Chapter Text
Starting college at 20 was, in the grand scheme of things, nowhere near a big deal. Plenty of other people took a gap year, spent a little extra time to figure out what they wanted to do with themselves, worked to save money, and a million other different things that kept people from going straight from high school into a four year degree.
For you, it was music. Ever since you were young you were listening to music every chance you got. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as soundwaves were hitting your eardrums you didn’t quite care. As you got older your tastes narrowed every so slightly. Most modern pop and country doesn't suit your sensibilities nowadays, but otherwise? Folk, indie, industrial, punk, noise, you name it, you love it. You’d spend hours digging through music review websites for those obscure little masterpieces. It’s how you got into metal in high school, discovering small bands you really liked, getting involved in your local scene, and how you eventually landed a gig as bassist for a black metal band your senior year.
You continued with that after you graduated, playing local shows, touring regionally. It wasn’t huge money by any means but you loved doing it and that made the blood sweat and tears worth it.
And then your band broke up.
You’re still a little fuzzy on the details but there was some feud between the vocalist and the drummer and the drummer walked out, leaving the rest of you high and dry. You tried to get in touch with him again to try and smooth things over, even maybe start a new project, but you never heard back. Trying to find a replacement didn’t pan out and eventually everybody else gave up on it, falling back on their day jobs.
You didn’t have that fall back.
Was it stupid of you to throw all of your eggs into such a niche basket? Of course it was, but you didn’t care at the time. Anything to do what you loved, and especially anything to get you away from your parents. They were every opposite of you. Prim, proper, and posh to your loose, laidback, and grungy. When you eventually ended up back at their doorstep they took you back in alright, but you were barely in the door before the preaching began.
“What did we tell you [Y/N]? We told you it was going to end like this and you ignored us. Now look where we are?”
“Oh honey, look at you! You look horrific, what is that on your shirt?”
“About time you came around. With your grades and test scores you might still be able to get into a good school if you’re quick with it.”
Starting college at 20 was, in the grand scheme of things, nowhere near a big deal. Apparently your parents didn’t get the memo.
“Y’know [Y/N], I still think you oughta drop the whole music thing outright,” your dad grunted as he pushed the moving cart into the dorm elevator. “You’ve wasted so much time on it already. I think it’s just best if you get rid of it and focus on your other stuff.”
“He’s right honey, you’re two years behind. Best not be distracted from something that’s not like to pan out… again.” Your mom pressed the button for the 7th floor of the dorm building, shooting you a bit of a glance with her last word.
You let out a heavy sigh, slumping on the back wall of the elevator as it began to ascend. “I thought we already talked about this?”
“Oh, we did,” your dad replied, “but I’ve thought about it some more and I think axing it is just better.”
“Mhm. The less time you’re focusing on that stuff the more time you have for your meaningful studies,” your mom affirmed.
You rested your forehead on the microwave you carried in your arms and let out another heavy sigh right as the door to the elevator opened. With the ding of the doors opening your dad pushed the moving cart out, your mom followed with the bags she held in her hands, and you brought up the end of your little familial train, barely not dragging your feet as you lugged the microwave towards your dorm room.
Your dad opened the door to your room with your keycard and code and pushed his way through, your mom and you right behind him. You all walked into the single person dorm room, your mom and dad unloading the cart while you set the microwave on top of your fridge and plugged it in. When you turned around they were both staring you down.
There was a moment of silence before your dad asked, “Well?”
You paused in confusion for a moment. “Well, what?”
“What do you think about getting rid of the music stuff,” your mom clarified.
“Oh, well,” you stumbled as you struggled for a satisfying response. “I already promised to you guys that I would drop it if it got too much or pushed me over four years which I think is pretty reasonable but also I’m already committed to my performance classes and ensembles and I don’t want to pull out last minute and I think it’ll actually be really good for motivating through my other classwork and-”
“Woah, okay kiddo, calm down, breath,” Dad interjected. “Was just bringing it up as a hypothetical, no need to get worked up.” He chuckled a little bit but backed off after taking in your anxious expression. “Well, just know if you go over 4 years you’re paying for the extra, alright?”
“I know, Dad.” You offered him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. His full, goofy grin told you he didn’t catch the nuance.
You looked around at your room. It was covered in your bags and other belongings, a twin bed was pushed up into a corner, a desk shoved into the one opposite. It was… not much, but it wasn’t your parents house. That you could work with.
“Well,” you said, clapping your hands together. “I think that’s everything from the car. You guys should be good to head out now.”
Your mom looked at you with wide eyes you were pretty sure were meant to elicit some kind of response from you. No response was given.
“Do you need our help with unpacking anything-?”
You cut your dad off before he could finish his sentence. “No no no, I’m alright.”
