Adagio approached life by remaining on everybody's good side all of the time, even if it meant tolerating somebody's bad side some of the time. To upset somebody upset her. From an early age -- latest, birth -- she had known it was easier to control her own emotions than to control someone else's...though if someone she loved, say a best friend, were to understand this a little too emphatically, Adagio might briskly double back and remind them they deserved better, more.
It had not crossed her mind that she deserved more. At fourteen Adagio was better at accepting and loving others than loving and accepting herself. At large, she noticed, this was typical of girls, who seemed to get indignant on behalf of their friends and quiet on behalf of themselves. This was no accident, but not on their part.
It explained why being caught by Mr. Ivan made Adagio's heart drop through her stomach.
But the parking lot wasn't nearly empty by the time Mr. Ivan finished giving them what even a wealthy grandparent might struggle to consider a telling off. Mr. Ivan had scrubbed a hand over his mouth and asked Adagio and Claire to explain themselves, which was much more restraint than Adagio thought they deserved, especially upon first glance at his face. But the anger in Mr. Ivan's expression quickly fade as his eyes traveled around the Records Room -- and then landed blankly, as if for the first time, on Adagio and Claire, who had both risen from the table and shuffled futilely in front of the record player in an effort to block it from view.
Mr. Ivan thought for a moment before beckoning them to his office. At the sight of half the band gaping at Adagio and Claire and the other half gaping at him, Mr. Ivan closed the door and drew the door curtain shut in one swift motion. He gestured cordially for them to take a seat on the lumpy beige couch, and given the circumstances it felt like a friend's parent asking Adagio to use their first name: wrong.
He asked them what they thought they were doing.
"Er," began Adagio.
Mr. Ivan waved a hand. "What were you looking for?"
"Er," began Claire.
Mr. Ivan paced the office. Stacks of original sheet music piled high above his desk, a silver trumpet was mounted on a wall, an orange and blue university flag bannered above a cabinet of music binders.
"It's higher than that," Mr. Ivan said suddenly. "It would be higher than that."
"Um," said Adagio and Claire together, rather intelligently, "what?"
Mr. Ivan stopped pacing and looked at them hard. "You are not the first ones," he said. "You are not the first ones to wonder what really happened."
Adagio looked at Claire and shrugged with her eyes.
"Sure, Mr. Ivan. Of course," said Adagio, a beat late.
Mr. Ivan frowned. "You understand, it's a dangerous thing to peer too closely at the system. You might find things that -- well, you might find things."
Claire nodded reasonably.
After more beats of silence Mr. Ivan sighed, wrote detention slips like an afterthought and dismissed Adagio and Claire with the understanding they would roll the drums and stands and chairs back to the band room from the stage.
Afterward as the crowd thinned out and rides came and left Saachi met Adagio and Claire in the empty audience of Towers Theater, where Saachi reached under a seat and pulled out flip phone. At Adagio and Claire's bemused looks she rolled her eyes and shook her head. Later. First she wanted to know how the Records Room went. They were each still in their concert clothes, exhausted, and rapidly losing the plot.
