much time she would spend in those rooms.
“West Union, new or old?” she sent back.
In her brief time there, she’d maybe seen a tenth of the practice rooms. Row after row of sound proofed and cramped practice rooms and classrooms by the dozens. As one of the oldest structures on campus, she marveled at all the talented performers that had studied in the buildings. The stories she’d heard ran the gamut from exciting stars launching their careers all the way down to things that seemed to go bump in the night.
“Old,” was Kelli’s quick response. “Left at the main lounge then downstairs, down the hall and right through the tunnel.”
“The basement, great.” Mikayla shivered as she made her way down the ramp to the tunnel that ran under the public street. Connecting the Union to three of the main classroom buildings, she’d already heard stories. “I’m so in the mood for creepy stuff.”
Chapter 6
“You seem a little distracted today,” Kelli said quietly as she watched Mikayla stare off across the Memorial Union lounge. It was the third time she had looked over at the piano and the third time Kelli’s overture had been ignored.
“Hey, Earth to Mi-kayla,” she finally blurted, “Over here.”
“Sorry.” Even that acknowledgment was weak.
Kelli pouted, “I could develop a complex or something. Jeez, what’s with you?”
Jogged from thought, Mikayla suddenly began to worry o
ut loud, “I didn’t just say something stupid, did I?”
Kelli grinned, “Nope. Is that something you do? I guess since I don’t know you very well…yet.” She snickered, “I’m usually the one with no filters.”
“So, I’ve heard,” Mikayla said, a smile slowly crossing her face, “I can’t believe all the stuff you and Amanda argue about.” She looked at Kelli, finally making direct eye contact, “So not me. It’s kinda impressive.”
“Ha,” Kelli laughed, “We’re not really arguing, but I like to get under her skin. Sometimes it’s just to see what she will say. Under all that hair and makeup and the money and the rich bitch attitude,” she paused, holding up her fingers to count, an evil smirk on her face.
Mikayla caught the hint, “More rich bitch attitude?”
Again, Kelli laughed out loud, “Exactly.” She put her hand up above her head, “Up high for that one. I’m so gonna use that.”
Mikayla looked around the busy student lounge for witnesses. Feeling comfortable, she sheepishly raised her hand and returned the salutation with a weak tap, “Sure. Be my guest.” She grinned at her new friend.
“Finally,” Kelli chuckled, “You gotta fire that off more often. You’re really cute. College isn’t just for the books, right?” Mikayla rolled her eyes, “For now, just...books, I guess.” Her faraway look returned, and Kelli didn’t miss it.
“Oh my God, who is it? Where are they?” she asked her eyes shooting around the fairly full lounge, “Boy or girl?”
“What?” Mikayla gasped, her eyes flaring, “My God, Kel, not so loud.” Her eyes darted over toward the piano section, “You’re evil.”
“Nailed it,” Kelli grinned, clapping her hands together happily. She looked over toward a group of students at the next seating area, “Is it him? He’s pretty.”
That earned Kelli a glare from her blushing face, “Not my type. Will you stop?”
“Okay, not your type. Do you have a type?” She pointed to two women sitting by themselves, “Either of them? The one on the left is uber hot.”
“Um, your type, then?” Mikayla asked awkwardly.
Kelli pursed her lips as she considered the question. She pointed back to the young man, “He’s got manly cool rugged thing goin’ on, rare specimen for an art school. Maybe.” She pointed back to the young women, “And the hot one knows she’s hot. Too Instagrammy for me, the other one though, with the subdued style is yeah, definitely interesting to me.”
“You’re just messing with me, aren’t you?” Mikayla said carefully as she glanced at her bag, “This…you…are overwhelming.”
Kelli gasped, “I’m sorry. I’m not messing with you. I’ll stop.” She dialed way back as she watched Mikayla shrink from the conversation. “Don’t be mad. I’m…well…I won’t tease you or interrogate you. I’m really sorry.”
“That voice you have right now,” Mikayla said softly, “That’s the one that will get you noticed. Please don’t play the comedian with me, at least not all the time okay?”
Kelli’s jaw dropped, “Wow, okay. I promise.”
“I just get worn out really quick. It’s not your fault, of course.” She looked at Kelli directly, “And, just so you know, boys.”
Kelli smiled, “Okay, check and double-check, got it.” To her credit, she waited an extra second and lowered her voice, “Is he here?”
Mikayla laughed softly, “No way. Doesn’t hang out here much.” She shrugged, “Doesn’t hang out anywhere that I can tell.” Without thinking, she made the mistake of looking back over to the piano. “I’ve seen him a few times.”
“Oh no. Don’t tell me…” Kelli gasped, “Mikayla, no. You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“I know he’s different.”
“Red flag central is what you mean by different? Have you even talked to him? It doesn’t take long to figure that out.”
“Have you talked to him?” Mikayla asked back.
“Well, no I haven’t but okay,” Kelli started to count on her fingers again, “He’s tall, I’d say lanky. He’s not unattractive but, oh dear… he’s beyond shy to the worst degree.” Another finger went up, “talented, er, was talented.” She put her hand down, “Do you know his story?”
