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“Does everyone have their copy of Greensleeves?”
There’s a short pause as the pages begin turning, and out of the corner of her eye, Kyoshi sees Kirima’s eyes widen as she flips through her pages in a flurry. After a few seconds of frantic flipping, the resignation sets in, and Kirima leans back in her seat, having accepted her fate. Kyoshi frowns.
Don’t you have a solo? she mouths. Kirima shrugs, having gotten over the initial panic.
Her own music is prepared, and Kyoshi has her pencil and highlighter already clipped to the wobbling stand. Not that it matters; with only about ten people left in the orchestra, everyone else gone for the Algebra EOC, there’s no chance her father- Kelsang (her father at home, her teacher at school) will particularly care about their performance today. Kirima is the sole first violin, while Lek sits behind the first stand of seconds violins. Kyoshi has four violists behind her, and Wong has his own standpartner, but the rest of the chairs are empty. Kelsang waits for the general murmur to die down, confirming his suspicions that only half the group has their music, and smiles his usual, warm smile.
“As you know, Greensleeves is the opening song for our winter concert, and you guys have the honor of performing alongside a harpist. We’ll have two more rehearsals with her, it’s just unfortunate this one happened to coincide with the EOC, but we’ll make do. Rangi will be here any minute—”
At the name, Kirima perks up, recognition stirring in her eyes. A junior, Kyoshi suspects she stays in the lowest orchestra to keep a high chair, but if Kirima knows Rangi, with her multitude of advanced classes, that makes Rangi most likely a senior. At the door, there’s a commotion, and Kyoshi catches a brief glimpse of dark hair before a massive harp rolls in through the door. Behind the polished body is a young woman, barely brushing the top of the body, dressed in a red sweater and dark jeans, and with a sinking feeling in her stomach, Kyoshi realizes it’s the headmistress.
Everyone else recognizes Headmistress Hei-Ran Sei’naka at the same time, and immediately, backs straighten and instrument grips tighten, except for Kirima, where a smirk spreads over her face instead. Kyoshi wriggles her eyebrows frantically, desperately trying to signal a warning to the first violin, but there’s no response. If anything, Kirima’s posture gets worse.
Kelsang helps position the harp behind his podium, within Kirima’s line of sight, and Headmistress Sei’naka nods her thanks, her gaze flickering over the orchestra in a brief survey. She skips over Kirima with a scowl, and Kyoshi gulps with she makes eye contact with her piercing eyes, dark and cold and—
Wait.
The headmistress has pale eyes.
“Rangi, thank you so much for agreeing to playing with us,” Kelsang says warmly, holding his hand out to Rangi, which Rangi takes with a firm handshake and a nod. “We’re down in our numbers, but would you like to introduce yourself?”
Rangi gives a curt nod and steps forward, shoulders back and back straight with military precision.
“I am Rangi Sei’naka,” she says. Her voice is low-pitched, a hint of a rasp at the ends of her consonants, and Kyoshi shudders involuntarily. “I am a sophomore, and I will be your harpist for the winter concert.”
Sei’naka, meaning the headmistress is her relative, perhaps mother considering the physical similarities. Kyoshi swears she can feel her intensity radiating out from the girl in waves. She’s in Kyoshi’s year, but she’s never seen the girl before, meaning she’s not in orchestra or in the math club, although that doesn’t narrow down the list much. Rangi’s eyebrows are set in a perpetual furrow, and her lips seem to be constantly pursed, as though ready to rip into any unsuspecting musician, but they’re also rather pretty— pretty?
“We’ll tune to you,” Kyoshi hears Kelsang say, and when she jerks out of her daydream, Rangi’s poised on the stool, and if Kyoshi scoots a little to her right, she has a perfect view of Rangi’s straight back and poised arms, and her hand goes to to pluck and—
It’s beautiful.
Kyoshi has heard good musicians. Yun is a fantastic violist, the youngest in the top orchestra and with an iconic bright tone on his A string, but this A sounds like crystal. It rings brilliantly, crisp and clean, and if Kyoshi could only listen to one thing for the rest of her life, it would be this A. Rangi plucks again, hand still arched, and Kyoshi hastily goes to tune, but her bow barely skims her strings, trying to hear that A over the staggered tunings of the rest of the orchestra, and when Rangi’s arms drop and the rest of the orchestra stop playing, Kyoshi’s pretty sure her G is still flat, too caught up in listening.
“Rangi, since you’ll be opening up with the soloist, would you mind playing through your first few measures? You’ll be following the soloist, but I’d just like to make sure we’re on the same page.”
Rangi nods, eyebrows furrowing as she sneaks a glance at Kirima.