Both of your parents were giving you that look with the big eyes and pitiable features, but you weren’t going to give in.
“I’ve got everything handled, I promise. Thank you so much for helping me move in, but I promise I’ve got it from here.” You gave them a big smile to try and seal the deal. Some way, some how, it worked.
Your mom gave a quick huff before making her way towards you. “Well alright, honey, if you insist.” Before you could respond she wrapped you in a big hug with a grip far stronger than she had any right to have. “My little girl’s all grown up now,” she said quietly, small sniffles punctuating some of her words.
You rolled your eyes at the last part of her sentence but hugged her back all the same. When she finally let go of you you could spot a few small tears, but your dad had you wrapped in his own bear hug, giving you no time to attempt to comfort her.
“All grown up is right,” he said with a bit of laugh shaking his chest, “finally got where she needed to be going.” He couldn’t see your eye roll with your face buried in his chest.
Once your dad had detached himself from you and stepped back beside your mother there was quick silence broken up by one last question. “Do you plan on coming back for Thanksgiving?”
You knew they were worried about you disappearing from their lives once you finally got far away from them like this. You damn near did it when you were with your band, but living in the same city provides only so much space for separation. The conversation was going to happen eventually, you just didn’t expect it so soon.
You rubbed the back of your neck and averted your eyes. You still needed your parent’s help paying for college for these next four years, and you would probably need help covering other expenses as time passed, and honestly for all you didn’t appreciate their comments about how you lived your life you didn’t have the heart to cut them off like that.
“Yeah, I’ll be back for the holidays. Can’t imagine why I wouldn’t,” you responded, offering a weak smile.
Your dad gave you his trademark goofy grin in return, your mom offering her own warm and genuine smile.
“Wonderful,” he said, a little too loud. “Hey, how about we mix some drinks then when you get back? Bit of an early celebration for your big 21, aye?”
You made your way towards them and the door attempting to shuffle them out of the door, your weak smile persisting. “Sounds like a great idea dad.”
“Ha, wonderful. I don’t want to hear anything about you partaking until then though. If you can’t wait a couple months you don’t deserve it.”
Lord if he knew what happened after concerts. “Of course Dad, wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Oh, and no drugs, honey,” Mom added. “Don’t need to see you become a junkie after you’ve come this far.”
You’d need the Lord if she ever found out what happened before, during, and after concerts. “Of course mama, I would never.”
“And no fooling around with boys,” Dad interjected. “You got your studies to focus on, you don’t need the distractions that could come from that.
Both you and your mom paused at that, both giving dumbfounded, wide-eyed stares.
“What? I say something wrong?”
Mom elbowed him in the ribs. He yelped a little bit and looked at her with a joking kind of hurt on his face.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“Honey,” your mom said, exasperation in her voice. “You know that she’s-”, she tried to tell him but his chuckling cut her off.
He wiped a tear from his eye, you persisting with your dumbfounded stare and your mom with her mouth gaping open. “I know, I know love,” he said, patting her on the shoulder, “I’m just giving her a hard time.” He then turned to you. “Same goes for girls, though. No fooling around. You’ve wasted enough time, you’ve gotta focus on your studies.”
Lacking the immense amount of brain power required to unpack whatever had just happened before you let out a breathy chuckle before attempting to shoo them out of the room once more. “Alright Dad, whatever you say. No boys, no girls, just total celibacy. I’ll join the local convent and everything. Now you two gotta start getting out of here before it gets dark.”
“Alright alright,” Dad said. “Call us if you need anything.”
“And feel free to visit anytime, or let us know and we’d be happy to visit you,” Mom added.
“Of course, I’ll let you know,” you said.
“Wonderful kiddo.” Your parents were finally out of the room, now talking to you as you held the door open. “We’ll miss you a lot,” your dad said, a hint of emotion in his voice.
“And we love you so much,” your mom said, far more than a hint of emotion in her own voice.
“I’ll miss you guys too, and I love you so, so much,” you said.
“Love you too kiddo.” Your dad checked his watch. “Welp, you’re right we probably ought to be leaving now. We’ll see you at Thanksgiving then.”
Your mom gave you one last kiss on the cheek. “See you then honey.”
“See you guys!” you said, waving them off, and with them finally making their way down the hall you closed the door.
As the door clicked shut you slid down to the floor, your back to the door. They were finally gone. You were finally out from under their near constant gaze. Sure you were still required to appease them in your every waking action but at least they weren’t physically present to ensure you were doing that anymore! They weren’t even out of the building yet probably and you felt such a huge weight off your chest. Not even when you were in your band, living on your own did it feel like this. Then they were still lurking, still pestering you, but now? Now, just maybe, you had a little bit of freedom. At the very least a college campus worth of it.
