Page 15 of Off The Rush
I walk at a steady pace to make it across campus for my next class. This is a music theory class so much more interesting to me than the literature one.
I push the door open and step into the music theory classroom, taking a deep breath. The familiar scent of sheet music and aged wooden instruments calms my nerves, but only for a moment. As I make my way to an empty seat, I spot Rachel smirking at me from across the room. With her sleek black hair and calculating brown eyes, she’s like a predator waiting to strike. She stands up and struts over to me.
Rachel has hated me since I got a solo in one of our freshman-year music classes instead of her. She never wastes an opportunity to be snarky even though I almost always ignore her.
“Sounds like your audition didn’t go so well, huh?” Rachel says, obviously referring to the fiasco that was Alec barging in on my performance and whisking the dean away. “Must be tough.”
“Actually,” I retort, trying to keep my voice steady, “I still got a spot in the Spring Showcase. So, I guess I didn’t need the full audition anyway.”
Rachel raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that response. She shakes her head and walks away without another word. I can’t help but feel a little satisfaction at catching her off guard.
As I settle into my seat, though, guilt gnaws at my stomach. It’s true that I landed a spot in the showcase, but it wasn’t entirely due to my talent. If it weren’t for the deal Alec and I made, I wouldn’t have this opportunity.
I know I shouldn’t feel guilty about using every advantage I can get, but it’s difficult to shake the feeling that I’m cheating somehow. I’ve always prided myself on my determination and hard work, and this arrangement feels like a shortcut I shouldn’t be taking.
But there’s no going back now. I just have to make sure I give the performance of my life at the recital, proving that I deserve this chance no matter how it came about. That’s something I can control, and it’s what I need to focus on.
I grab my notebook and pen, pulling them close as the professor begins the lecture.
No sooner does the professor start his lecture than my phone buzzes in my bag, sending a jolt of curiosity through me. I try to focus on the music theory being discussed, but my mind keeps wandering back to that unopened message.
Trying to be as discreet as possible, I slide my phone out and glance at the screen. Alec’s name flashes across it, making my heart skip a beat.
When are we hanging out next?
I can’t help but smile at the casual tone of his message as if we’ve been friends for years rather than acquaintances thrown together by circumstance. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I consider how to respond. Finally, I type out a response.
When do you need to be seen with me next?
With my message sent, I force myself to pay attention to the lecture, taking notes on chord progressions and harmonic structure. It takes a while for Alec to respond, and I almost forget about our conversation.
Go to a party with me next weekend?
He finally replies, and I’m surprised by the fluttery feeling that arises in my chest. For a moment, I let myself enjoy the idea of attending a party with Alec – just two people enjoying each other’s company, no strings attached. But then reality sets in, and I remember the real reason behind our arrangement.
Sure. Where?
I text back, feeling a little disappointed that our next meeting is so far away.
Details later.
He replies, and the conversation ends there. I stare at the screen for a moment, wondering why he needs me at that particular party. What’s so important about this event that he wants me there?
I shake my head, reminding myself that it doesn’t matter. All that matters is keeping up appearances until the showcase. But as the class continues, I can’t help but feel like there’s more to Alec’s request than meets the eye. The next time I see him, I decide, I’m going to get a full understanding of what he wants out of this arrangement – not just for my peace of mind, but so that I can navigate this fake relationship without getting too caught up in the fantasy of it all.
For now, though, I tuck my phone away and focus on the music theory filling the air around me. The notes on the page blur together as I try to focus.
The moment the music theory class ends, I can’t help but feel a sense of relief. I quickly gather my belongings, eager to escape Rachel’s prying eyes and the nagging thoughts of Alec that have been occupying my mind.
“Hey, Emma,” Rachel calls out as I pass by her. “Who were you texting during class?”
I avoid her gaze and give no response, hurrying out of the room.
When I finally make it home, Tessa is sitting at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of tea in her hands and an animated expression on her face. She launches into a detailed account of her day, regaling me with stories of her professors’ eccentricities and the drama unfolding among our fellow students.
The fashion program seems cutthroat.
“Enough about me,” Tessa says eventually, taking a sip of her tea. “How was your day? Did anything interesting happen?”