“Is she the soloist?” Rangi asks, directing her question at Kelsang, but Kirima still answers.
“Not today, Topknot,” she drawls, and Rangi’s ears flash bright red. “But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to keep up with you.”
Wong and Lek snicker, clearly used to this routine, but the way Rangi is glaring at Kyoshi makes her nervous. Kelsang clears his throat, and Rangi huffs before turning back to the harp, her elbows held out to her sides and her shoulders pushed back so her back is a slight arc, and then her hands begin moving.
It’s mystifying. Rangi’s fingers brush over the strings, the arpeggio playing in perfect rhythm. If music could glow, what Kyoshi is hearing is glowing, a gentle yet firm light in the form of sound waves. Rangi breathes, her chest expanding in a slight inhale before beginning the second arpeggio, fingers briefly melding into the strings yet keeping their original graceful form, and at its end, Rangi lets her hands hover, the strings still humming. A soft exhale, and then the first chord is strummed, this one more quiet, her fingers softer with the strings so as to muffle the sound slightly, its brilliance dimming but still sparkling. Rangi still exhales for the next two chords, but Kyoshi notices her swaying, body almost rippling in response to the completion of a chord.
Rangi drops her elbows, and Kyoshi snaps her jaw shut, cheeks flushing when she catches Lek’s smirk at her. He makes a kissy face at her, and Kyoshi determinedly looks away, eyes boring straight into her music, except all the notes are blurry and fading, her thoughts still stuck on the way Rangi’s hands suspended in air, fingers arched and perfect.
“Is that good?” Rangi asks, as if she hadn’t just stroked the most beautiful noises out of an instrument still a good head above her high bun, and Kelsang hums in response.
“Just about the tempo we’ve been working with,” the director says. “Kirima, you ready to give the solo a try?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” is Kirima’s cheeky response, flipping at the papers on her stand like she had actually brought her music to rehearsal before bringing her violin up, fingers skimming her E-string before her third finger settles on what Kyoshi hopes is the right note. “Ready whenever you are, lovely Hotwoman.”
Hotwoman. Kyoshi has a vague memory of Kirima mentioning offhandedly she upsetted her lab partner so much she knocked over the bunsen burner and set their papers on fire.
Rangi looks tempted to strangle Kirima, right then and there, but a cough from Kelsang reins her in, and she turns back to her harp, head tilted to keep an eye on Kelsang. He holds his hands out, baton balanced precariously under his thumb and on his index finger, making eye contact with both Kirima and Rangi as his hands move in three, counting them off, before he inhales sharply and gives the cue.
Surprisingly, Rangi and Kirima start at the same time. Kirima isn’t a shabby violinist at all; her tone still bright as her third finger vibrates, building up to a wider vibrato at the peak of Rangi’s arpeggio, Kirima still hovers on the F just a bit longer before she goes to the following notes, and Kyoshi stifles a snort when she realizes Kirima is playing the entire line with one finger, sliding down the E string with exaggerated vibrato to make up for the in between pitches of her notes. There’s a slight smile on Kelsang’s face as well, hands up to give Rangi the cue, and Rangi looks downright murderous, as if Kirima has personally offended her family’s honor or some sort. Rangi’s second arpeggio and following chords are a bit more harsh than the first, fingers curling just slightly so each pluck channels some of Rangi’s rage, and Kyoshi wants to swat at Kirima, to get her to play properly for once, just so she can listen to the original grace of the first arpeggio.
Kelsang’s arms move in a wide swipe, and with a start, Kyoshi realizes she’s missed her cue completely, the rest of the orchestra already a measure in by the time she picks herself together, accidentally catching the tip of her bow on her A-string and causing the dissonant sound to ring out above the rest of the orchestra. Rangi’s head snaps back, her hands still strumming while her eyes narrow at the source of the disruption, and Kyoshi ducks her head in embarrassment, left hand fumbling to find the spot before she begins playing.
Greensleeves is an easy song, with the same repetitive pattern, and this means Kyoshi can still watch Rangi while somewhat keeping herself together. Having no standpartner helps—she’s a good foot taller than the rest of her section and Kelsang can’t keep her in the back because she blocks everyone’s view of him, so she gets the first stand all to herself—and Kyoshi angles herself slightly, her view going past Kirima and settling on Rangi’s perfectly arched back. After her earlier accusatory glare, her hair has swept over her shoulder, leaving her pale neck exposed, and if Kyoshi squints, revealing a slight discoloration right at her hairline. A birthmark. An imperfection of the skin, by all means, but it somehow makes Rangi, delicate fingers and cold stare, so much more human.