You stood up and made your way to the window of your dorm room. Looking outside you couldn’t see campus itself but you did see something even better, Newman Lake.
Moab College was one of those tiny colleges you’ve never heard of but that has tons of money for no discernable reason and dozens of prestigious alumni. Famous for its language and music programs it boasted a surprising amount of famous alumni, from famous composers and Grammy winners to U.S. senators and Ivy League teaching faculty. The campus is built upon the shore of Newman Lake, Washington, about 30 minutes outside of Spokane, with your dorm specifically being as close to the lake shore as modern building techniques could safely allow a near 400-room dorm building to be.
You looked out your window at the ripples traveling over the lake’s surface, glinting in the slightly setting August sunlight. You couldn’t decide if you wanted your bed or your desk facing the window. Scenic views as you tried to fall asleep or when you were crumbling to dust trying to keep up with your class schedule.
You were enrolled in a dual degree program in romance languages (with a focus on Spanish and French) and music composition. It was a suicide schedule without a doubt. The advisor you’d met with prior to summer orientation and moving in had made her reservations with the idea very clear, suggesting you stick to just your romance language major, but you pressed hard for it. You loved music too much to not do something with it during these four years of your undergraduate degree. On top of that, if you were attending a school with one of the most prestigious musical arts programs in the Western hemisphere, you’d be a fool not to at least try. Even if music had to remain a hobby for the rest of your life you’d be damned if you weren’t the best hobbyist around, composing and performing like no other.
Performing.
sh*t.
You checked your watch.
Moab’s extracurricular schedule was tight with move-in. You had auditioned for and gotten accepted into Moab’s jazz performance ensemble program and the pre-term orientation was in… 15 minutes… across campus. You’d foolishly opted for the later of the two days the college had offered you thinking you’d be well and done with moving in by the time you needed to be anywhere that evening, perhaps even unpacked a little bit. Silly you. Your parents meandering had done and dusted that plan, and now you were frantically rushing down the stairs of your dorm building, praying your legs could carry you fast enough to make it in time.
*********
You burst out a side entrance of your dorm, startling a few students and parents still moving in, and began a brisk walk towards the campus's black box theater. You allow yourself the luxury of ever so slightly taking in the campus around you as you barely-not-run to your destination. It was beautiful. Finely constructed brick buildings from the campus’s origin mixed with tasteful modern architecture. Moab had the money to look nice and you could tell. A lot of other universities were filled with buildings built for the sake of practicality rather than looks. Moab never sacrificed the latter for the former. Everything worked well and looked pretty doing it. That was certainly true of the campus's performing arts section. Non-traditional architecture of all different kinds made up the orchestral building, the jazz building, the theater building, and that visual arts building, and everything in-between. Well, everything except the black box theater.
It was impossible to miss. Right on the edge of campus sat an imposing black cube. Perfect in its proportions, dominating in its presence, the theater sucked up all of the light that hit it. Not a single reflection, not a single blemish. You inched towards the doors, barely able to make them out on the building's surface. Two moderately sized double doors, all black. You hesitantly touched the handle of the rightward door and pulled.
The menacing doors opened into a well lit lobby. It was dark like the exterior, but not so much that the floor and walls blended into each other. On the opposite side of where you now stood you saw another set of black double doors, both held ajar by doorstops built into the doors itself. You walked through and found yourself in the theater itself.
Three walls filled with seats (all done up with dark fabric) surrounded a stage jutting out from the wall opposite to where you now stood. Below you, in the front most rows of seats, you saw around 30 or so people sitting facing the stage where a number of people stood or sat on fold out chairs. Three people immediately jumped out at you. An older man, most likely in his late fifties, stood front and center on the stage. His long, brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and held out of his face with a loud, patterned bandana wrapped around his head. A short beard peppered with gray hairs decorated his face. Stood next to the older man on his right and left respectively were a man and woman who looked to be about in their mid-twenties. The man was raven haired, clean shaven, and stood a whole head taller than the older man. He was lanky and lean but didn’t hold himself awkwardly, having an air of assured confidence about him. The woman was a head shorter than the older man, with bright blonde hair you guessed probably reached around her mid back. She was smiling widely at the people sitting below, teeth beaming, bubbly energy on full display.
It took you a moment to realize that the older man was speaking.
“We’ll give our last few folks a bit of time to roll in,” he said to no one in particular while checking his watch. “After that we’ll begin our quick little orientation.” The man then turned his head directly to face you, giving you a warm smile. “Well don’t be afraid to come on down now, I promise I don’t bite.”
You jumped a little bit at his direct reference to you and at the heads that had turned to see who was talking to. Blushing a bit you gave him a quick nod and made your way down to where the other students sat.
The seating was a little tight so you ended up sitting next to a girl with a chin-length auburn bob and bangs, freckles peppering her face. She looked like the outgoing type, so it didn’t surprise you when it didn’t take her long to begin making conversation with you.