Mikayla shook her head, blushing. “I Googled him. I know a little bit. It’s really sad.” She smiled shyly, ‘There’s a picture of him wearing a tux, he’s maybe ten or eleven,” she sighed, “He’s just…darling.”
“You sound like my mother,” Kelli frowned, “Well then, you know more than I do. He was a prodigy, apparently a real one when he was young. Tiger mom, she dies from cancer, he cracks up, now he’s here. End of story.”
“Ouch. That’s a little brutal don’t you think?”
“Sorry. Like who you like, right? You’re certainly old enough to go on the big kid rides.” Pointing back toward the young men, “Less drama from the get-go. Just sayin.”
“But-“
“Less drama,” Kelli repeated, “Although, no doubt good with his hands,” she winked, then saw Mikayla turn bright red. “Oh my…un have you even, uh…” she watched Mikayla turn to a deeper shade of red as she looked away from her “even, like…dated?”
There was an awkwardly long pause. “A little. And, please, please don’t tease me.” Mikayla whispered with a hint of an embarrassed smile.
With that, Kelli’s enthusiasm returned, “Oh my God, you are so adorable.” She rolled her eyes, “Now, I sound like my mom.”
“I know it’s weird.”
“It’s not weird. Might get weird, though. You’ll need help with him.” Her eyes brightened, “I’ll be your wingman!” She read Mikayla’s less than enthusiastic response, “Oh right, inside voices…I’ll be your wingman,” she whispered, “No comedy, just normal me.”
“Normal you? They call you the Dark One?” Mikayla shook her head, “What’s that about?”
Kelli laughed, “I know right? That’s just Amanda being an idiot. I belong to a paranormal club in town. She thinks it’s stupid, but it’s not all about school for me.”
Mikayla agreed, “She thinks everything is stupid. It must take so much energy to be such a pain in the ass. I can’t believe we hang around with her. It’s kinda sad.”
Kelli grinned, “I’ll let you in on a little secret, since we’re sharing. Everyone in our little gaggle of friends knows and now, so do you. True, kinda sad, but she’s going to have great contacts when we graduate. Friends with networking benefits.”
“That’s why she never stomps off when you insult her.”
“Probably, though she’d never admit it. I’m trying to toughen her up.”
“And I need to be toughened up too, right?”
“No idea,” Kelli winked, “but I’ll let you know if I see you do something weird.”
Mikayla smiled, then looked over to the piano, “Thanks wingman. You really have no idea.”
Chapter 7
“Again.”
“Mom, can I please be done?”
“Goodness no, Ethan. Not ‘til it’s perfect.” That was always her answer.
“I’m tired of it. Can I at least play something else?”
“No. Again, I said. You’ll never amount to anything until it’s perfect.”
By the time Ethan was ten, he was proficient in sight reading and instinctively knew his way around a full keyboard. Between school, swimming and the private music lessons his mother scheduled, there was time for little else. He’d play until his fingers throbbed, until his back ached from sitting on the rock-hard piano bench.
“Mom, please.”
“Again. Watch your tempo. Feel the music in your soul.” She’d say that constantly then berate him instantly for changing anything other than the notes as written on the page. “Your contest is in two weeks and you’re nowhere close to ready.”
He flipped the sheet music back to the first page of the piece, “Andy Peterson is having a birthday party on Saturday. He invited me.” He turned slowly to his mother, “Can I go?”
She swirled the ice around in her almost empty glass, “Saturday, what time does it start?”
Ethan turned back to the piano, his head sinking lower. He knew the afternoon gathering at the hotel pool would be a direct conflict with his swimming club practice and immediately after, the formal lesson from his private piano tutor. “Never mind.”
“Good boy,” she said, “I know you want to be the best. I’m so proud of you.”
As he began to play, Ethan was sad at not being able to attend the party. He liked Andy and he knew that Matthew and Kristi would be there too. They were the friends that held out the longest before he finally pushed them away. While the school bullying had started long before, and grown more aggressive as he got older, with his mother’s help, he’d become the best and leave it all behind.
“You’re dragging. Watch your tempo,” she’d reprimand, “always make it perfect.”
It didn’t always go as planned. By the time he reached ninth grade, his talents were well known. Straight A’s were a given. New swim club records were made as he channeled his discipline into becoming the best.
One Saturday at an out of town swim meet, a close race with a up and coming challenger resulted in a questionable tie. His mother came off the bleachers screaming at the hapless judges. There were drinks at lunch and maybe one between matches and suddenly his mother’s belligerence was on full display.
As the shouting subsided, Ethan watched in embarrassed horror as the club officials removed her from the pool area. Banned from the rest of the afternoon meet, she was relegated to the viewing area in the lobby.
While Ethan won his next event, the pressure of the incident wore heavily on him and he came in a distant third in the final contest. The long silent ride home was the worst part of the day. The minute they walked into the house, his hair still smelling of chlorine, she marched him straight to the piano.
“Again,” she yelled at him.
“Mom,” he said quietly as tears rolled down his cheeks, “I tried my best to win.”