Kyoshi has no idea how Rangi is managing the harp. There are dozens of strings, multicolored and glittering under the LED ceiling lights, and Kyoshi can barely keep track of them, but somehow, Rangi’s fingers settle easily and pluck even more smoothly, her tones ringing out and blending in with the rest of the orchestra yet still keeping its own brightness. Like a bell, crystal clean and powerfully rich.
Kyoshi misses the key change completely. Everyone swivels to stare at her, Rangi’s glare especially furious, and Kyoshi ducks her head down again, quickly shifting her finger up a step and fumbling with the page turn, hoping that Rangi will turn away soon because Kyoshi is still thinking about the nape of Rangi’s neck. There’s no way Kyoshi can keep playing while feeling Rangi’s dark gaze on her, but there is no harp part for this section and so Kyoshi misses every other note under those piercing eyes, hitting notes too early or playing a naturalized flat, and it would be okay , Kyoshi thinks, playing an E flat and earning a hiss from Wong on her left, to sink into the ground and drop out of orchestra and move to a different continent .
Thankfully, Rangi’s attention is distracted by Kirima, who has no idea what she’s doing during the duet. It’s not her fault—the beginning solo is iconic, easily identifiable by ear, and anyone can guess their way through it after listening to it enough times—but with only one violin playing the current duet and with no sheet music, Kyoshi figures that Kirima’s plan is to just hit a few notes and hope one of them is right. Rangi’s aura only grows more intense, her rage rippling off of her in pulsing waves, and this seems to drive Kirima, adding in an occasional sharp or a ridiculously wide vibrato, just to enrage Rangi from the wide smirk on Kirima’s face. With muted pleasure, Kyoshi realizes the next solo is coming up, which means Rangi will be playing her arpeggios again.
The second round, Kirima plays the entire solo on her G-string, elbow stuck out almost cartoonishly to hit the high F, and Rangi actually stops her arpeggio, her stare hard and intense.
“Are you serious?” Rangi demands. Kyoshi waits for Kirima to wilt, but she only blinks innocently, third finger still wavering in its ridiculous vibrato.
“What?” Kirima asks. “I think the tone matches your harp better like this.”
“Kirima,” Kelsang chides gently, and with a muted sigh, Kirima switches over to the D-string. Rangi pinches the bridge of her nose, inhaling deeply, before she turns back to her harp and continues.
Kelsang has them run through the middle ensemble part, wanting to keep everyone in beat with Rangi, and in each run, Kyoshi finds herself falling in beat much easier than the previous one, giving her time to watch Rangi. The harpist is intense, like her mother, and her music matches that fervor, each note as elegant as the arch in Rangi’s hands and back. Her playing has Wong’s passion, her body swaying the same way Wong throws his head, Kirima’s technique, fingers flitting easily over her strings, and Yun’s brilliance, hitting each note perfectly and with incredible tone.
The bell rings, and Kyoshi blinks as the pack-up scuffle begins, instruments shoved unceremoniously into their cases and binders snapped shut. Kyoshi packs up as quickly as possible, her throat bubbling with praises, wanting to ask Rangi, Rangi Sei’naka, my name is Kyoshi, your playing is beautiful, I can’t wait to perform with you, your fingers are grace itself—
But Rangi stands up, stool in one hand and the other outstretched as she shakes Kelsang’s hand, giving him a clipped nod before she heads out of the room, her pace brisk, and before Kyoshi knows it, Rangi is gone.
A hand comes down on her shoulder, and Kyoshi yelps in surprise, slamming her viola case shut, but it’s just Wong, peering over her with an almost quizzical look on his face, an oddity outside of his normally impassive expression.
“I don’t think you’ve ever missed that many notes in a rehearsal,” Wong says.
Lek butts in. “Don’t worry, Wong, Kyoshi certainly didn’t miss the harpist.”
Kyoshi flushes, and Lek cackles, Wong joining in with his own low chuckle as she swipes uselessly at them. “She’s good, okay?” Kyoshi says desperately, but it’s too late—Kirima has arrived.
“Disaster bisexual who?” she says. “You couldn’t stop staring, I was waiting for the hearts to start floating around your head.”
“There were certainly hearts in your eyes,” Lek says solemnly. “Better get them checked out, I hear the headmistress isn’t too keen on having an in-law with poor vision.”
“What the hell does that even me—I’m going,” Kyoshi declares, standing up and stalking to her locker, ears burning as she desperately tries to ignore the cackling of her friends.
So Rangi is good at harp. Big deal. It’s not illegal to admire a musician’s playing, right? Especially if her technique and form are good, as elegant and poised as Rangi’s, and—
“Ow!”