“Hey,” she whispered as she turned to you. “My name’s Kennedy, nice to meet you.” She reached out her hand to shake yours and you took it.
“[Y/N], it’s nice to meet you too.”
“So, [Y/N],” she said, giving you a once over, “what’s someone like you doing in a place like this?”
You were confused by what she meant for a moment before you looked down at yourself and realized what she was referring to. Your Eyehategod t-shirt, ripped oversized jeans, and beat up skate shoes didn’t exactly scream jazz kid.
You chuckled a little bit. “What? Metalheads can’t get a little jazzy?”
She made a gesture of joking offense. “Me? Judging off appearances? I would never! I merely meant ‘what instrument are you playing in the ensembles’ is all.”
“Ah, yes, because that’s definitely what people mean when they say ‘what’s someone like you doing in a place like this’.” She stuck her tongue out at you for that comment and you laughed in response. “But if you must know, Miss Kennedy, I play bass guitar.”
“I knew it! It was either that or drums,” she said with a look of smug satisfaction, “and as I’m sure you’re dying to know, I play vibes.”
You raised your eyebrows at that. “Really? They’re letting you play vibes for the ensembles?”
Kennedy’s joking expressions made way for one of genuine excitement. “I know right! I can play piano and drums obviously but I always loved mallets the most and I wanted to see if they’d let me play them so I auditioned with them and-”
Kennedy was cut off by the older man who had begun speaking again, projecting his voice towards the audience of college students in front of him, now numbering around 40 people in all.
“Alright everybody, if my eyes still work I do believe that should be all if not most of us. Regardless, it's about 5 minutes past and we’d best get started!” He clapped his hands together. “I just want everyone to know right now that I’m being lenient about timely attendance today because of move-in and all that but when practices start up I want everyone in their seat, music out, and ready to play on the dot. If that’s clear give me a hearty ‘Yes, Doc’!”
The crowd let out a number of ‘Yes, Doc’s of varying effort. Most of the more excited renditions came from older kids you assumed to be upperclassmen.
The older man chuckled a bit to himself and offered the crowd a big smile. “A little to be desired but we’ll get there! I think now’s the time for introductions though!” The older man gestured to himself before continuing. My name is Dr. Pascal Haapala, I’m a professor of instrumental jazz performance and composition here at Moab College. I’ll be the primary faculty member you’ll be interacting with for these ensembles. I’m a bassist by trade so I’ll primarily be working on details with the rhythm sections but I know just enough about everything else to be somewhat helpful.” That got a few laughs from the audience. “If you have any questions, concerns, ideas, or suggestions please come to me! I’m always happy to hear from you guys about anything and everything! Some of the older students can attest that I lend a great ear to rant to during finals weeks.” His smile grew ever so bigger as a few of the upperclassmen gave up some laughs to his last sentence. “But,” he continued, “I couldn’t do this all on my own, I’d like to introduce you to the graduate students who will be helping me out with these ensembles, Jack Stout and Bridget Nilsson!” He then gestured to the younger man and woman standing next to him and took a step back so they could introduce themselves.
The raven haired boy, Jack, went first, his casual confidence never faltering as he spoke. “Hey there everyone, my name’s Jack Stout,” he said with a charming grin on his face, “I’m a fourth year graduate student in jazz performance and composition here at Moab and I’ll be the person helping out the brass in our ensembles.”
Kennedy leaned in to you and whispered, “Kinda wishing I had picked up trombone right about now.”
You scoffed and whispered back, “Seriously? He’s gotta be at least like 27 or something.”
“Little age never hurt anybody,” she responded.
You rolled your eyes at her very untrue statement before turning your eyes back to the stage where the girl, Megan, was now speaking.
“Hey y’all, my name’s Bridget Nilsson.” Her bright smile never left her face as she spoke. Her accent suggested something rural, but it was too clear to be Southern. Northern Midwest most like. “I’m a first year graduate student in jazz performance and composition here at Moab and I’ll be taking care of y’all woodwinds in these ensembles!” She was dressed in a simple, preppy ensemble with a white collared shirt under a black sweater vest tucked into khaki pants and completed with some black leather mary jane shoes. It was a look you loved but could never pull off. She looked great in it. With her long blonde hair she looked like one of those girls who would’ve bullied you in high school, or a sorority girl that would give you side eyes and a sneer as you walked past her. Exactly your type.
“What were you just saying about age?” Kennedy whispered in your ear.
You nearly jumped out of your seat, but somehow managed to remain composed. “It’s different,” you hissed at her, “she’s a first year, she’s only like 24.” You slumped in your chair a bit. “Besides, not like I’d ever act on it…” You didn’t need to look at Kennedy to see the smug smile she had on her face, you could picture it plenty well.
