I'm late.
The words echo through my mind while I force my legs to move in the slowest pace possible. My stomach is squeezed into a small bulb, yet I disregard the urge to rotate my feet in a faster rhythm.
Nothing's wrong with being late. At least, it's what I keep telling myself.
The light on the pedestrian traffic light still shines bright green and I know I could easily cross the road in time. Instead, I cease all movements and allow the bike underneath me to roll over to the crosswalk with a snail-like speed. By the time I reach the end of the road, the light already turns red, so I plant my feet on the ground and wait.
It's been a week since I agreed to help Nate, and by now the practice sessions have become a routine of some kind. Every day after my classes, I head over to his college, where we spend from an hour and a half up to two hours in the crammed practice room.
I still don't believe the stupid muse explanation, but that's because I have nothing to compare his playing to. The others, including Warren, continue to claim that it's true, which leaves me with no other choice but to continue.
When the light turns green again, I softly press my feet into the pedals and begin to move them in a slow rotation. Up until now I have never been late, but today I fight my own urge for once and move at the slowest speed possible.
By the time I reach the practice room, Nate is already playing. I almost gag at the Baroque piece that fills my ears the moment I step inside. Without a moment of hesitation, I hurry to the by now usual chair and pull out my headphones. The moment a loud beat fills my ears, I sigh in relief. For a moment there I thought I wouldn't make it.
Nate doesn't stop his practice even for a second, let alone looks up from his notes. With what looks like complete concentration, he is focused on the fingers of his left hand and the quick draws of his bow.
I'm about to look away when I notice his lips move. Because I doubt he is singing, I slide the right side of the headphones off my ear.
"What?" I ask.
"You've never been late before," he says, while slowing down his movements. "Is everything okay?"
"Peachy." I snort and pull the headphone back over my ear.
I focus my eyes onto the door, until I catch him turning back to his notes. Then I grab my backpack and pull out a stack of notes. With a sigh I lean even deeper against the chair's back and begin the torture of trying to memorize the sentences written on the note cards. The loud music blasting in my ears isn't helping me, but I know it's still better than the shuddering melody Nate is playing.
I switch the sixth card of the notes for the seventh one when a pair of casual black shoes appears in the background. My breath hitches and I snap my head up to find Nate peeking over the rim of my notes.
"What do you think you're doing?" I yank the headphones off my ears and wrap them around my neck.
"That's what I was about to ask you." He straightens back up as an always-ready smile crooks his lips. "What are those notes? Are you studying for an exam?"
"I'm preparing for my part of a presentation Warren and I are giving." I lay the notes onto my lap face down, so Nate wouldn't be able to read what is written on them.
"I thought you were one of those people who could easily wing a speech."
"Wouldn't that be nice." I snort, while ignoring the pang which threatens to tighten my chest.
"Why do I feel like there's something else behind it?" He folds his arms in front of his chest and looks at me with a new-found interest.
"And if there is? Who says I'm going to tell you anything?"
"Still so rude." He shakes his head. "I thought that by now we had already deepened our relationship into one of friends."
"Friends?" I huff. "Because all friends force each other to be stuck in a tiny room, so one of them can practice his stupid violin."
"By all means, leave then." He points with his arm in the direction of the door.
A tiny part of me wants to seize this opportunity and hurry away as fast as my feet can take me. My pride, however, refuses to allow me to move for even an inch. I promised to help him, and I would keep my promise no matter how brutal the practices grew.
This is why I only glare at him and then pull the headphones back over my ears. Before I can focus on my notes though, he grabs the white cord of my headphones and pulls them off my ears again.
"What the hell are you doing?" I tighten my hold on the notes, while ignoring the way the sharp edges of the paper are pressing into my skin.
"I want to talk." He takes a step to the side and leans his back against the blank wall. "I know we didn't have the best start, but I'd like us to get to know each other."
For a moment I contemplate shutting down his suggestion. However, the sincere gleam in his chestnut eyes forces me to change my mind. With a sigh I slump back against the chair and look up at the ceiling.
"What do you want to know?"