Her foot twists, and Kyoshi stumbles, shoulder colliding into and rattling the entire wall’s worth of locker doors, a metallic cacophony of dissonance, and when Kyoshi’s footing stabilizes, she makes out the figure in front of her, and—
Oh.
Kyoshi swallows.
Up close, Rangi Sei’naka is even more intense. She barely comes up to Kyoshi’s chest, but with the way the ceiling lights are positioned, shadows are cast from her eyeridge and cheekbones, and she looks almost carved, a perfectly polished statue staring right at Kyoshi because—
“Sorry,” Kyoshi croaks out. “For—I didn’t see you.”
Rangi’s eyes narrow. “Because I’m too short?”
Kyoshi’s eyes widen. “No! No, you’re not short, I was just—I was just thinking about your playing. Your harp. Your harp playing.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “My harp playing?”
" Your harp playing,” Kyoshi repeats, her mind a broken record. Think, Kyoshi, compliment her, right now. “You’re really good. At harp.”
" Thank you,” Rangi says slowly. “I practice a lot.”
“Oh.”
An awkward pause. Kyoshi swallows nervously, racking her brain to say something, anything, and she stammers out, “That’s cool.”
“Okay,” Rangi says.
Another awkward pause. The chatter of the rest of the room has faded into static. Kyoshi is sweating, her viola case’s handle slipping in her palm, and she tightens her grip nervously. She can’t look away—Rangi is staring at her, studying her, and it feels like her entire being is being unraveled under her eyes. Up close, Kyoshi makes out a subtle brown hue, almost bronze, with gold flecks scattered around her pupil, and Kyoshi notes how thick her eyelashes are.
“You are okay at viola,” Rangi says finally. “But you are really loud.”
“Oh,” Kyoshi says, the moment ruined as her heart drops. “Oh.”
Rangi isn’t wrong—Kyoshi is loud. Pretty loud, in fact. Kelsang said it was because of her natural upper body strength: she’s the only one in the orchestra who can play on the lowest string, C, with a rich tone. Yun’s figured that it’s easier for her than him, but Kyoshi has no idea how much strength one is supposed to use when bowing, and Kelsang has had to remind her repeatedly to play softer. Hearing it from Rangi, skilled and pretty and untouchable, is something else. Maybe her dejection shows on her face, because Rangi’s features soften minutely.
“But it is not that bad,” Rangi corrects. “The other violists are just really soft. And I am sure with the rest of the orchestra, you sound fine.”
“Oh,” Kyoshi says, flushing at the praise. Now Rangi is looking at her, eyebrows still furrowed together and lips still in a tight purse, but there’s something different in the way her features have seemingly relaxed, cheeks dusted with a light pink and pupils dilating.
“You are good at viola,” Rangi announces, holding out her hand. “What is your name?”
" Er, Kyoshi.”
She takes her hand, and Rangi gives it a firm pump. Her hand is shockingly soft; Kyoshi’s fingers wrap around Rangi’s entire hand, and Kyoshi tries to burn the callouses on Rangi’s palm and on the tips of her fingers, scratching gently at her own skin but a pleasant contrast to the almost silky texture of the rest of her hand.
“Kyoshi,” Rangi says, and Kyoshi could listen to her name rolling off that tongue for the rest of her life, her charred husk of a voice over-enunciating the “Y” and skipping over the long “O” slightly. “I’ll see you at the next rehearsal.”
“Bye,” Kyoshi says half-heartedly as Rangi swivels around on her heels and marches out, her steps a bit more awkward than her previous walks, and as she disappears around the corner, Kyoshi releases the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.
T he warning bell rings, jerking Kyoshi out of her daze, and as she comes back to the orchestra room, she hears Kirima and Lek’s cackling laughter. Cheeks flushing, Kyoshi shoves her viola into the nearest open locker and whirls around, just in time for the other three to bolt out of the room as the late bell sounds.
Shit. She’s late.
Kyoshi meets Kelsang gaze across the room at his desk, hoping he knows her well enough to not ask questions, and he shoots her a sympathetic smile, picking up his pen and scribbling something on his sticky note pad. When Kyoshi approaches his desk, Kelsang passes her the sticky note, a tardy pass.
“You know,” he says, voice gentle but clear in the relative silence of the orchestra room, cleared for this period, “I’ve known Rangi since she was young. I think you two would get along fine.”
“Okay, Kelsang,” Kyoshi says patiently, not at all wanting to confront the fact that her father had front row seats to her gawking. “Thanks for the pass.”
“If you ever want her to come over, just ask,” is Kelsang’s response, giving her a push towards the door with a laugh. “Hei-Ran owes me a favor.”
“Bye, Kelsang!”