Chapter 2 #2
“Sophie, are you lying to your mother?”
“No! Do you want me to try to hurk it back out so I can show it to you on the screen?”
Her father made a disgusted face and her mother squealed. All three of them dissolved into giggles.
She loved her family so much. She had to stick this out or they’d blame themselves and claim they’d failed her.
It wasn’t their fault they adopted a freak. That was probably why her biological parents hadn’t wanted her.
FALL ROLLED ON, SEEMING to speed up as October arrived.
The nights drew in and the rain never let up.
Sophie pretended that she had made friends.
She told her mom and dad stories of the awesome kids in the orchestra.
There were great people there, she just made it sound like they had welcomed her with open arms.
True, there had been some sectionals that ended with everyone eating pizza.
She passed them off as parties, responsible ones with nice kids that didn’t drink alcohol.
Some of the girls in the cello and violin sections had invited her to hang out, but she could tell the invitation was a way to invite all the new string members at once; it wasn’t that they specifically liked her.
If there was one person she listened to, it was her conductor and cello teacher, Professor Grigoryan.
“We are going to have some spooky fun!” he said, waggling his caterpillar-like eyebrows as he addressed the entire orchestra early in October.
“The Panhellenic Society is having a costume ball and I’m looking to pull together a chamber orchestra who will have fun with some of the greats! ”
“The greats?” said Brooke Mendenhall, first chair in the violas.
“Monster Mash, Thriller, The Purple People Eater!” he cried, waving his baton.
Everyone laughed. Before Sophie knew it, she was raising her hand to volunteer.
“Of course, we have to show them what we’re made of.
Danse Macabre, Night on Bald Mountain ..
. Someone get me the score from Dracula with Gary Oldman!
” More laughing, more hands raised. In the end, there were enough volunteers for a fifteen-piece chamber group.
Grigoryan asked anyone who was interested to stay behind and work out some times to rehearse and pick up their music.
Maybe I’m going to find my niche. Yeah. Maybe this will be a way to get to know people. I won’t be so nervous if I have my cello. Her cello was her shield and her security blanket.
“SOPHIE!” PROFESSOR Grigoryan handed her a thick folder when she came for her lesson. “Here’s your music. I’m glad you’re going to play with our little chamber group. Will you be my stand partner?”
“Wh-what? Aren’t you conducting?” She felt herself blushing, not that it would show.
“Well, yes, but from a sitting position.” He had a warm laugh that matched his smile. “I’ll be first cello and I think you should be my partner.”
“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 professor ever.” 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 the weather 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 CLOSED against 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.”
“I’m on the fence. Mainly because I didn’t pack an umbrella when I moved up here,” she admitted.
“The campus store sells them. I think every store in Antonia sells them. Man, I’m pretty sure the taqueria sells them!”
She laughed again, this one an open-mouthed burst.
Jesse smiled. “Have you been there yet?”
“No. I mean, I pass it sometimes, but I never go in.”
“You should try it. And you could see if I’m right.”
“How would I let you know?” It came out almost as a challenge, a counterattack.
Jesse didn’t seem to take it that way. “I’m in Ramsey Court. You?”
“Pettiford Hall.”
He winced. “Oooh. The slums. Don’t worry, if you stick it out the full year, you’ll get boosted to a nice dorm.”
“Thanks for the tip. Um. I gotta practice. I’m first stand for the Halloween Ball.”
“Wow! Sweet. Congratulations. I assume that’s a big thing?”
“Kinda.” Another shrug. She had talked to someone! He had talked back! Conversation had occurred. Problem? She didn’t know how to end a conversation. She had been so lonely that she wasn’t sure she wanted it to end. “Will you be there? The Panhellenic Society is throwing it.”
“No, sadly. I always go home for the holidays.”
Sophie gave him a quizzical look. “Okay. See you.”
Jesse’s face fell. “See you. Actually... When would I see you?”
It took her a minute to work out what he was asking. “Um, my schedule’s open at night.”
His smile was wide and oddly relieved. “Mine, too! Maybe after the Halloween Ball, you’ll have more time to eat tacos?”
Another laugh. She never laughed with people outside of her own family. She was always too busy waiting for the personal attacks to begin or too nervous that someone would ask her a question she had no answer for. Jesse made her relax, and she didn’t know why.
Time to freak out.
“Yeah. After Halloween. Bye!” She bolted.
As she leaned against the wall of the elevator that would take her third-floor room, hopeful thoughts nudged their way into her brain. She could get comfortable around more people. She didn’t have to hide in her shell so much.
The doors opened and she found herself confronted by a couple in mid-grope. “‘Scuse me,” Sophie muttered, head down, cello and bag clutched protectively to her. They parted for a second to let her pass, then exchanged places with her, stepping into the empty car.
As she walked away, she heard the voices behind her.
“Is she auditioning for a part in some horror flick?”
“No, shut up, Carson. She must have some skin disease, that’s all.”
She slammed the door shut.
Her shell was just fine. She wouldn’t be leaving it anytime soon.