Dr. Haapala was back front and center and speaking again. “I hope you can get yourselves familiarized with us and each other as the year goes on, and just because Bridget, Jack, or I aren’t your designated section helper doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get to know all of us! We’ve all got a little bit of wisdom to share, be it about music, or graduate school, or just plain life. Don’t be afraid to extend those feelers, we're all always happy to talk.” All three of them gave big smiles before Haapala clapped his hands again. He seemed to enjoy that as a way of segueing into new topics. “Now, I know we all want to get to know each other and I plan on us doing that real soon here but before we do that I need to introduce you to a couple other folks.” He gestured to a number of people on the stage behind him all sat in folding chairs. “As members of an ensemble program here at Moab you are now available to be… requisitioned, for lack of a better word, by any other performing arts department for any given performance. Obviously you have to agree to it and come up with terms regarding practice, and it can’t interfere with these ensembles, but the opportunity is there! As such I’d like to real quick introduce you to a few of the faculty members you might get such an invitation from.”
Haapala gestured to his left towards the man sat rightmost on the stage who stood up in response. You’ve never actually read H.P. Lovecraft’s The Shadow of Innsmouth, only second hand knowledge from the internet, but if you had to imagine what the infamous ‘Innsmouth Look’ actually looked like the man before you was a spitting image. Hunched over in his cozy v-neck sweater and white collared shirt, with khakis and brown leather oxfords to complete the look, his neck bulged like a frog, his eyes and lips were reminiscent of a fish, and every wrinkle and fold reminded you of gills.
“Hello, everyone,” the fishman said in a very fishman voice, slight gurgle and all, “my name is Dr. Salvatore Moreau, I don’t actually teach within any specific department but focus rather on independent performance. If you’re called upon by me it’s most likely to be a part of some accompaniment for another student's highlight piece or to be a part of an ensemble for composition work. I’ll have plenty of work for you all later in the year so if I don’t see you in class I hope to see you then!” Dr. Moreau ended with a very fishy smile on his face, beginning to make his way back to his seat as the next person made their way forward.
The man who stepped up next gave off very different vibes from Dr. Moreau. In a bit of a dirty duster with a matching hat that had seen better years, mixed with his messy shoulder length hair and scraggly beard he looked far more likely to be one of the people who accosted students on campus about conspiracy theories than a faculty member. And that’s without mentioning the sunglasses. He had to be basically blind right now, everything but the stage was shrouded in darkness, you could barely see two rows in front of you.
“Name’s Dr. Karl Heisenberg,” the rugged man said while removing his hat, but notably not his sunglasses, “I teach a number of courses in the digital arts department and I’m also the performing arts school’s resident technology-in-music expert.” He scrunched his nose, giving a big sniff before continuing. “In the digital arts department we’ve got animations, game demos, and whatever else you can think of that’ll need scoring, and some of the production and composition focused students will need live performances to edit and sample from, see expect to hear from me should your services be required.”
You could hear him clear his throat loudly as he walked back to his seat and the next faculty member walked up to the front of the stage. She was a woman in her late 30s, early 40s, most likely, dressed in what must be the stuffiest thing imaginable for a college ensemble orientation. Her back was ramrod straight, her steps calculated and precise as she walked up in a high collared, puffy armed, plain black dress with nothing but shiny black buttons decorating what was otherwise a somber, funeral-sque ensemble. The woman was unmistakingly beautiful, her black hair pulled up into a bun revealed a pleasing face with a strong jaw, full lips, and eyes anyone could get lost in, but her pale complexion with the outfit made her look more like a corpse than a living, breathing woman.
“Hello students, my name is Dr. Donna Beneviento with the theater department.” She spoke so quietly you could only just barely make out what she was saying. For a theater faculty she sure wasn’t the best at projecting. “While I have many responsibilities within the department my main role is as a director for the school’s musicals. If I’m ever in need of a member for a pit I’ll be sure to call for you. I also put on shows down in Spokane so I may ask if you’re available for those as well, paid of course.” She smiled as she made her way back to her seat and murmurs erupted amongst the crowd at the mention of paid performance work. You had to admit you were intrigued yourself. Musical pit experience could be really good for you if you wanted to stay with music professionally or even as, even if it was only a local show in Spokane. You’d be competing for the job against local professionals though so you imagined the competition was tight.
You were so lost in thought about paid performance work that you almost missed when the fourth and final faculty member made her way up towards front and center, though once you noticed her you felt your eyes damn near bulge out of your skull.
