“But Regan and Jonas are first stand. They’re playing, aren’t they?”
He whispered conspiratorially, “They are both excellent. They can be first stand in symphony orchestra. I want someone with more fire and spirit to take charge on Halloween, yes? Armenian-pride, yes?” He held out a hand for a fist bump.
“Oh, my God. You’re the coolest professorever.” Sophie bumped her knuckles to his.
Too late, she forgot about her low body temperature. She dressed in black and dark colors as often as she could. They held the heat and believe it or not, she actually stayed about a degree warmer in them. She’d conducted research to prove it during her seventh-grade science fair, in a project that she was too ashamed to show anyone but her parents. The downside was that the dark colors accentuated just how pale her skin was. On the other hand, wearing brighter colors washed her out. Not only was she going to be miserable and alone, but she also seemed to be destined for a life rife with fashion drama. At least with basic black, she could make herself look somewhat striking and elegant, at least if her mother and grandmothers were to be believed.
“You know that your fingers are crucial to your craft. Gloves. None of the ones with the tips cut off so you can text! Full, thick gloves! This chilly mountain air will sink right into your bones!” Professor Grigoryan apparently did notice the chill of her skin, even from a second’s contact. Fortunately, he chalked it up to theweather and moved on. “Sophie, you treat your instrument like an old friend. Too many people treat it like an accessory, instead of an extension of themselves.”
“Not me,” she answered truthfully, also pretty sure she was earning Brownie points. “I— um, I was shy growing up and I spent a lot of time watching YouTube clips of cellists and trying to play like them. I could always hang out with my cello and I could play something sad or angry or happy... I’m rambling. I’m not used to talking to people.”Shit. Shit, why did I say that to him? How pathetic.
Her professor seemed to take the comment in stride, nodding seriously. “Good! Good! The cello is your voice. It became your voice and now, you sing.” His broad smile was replaced by a grave look. “But, Sophie, how will you teach a class full of kids if you don’t feel confident talking to people? Even if you work in a tiny school, you’ll have to speak to the orchestra and the band, or classes of students if you get a job in music education.”
Sophie forced a smile. “Oh, I’m fine with kids!” she lied.
Private studios? Private lessons?
One kid at a time?
Kids are the cruelest.
Once again... shit.
HEAD DOWN, EYES CLOSEDagainst the wind that was blowing the rain sideways and under her hood, she decided that she would run as fast as she could back to her dorm. The few other scattered figures she glimpsed before ducking her head were also hurrying. So what if she seemed to run a little faster? No one would notice.
“Hey!”
Unless of course, you run into someone, Genius. Running plus not looking equals collision. Pretty standard stuff.
“I’m so sorry! I was really powering through.”
Sophie’s eyes widened. The figure she’d collided with apologized— in a familiar voice.
“Sophie! Freshman Sophie!”
“Jesse. Junior Jesse,” she replied, blinking water out of her eyes.
“Hey, you remembered!” He gave her a broad smile, although it was somewhat marred by the fact that he was squinting through long dark bangs that were dripping into his eyes. “Did I hurt your cello?”
“No! That’s why I always go for the hard-body case, even if I get the soft cover for it,” Sophie found herself patting her baby proudly.
“Yeah. I bet traveling in Philadelphia is hard on the case. I mean, with subways, and trains, and stuff.”
Self-consciously tucking her hair behind her ear (which meant getting it wet in the process) Sophie heard a second full sentence come out of her mouth. That had to be a small talk record for her. “I’m impressed that you remembered where I’m from.”
“Oh, yeah, I remembered a lot about you. Also a lot in general. Wow. Sorry, that sounded creepy. Sorry.” Jesse laughed awkwardly. “Um. I should let you go. We’re getting wet.”
“We don’t seem to be the umbrella carrying types, do we?”
“We should start.” He looked around. A handful of students were laughing and dashing under a quartet of brightly colored umbrellas. Another pod moved by, scattering and squealing, bare-headed and drenched. “I’d say we’re bucking the trend, but the umbrella-no-umbrella debate seems to be raging on in Antonia.”
Sophie snorted out a half-smothered giggle.Oh my God. Snorting? Seriously? Could I be any more self-sabotaging?
Jesse started walking, heading toward the three-story graystone campus library. “Oh, it’s a thing. Do you carry an umbrella and have it drip all over the floor and risk leaving it behind in every class? Do you deal with one more thing to remember and make it part of your wardrobe—”
“—since it rains every fricking day!” Sophie chimed in.
“Right! Or, you call on your powers of inner-waterproofing and adopt a zen-like attitude about going through life in various stages of wet sweatshirts.”