"I'd like to know why you dislike classical music so much?"
His question is expected, but I still find myself questioning if I should tell him the truth or not. It, after all, isn't a subject I share with just anyone.
"It's the same reason why I'm forced to prepare for stupid speeches like this one." I focus my eyes on the notes resting on my lap. "When I was younger my parents forced me to take piano lessons. I—"
"You play the piano?"
I glared up at his shinning eyes. "Do you want to finish the story instead of me?"
"Sorry." He squishes his lips together.
I still wait for a couple of heartbeats to make sure he is going to keep quiet, and then focus my eyes on the now lone note holder across the room.
"I was pretty good actually, but I never enjoy it. I winged almost all of my performances... Then one day I was supposed to play for a school performance. I got up on stage and then nothing. I stared at the keys, but it was like I suddenly forgot how to play. Everyone, of course, laughed at me and... And ever since then I haven't been able to improvise anything. Not even a simple speech."
"So because of this you hate classical music?"
"No, I never liked classical music in the first place. I only played the piano because my mother forced me to do it."
"Then why did you tell me about the performance?"
"Because I knew your next question was going to be about my notes." I can't stop a small smile from tugging at the corner of my lips. "I'm right, aren't I?"
"Yes." He smiles back at me as our eyes meet. "Now it's your turn. What would you like to know about me?"
My first instinct is to tell him there's nothing about him I want to know, but then I realize that there is something I have been wondering about for a few days.
"The big performance. What's it about?"
Despite all the times I kept telling myself that it doesn't matter, I still found myself questioning why. Why in the name of the world is he forcing both of us through this?
"I've been wondering how long it will take you to finally question why we're doing this. And let me say you lasted a week longer than I expected."
Instead of replaying, I continue to stare at him, waiting for his explanation.
"I've been given the opportunity to play with the Boston Symphony Orchestra for their next performance. And if things go well they might even invite me to officially join them."
"And joining them would be a good thing?" I find myself questioning what a classical musician's ideal career would be like.
"Most definitely." He nods. "It's what I've been striving for ever since my first day of college."
"So, you think that my presence at your practices and the performance will increase the likelihood of you joining them?"
"Yes, you see—"
His words get cut off as the door swings open and Penny enters the room. She stops a single step inside, which causes Isaac to bump straight into her back.
"What the—" Isaac moves a step backwards, while glaring at the back of Penny's head.
The said girl, however, continues to stare at the lonely note holder and Nate's violin resting on the wooden chair beside it. She slowly turns her head to the side, until her eyes land on Nate and me.
"What's going on?" she asks. "Why aren't you practicing?"
"We're taking a break." Nate disentangles himself from the wall and goes back to his violin. "What brings you guys here today?"
"We wanted to see how your practice was going." Isaac squeezes past Penny and makes his way over to me. "But mostly we're here to see Violet. How are you doing, angel?"
He extends his hand toward me, but before he can touch a lock of my hair or whatever he was about to do, I lean my body backwards, out of his reach. On my second day of practice I have already learned what a flirt Isaac is, and I've already found my way of dealing with him.
"Excuse me for a second." I get up and slip out of the room before any of them can stop me.
When I walk past Penny, I feel a cold aura emitting from her, but I ignore the shuddering sensation. Just like I ignore the glare I know she is shooting at my back. Along with Isaac's flirtatious nature, I have learned on my second day in Penny's presence that she doesn't agree with something about me. What I have yet to do, is figure out what exactly that is.
I walk past four doors down the hallway to the women's restroom, and quickly take care of my business. Briefly I pause in front of the mirror to check my hair, and then make my way back to the practice room.
When I'm two steps away from the door, but still hidden from the view through the glass door, a voice from the inside reaches my ears.
"... the headphones?" I recognize Penny's voice.
Because I know she will stop speaking the moment I enter the room, I stop just in front of the corner and perk my ears.
"She obviously has no appreciation for real talent," Penny continues. "I mean come on, who listens to some trash music while in the presence of a real-life artist? Muse or not, the girl needs to learn some manners."
***
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- E