You had no idea how you had missed her walking in or when you were sitting this whole time but now that you’d seen her you couldn’t take your eyes off of her. She was a titaness, divinity made manifest before your very eyes. Her dark curls were expertly pinned in a way long of style but that she wore like it was the only way to wear hair. She had a stern look on her face, her vermillion painted lips not quite downturned but held in a way that accented the lines around her mouth and surrounding her eyes. And her eyes, somehow a piercing gold you couldn’t look away from, or wouldn’t be able to if it weren’t for that damn dress.
Was it a lot? Perhaps. Was it even more extra than Dr. Beneviento’s outfit? One could say that. What they couldn’t say was that it was unflattering. Far from it. It was by no means form fitting but it hugged her curves like it was holding on for dear life, flowing as she walked forward yet still showing off her hips as they swayed. And her chest, she had to know what she was doing. You knew it was rude to stare at a woman like you were but you couldn’t imagine a world where she put that on and didn’t expect it at least a little bit, perhaps even want it. It was damn near obscene what she was doing to you. Did she go to work like this? What did she teach? Was it too late to switch majors and your entire schedule?
“Hello, my name is Dr. Alcina Dimitrescu.” You almost melted right there. Her voice was like heaven to your ears. “I do many things here at Moab but in this context you’re most like to interact with me as a member of the choral performance department, specifically jazz choir.” She sang? With that voice? You couldn’t imagine a sweeter sound at that moment. “We’ll have a need for accompanists throughout the year for our performances so you should expect to hear from me soon after the semester starts.”
And with that she was already making her way back to her seat, that heavenly voice gone as fast as it had arrived. You were still a little stunned with the shock of attraction you had just experienced but more than ready to ogle the woman as she made her way back to her seat when you felt a sharp pinch on the skin of your arm.
“Ow!” you exclaimed, trying to keep as quiet as possible. You turned to find Kennedy grinning at you like an idiot.
“Sooo,” she began, “what were you saying about age?”
You averted your eyes to the ground, trying to hide the flush of embarrassment now taking up real estate on your face. “Shut up.”
“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”
You didn’t need to look up to know that her sh*t eating grin was still there, persisting at your expense.
Dr. Haapala saved you by speaking up, breaking the embarrassing tension Kennedy had created. “Thank you professors!” he said before addressing the student directly. “I do hope that each and every one of you gets to participate in a supplemental performance at least once during your time here at Moab. There’s so much creativity going on around campus it’d be a shame if… what’s that?”
Haapala was interrupted by Jack whispering something in his ear, which as it was happening you could see Haapala mouth ‘whoops’ before Jack pulled away.
“Apologies students, there’s one more introduction I need to make for our interdepartmental performance exchange program. Dean Miranda sadly couldn’t be here, she’s a very busy woman after all, but if you hear from her you’ll be participating within the school’s orchestral ensemble. I’ve rarely seen her tap into students from outside her own apartment but when she does it’s always magnificent!”
You’d heard of Miranda, dean of the performing arts school at Moab. She was an artist’s artist of the classical and orchestral world, highly non-traditional and experimental. You’d never heard her music personally but you’ve heard things here and there, a mix calling her a walking god of art to trashing her and everything she’s ever made. All typical for internet talk around obscure, niche art.
“Now that we have faculty introductions out of the way I’d like us to get to know each other as a class! I know a few of the older students have already been through this once or twice or three times but a little refresher can never hurt!” You hadn’t seen Bridget leave Haapala’s side but apparently she had, walking in from behind the other professors with a large box in her arms. When she reached Dr. Haapala he reached in and pulled out a folder with a name written on it. “These folders, as so kindly procured by Miss Nilsson, contain the information for which ensemble you’ve been sorted into as well as the music that corresponds with that ensemble. As I pull out your folder and announce your name I want you to stand up, tell us where you’re from, what your major is, what you play, and what you’ve been listening to this summer. And when I say what you play I don’t mean just the general instrument, I want to know the specific model you’re bringing into my bands. If I’m understood I want to hear a ‘Yes Doc’!”
Another ‘Yes Doc’ sounded out across the theater, this time a little more enthusiastic.
“Wonderful, let’s get started.”
*********
Turns out it takes a little bit to individually introduce damn near 50 plus people with Haapala’s personal comment interspersed. The variety of music that everybody listened to surprised you though. The class was pretty hip-hop, pop, and indie heavy, not surprising at all, with also quite a bit of jazz; these were jazz ensembles, but there was also a notable amount of folk, metal, and more underground cuts of the more popular stuff. You had clearly underestimated how big of music nerds all these obvious music nerds were.
After what had seemed like eternity Haapala had finally reached Kennedy.
“Kennedy Luke?” Dr. Haapala announced.
There had been another Kennedy who had been called for earlier, causing you confusion when the Kennedy beside you hadn’t stood up. Here she was now though, rocking on her heels and sporting a massive smile.
