What We Take Away

Chapter 21 | Cassie

January 12th, 2006

Composition class with Dr. McLeish is the worst best decision I've made so far in my brief college career.

This class is making me fall in love with music all over again. It is a terrifying and dangerous prospect, considering the fact I am breaking every single rule I made about music before coming to college.

First, Sabrina forces me to perform at Talent Night and now I am willfully and secretly taking a music class, I think wretchedly to myself.

What would Ba say if he knew I was studying music composition during winter session and not anatomy, like I had told him?

It doesn't feel good to lie to Ba and Ma about the actual nature of my coursework this semester, but I can't deny that a part of my soul feels freer indulging in something I truly enjoy, instead of something mind-numbing and soul-crushing like chemistry. It would be one thing if composition class were the only thing I'm currently hiding from my parents, but it isn't.

Either I'm hitting my rebellious phase a little later than everyone else, or I am legitimately going insane. I haven't been truthful to Ba and Ma about why I got into a car accident on Christmas Eve in the first place. Ba was very clear how he feels about me having a boyfriend this early in college, but I can't think of a good enough reason to come clean to him about Aram. On the other hand, I can conjure a hundred reasons why I should keep my new relationship a secret for just a little longer -- and all of them begin and end with a very rugged and shredded boy whose ocean-eyed intensity scares and excites me all at once.

God forgive me, I groan inwardly. But I think I'm falling in love.

I slide into a wooden desk chair in the back of the classroom near the wall.  Room 122 is a large and oddly shaped room, with half of the room being used as storage for dusty harps, vibraphones, and broken timpani drums. Vintage green chalkboards lined with staves designed decades ago hang on the wall towards the front of the room.

"Did you end up going last night?" says a voice to my left.

The speaker is a girl with short, rust-colored hair. Her face is round and her features are small. Her heavy black eyeliner gives her an intimidating vibe. A flute case lies next to her feet, labeled "Karina Motts".

"Chyea I did," her friend snorts wickedly. He wears a hot pink monogrammed sweater, tan slacks and dons square glasses. "You missed out, loves."

"Did you at least get his number?" a girl with a crisp, clear voice interjects. She has long brown hair that drapes down her back and impossibly thick lashes.

"Maybe," hot-pink shirt boy replies mysteriously.

"I think what Vi really wants to know is if you went to bone city," a new voice sniggers. It belongs to a boy with shockingly blonde hair and deadened eyes.

"Ew, Clark," the one called Vi says, rolling her eyes. "Leave Benjy alone."

My classmates' chatter is cut short as Dr. McLeish waddles into the room carrying a bulky leather bag. Today, she is dressed in a long, woolen navy skirt with a suede camel blazer and brown boots. Curvy and short with straight reddish hair and wire-framed glasses, Dr. McLeish is like a burst of blooming heather on a foggy, cloud-covered morning.

"Hullo, class!"

Dr. McLeish's lilting Scottish accent makes everything she speaks sound like a song. Forty-two heads swivel towards the front of the room and return her greeting.

"Every composer is motivated to make music for a different reason," she begins. "Whether for unrequited love or from the pit of despair, or sheer human spirit in the face of astonishing adversity -- we are all compelled to make music. Today, you will receive your first composition assignment. You will write an original piece using ternary form, otherwise known as 'A-B-A' format."