What an arrogant prick. I’d slipped out early to avoid him, but he somehow got ahold of my number. Probably from his dad. Who does he think he is telling me what time to be back at the dorm, like he’s my keeper? Irritation grates at my nerves as I sip on my caramel macchiato. The warm liquid heats my body in this frigid weather.
I should be used to the weather having lived in New York for the last six months, but before that my mom and I were living in Florida. I worked at a nightclub, and she worked at a country club in St. Bipal, where she met her now husband. Having the beach within driving distance is a luxury I miss greatly. I could really go for a trip the beach right now, actually. Dip my toes in the warm sand and feel the waves lapping against my bare skin as the sun beats down from above.
When I get back to the dorm a little past five, I barely knock before Chase is yanking the door open, startling me. He has a habit of making me feel off kilter.
In his hand gleams a key. “I had this made for you, so I guess it’s official,roomie.”
I palm the key and busy myself with placing it on a keychain I dig out of my purse.
“Thanks.” I mutter, setting my things aside. It’s been another rough day, but at least I’m starting to make some friends. Rhonda is quickly becoming my new favorite person. She’s funny and smart as hell. Plus, she offered to help me catch up with things that I’ve missed, which I more than appreciate. I’ll take all the help I can get.
A violin sits on top of the baby grand piano’s bench. “You play violin too?” I ask going over to pick it up.
“Uh, yeah. Ever since I was five. My mom gifted that to me.” He gestures at the violin in my hands. He looks nervous like I’m going to drop it. I’m too tired to fuck with him and it seems genuinely important to him.
“It’s beautiful.” I say, setting it back down gently.
His mom. When I first heard who my mom ended up marrying, I did a quick Google search and found that Travis Milford’s wife had passed not long back. The circumstances seemed fishy, but any word of protest from me to my mom was met with anger. She’s always treating me like I’m stupid and a waste of time. That’s why when she offered the position here, I was truly shocked. She’s never helped out before, but when they called with the offer, I knew better than to turn it down. I wasn’t about to start questioning whatever her motives might have been. Not when this place could grant me the life I’ve always dreamed of.
“We should get started on our project if we’re going to get it done on time.” I say.
* * *
"No.No way am I doing country music." Chase says, his legs straddling the piano’s bench.
"I'm just naming genres. Don't get your panties in a twist." I’ve thrown my hair up in a bun and made some coffee to give me enough energy to deal with his massive ego. We've been working together for only fifteen minutes and it's already a disaster.
“What's your idea then?"I ask, blowing on the steaming cup.
“We stick to classical." He scowls at me.
"That's predictable. And boring."
"It's what he likes. And I'm not going to fuck up my grade just because you want to be edgy."
"If you think country music is edgy, I shiver to think about your thoughts on Bad Omens. Do you want to borrow some pearls to clutch?” I laugh at the stricken look on his face.
“Look. I’ve been taking this class all year, and the one last year. Maestro likes what he likes, so I say we just stick to that.”
“Fine. But I still want to add lyrics. He said we could.” I sip my coffee, letting the caffeine worm its way into my system.Come on caffeine, give me energy.
He plays around with some notes on the piano with one hand absentmindedly. Even though he’s hardly paying attention to what he’s doing, the notes still sound beautiful.
“Who’s going to write the lyrics?”
“Both of us.” He gives me an incredulous look. “What?”
“Alright then.”
“Make some room for me.” I say, putting down my cup. “If we’re going to do classical, then we have to come up with the tone of the piece.”
He swings his leg over the bench so that he’s facing the piano and moves over enough to give me some room to sit.
“Do you know how to play?” He asks.
“I don’t.” I admit. “I’ve always wanted to learn but we never had the money or the time. I’ve had a job since I was twelve. It didn’t leave a lot of time for much anything else.”
The air seems to thin between us and his jaw ticks, in irritation or something else, I don’t know.