“Hi everyone! My name is Kennedy Luke, I’m from right down the road in Spokane, I’m a general composition and jazz performance major, I play vibes so no set of my own but my high school had a Yamaha, and this summer I’ve been listening to Zach Bryan’s self title.”
“Ah, a very good album! And a pleasure to meet you Miss Luke!”
Huh, country. You wouldn’t have initially guessed it but looking over her now her flared bootcut jeans, boots to match, and frilly white crop top definitely fit the vibe. You didn’t comment on that though once she finally made it back to her seat next to you after retrieving her folder.
“Towny,” you said with a scoff. She stuck her tongue out at you in response.
It only took a little bit longer for Dr. Haapala to get you.
“[Y/N]?”
You stood up a bit slow, embracing yourself around the abdomen. You weren’t nearly as personable as Kennedy seemed to be. Performing on stage was one thing, you could close your eyes and pretend no one was there and it looks like you’re just really into the music. If you close your eyes while public speaking you just look like a weirdo.
“Um, hi,” you say, a bit of a shake in your voice, “my name is [Y/N], I’m from Seattle, I’m a romance languages and general composition major, I play bass guitar, and…”
“What kind of bass guitar, Miss [Y/N]?” Dr. Haapala interrupted.
sh*t, you’d forgotten to specify which model. f*cking idiot.
“Um, a Peavey T-40, sir.”
You watched as Dr. Haapala’s expression changed from an attentive yet neutral to blatantly gleeful.
“A T-40? Really? You got it second hand, I assume?”
“Yes sir, I bought it cheap from a friend of mine.”
“Fascinating. Can I expect you to use those pickup knobs?”
“Absolutely sir.” You relaxed a little bit. This guy clearly knew his stuff, no wonder he was the person helping with the rhythm sections.
“Wonderful, I can’t wait to hear what tones we can come up with,” he said, his gleeful grin beaming at you. “No, Miss [Y/N], what’ve you been listening to this summer.
All the tension came flooding back into you. Obviously you had listened to a ton of music over the summer but most of it was obscure metal and experimental rock that no one in this room knew about, or if they did they’d just think you were some kind of snob saying something like “Golly did I enjoy myself some Reverend Kristen Micheal Hayter this summer! I love galavanting in the Seattle summer rains to Appalachian cult music!” No, obviously off the table. What had you listened to this summer that more than two people in this room would recognize?
“Um, I really enjoyed listening to Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess by Chappell Roan…”
You heard Kennedy stifle a laugh next to you. It took everything in your soul not to shoot her a glare that would have killed her.
“Interesting, haven’t heard of it, I’ll have to check it out. Now come on up and get your folder.”
Great, just what you need, your ensemble director listening to your horny lesbian self-indulgence album and forever associating it and Chappell Roan with you. As you made your way from your seat to the stage front you avoided looking anywhere but the ground, avoiding any and all possible embarrassment that could be gleaned from the people around you. Once you finally reached the stage you had to look up to retrieve your folder. As you reached out to take it from the corner of your eye you saw that Bridget also clearly found the idea of Haapala listening to Midwest Princess very entertaining as she stifled her own laughter.
You also, for no explainable reason, were overcome with the urge to look to your left.
You did.
You were immediately met with two little suns looking straight at you, and just below them a barely noticeable smirk.
You quickly averted your gaze, snatched your folder, and only just barely controlled yourself from racing up the stairs back to your seat.
Once you had sat back down the heat in your face finally made itself known. Was it from embarrassment? Attraction? Both? You didn’t know and you weren’t currently in the state of mind to ponder it. Thankfully, a hissing to your right caught your attention.
“Psst, hey [Y/N], earth to [Y/N].”
You stared blankly at Kennedy for a second before registering that she was speaking to you. “Oh, um, yeah?”
“What ensemble are you in?”
You blanked for a moment before remembering that Dr. Haapala had mentioned that information on the ensembles had been included in the folder. You opened it and sure enough the first paper was an informational sheet.
“Um, it looks like I’m in ensemble 2,” you said, looking back up to her.
“Nice, so am I! I also wanted to ask, since you're also a general composition major, what does your schedule look like?”
You were thankful for the opportunity to try and forget about what had just happened as well as solidify a friendship with clearly great chemistry.
*********
After you and Kennedy exchanged schedules, contact information, and talked a little more Dr. Haapala had finally finished up with introductions.
“Alright, that took a little bit longer than expected,” Jack rolled his eyes where Haapala couldn’t see but that elicited a few snickers from the crowd, “but now that we’re done I think we can finally go over our final details. But first!,” he turned around to face the other faculty members who had been conversing amongst themselves throughout the student introductions, “I’d like to finally let our supporting faculty make their way home. Thank you so much for coming! Can we give it up for them?”
The looks on Dr.s Dimitrescu and Heisenberg’s faces told you you weren’t the only one who found Dr. Haapala’s general disposition a little… much. Sure enough though he got his round of applause from the seated students as the faculty members made their way off stage, waving to everybody as they went. You joined in, following the faculty with your eyes as they made their way up the stairs not too far from you, having nearly completely forgotten your episode of embarrassment earlier in the night.
That was until your eyes were met with piercing gold once again.
Her eyes were locked to yours, flitting ever so often to other places in the room, but always returning to bore holes straight into your soul.
Your eyes never left her face, absolutely infatuated with her strong jaw and painted lips whenever she looked away and always consumed again but her eyes when they returned to you. She was like some statue of antiquity made sentient. There was no other explanation for how perfectly carved her face was, how flattering every crease and subtle wrinkle rested on her.
It didn’t take long until she was near your own seat. She was towering, as if she were the daughter of the Colossus of Rhodes. Her gaze had been stolen away from you for the longest amount of time since this exchange between the two of you began, but as she stood nearly right over you her attention returned. You couldn’t explain what you were feeling in that moment, some giant mash of embarrassment, infatuation, envy, and arousal, but it was enough to make you squirm in your seat ever so slightly. She must have noticed, otherwise she wouldn’t have immediately flashed a small little smirk at you.
The smile of the devil, you were sure of it.
And just like that, it was gone. The unexplainable, crushing pressure you had felt as Dr. Dimitrescu rested her attention on you had dissipated. A weight had been lifted from your shoulders and chest, a weight you desperately craved to return. But now she had moved past you and she had invested herself in a conversation with Dr. Beneviento. You felt a little tug in your heart at the loss. You knew it was pathetic to so desperately crave the attention of a woman you’d just learned existed, a woman who you’d hadn’t spoken a single word to, but something you deep down craved that woman’s attention. Whether it was praise, criticism, or just more knowing looks across a room, you didn’t care. All you wanted was her letting you know that she knew you were there.
You felt another sharp pinch on the skin of your arm.
“f*ck, Kennedy!” You were able to keep it quiet again but just barely. “If you’re gonna keep doing that I’m not sure this is going to work.”
The girl next to you scoffed. “If you keep disappearing from the present reality every 10 minutes I don’t think this is gonna work,” she said in a mocking tone.
“Sorry,” you said, half apologetic and half rolling your eyes at her. “Just tired from moving in is all.”
“Oh yeah, moving, very tiring.” She let a moment of silence pass before adding, “So how about that amazonian.”
“Shut the f*ck up, Kennedy.”
*********
Dr. Haapala had explained some basic pre-ensemble practice procedures before finally letting everyone go. You left the theater with Kennedy, the two of you talking for a bit as you made your way across campus, splitting once you reached the dorms and Kennedy made her way to her own building.
As you made your way up the elevator you slumped against the back wall. Even if you’d spent most of the day sitting in a car or a black box theater you were so exhausted. Your parents had significantly drained your social battery even before meeting Kennedy and having your multiple massively embarrassing moments so at this point you felt like collapsing where you stood and just making do with the floor as a bed. But no, you had your own room now. There were no parents to barge in and wake you, no roommates to keep you up late, and no one telling you how or when or what you could do while you slept. You didn’t think you could feel so excited about sleeping but here you were. The elevator eventually opened and you made your way out, a slight bounce in your step as you made your way to your room.
And then you opened the door and remembered.
All of your stuff was still in bags and boxes, your bed was still unmade, and the only things actually in their place were the mini fridge and microwave you had brought with you. You groaned as you also realized that the bed was lifted. There was no way you were bringing that down on your own so you sucked it up and made do. You unpacked your bedding, digging through your bags to find it while leaving your clothes and other items still packed up, and got to making your bed. You ended up having to take the mattress off the frame and do it all on the floor before struggling to put it back up after you were all done.
After a solid 15 minutes you were finally able to get the lights off and covers pulled over you. Thoroughly and utterly drained at this point, yet for some reason you still couldn’t fall asleep.
Your answer came when you closed your eyes.
Those little golden discs were ingrained into your mind. You opened and closed your eyes a couple of times just to make sure, and sure enough they were there every single time. You let out something between a groan and whine. Were you really letting your lurid thoughts about this woman ruin your sleep? Surely the last thing she needed was some aimless freshman lusting after her, and the last thing you need is some crush ruining your ability to sleep and get work done. This whole thing was stupid. If you were going to go after an authority figure anyway it’d probably be Bridget, at least she was within half a decade of you.
You squeezed your eyes shut and curled up, trying to force yourself into a position so you could fall asleep. You steadied your breath and calmed your thoughts, trying to find solace in the idea that you’d never see Dr. Alcina Dimitrescu ever again.
Right?
