Chapter Text
The bell rang a tinny screech, being a recording of an old firehouse bell instead of a real bell system pumped through 20 year old speakers. Students poured out from the classroom doorways into the locker-lined hallways. Chatter filled the air as lockers were opened and conversations started before class continued in the passing period. It was a Tuesday.
Peter, a junior, carried an intricately carved wooden case, his gleaming silver flute dismantled and seated in a custom velvet-lined holder, to the music room. He wore camel colored slacks with a chunky blue sweater gifted from his grandmother last Christmas and his dark brown loafers. His hair was tightly cropped, a little too high for the cold weather that day but lined-up perfectly in his opinion; the barbershop had gotten a new apprentice that Peter decided he loved on his first cut. He felt excited for today, a bubbling pride in his stomach.
Tuesday was his second favorite day of the week, Friday being the first, of course. Today, he gets to show off all the hard work through practice he did by performing the Concierto Pastoral by Joaquin Rodrigo with the rest of the class. It was a scheduled full-class day; that’s what the music teacher called “you can skip class any other day as long as you’re here on this day” days.
The music class was planning to play this concerto at the Holiday Fare, a school-wide event used as an amalgamation Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa party and Open House. Decorations would fill the hallways, festive music played during passing period, teachers wearing fun sweaters and giving out holiday themed candy.
Right now, Peter had just under two months to figure out the fingering on the last minute of the song. His hands would fumble as he tried to keep his breath on tempo. He was excited to do the full run through today, to see how it sounded after his practice.
The music room was large and the walls were padded with old carpet scraps. There were several stacks of chairs against one wall, a massive set of wide shelves with instrument cases scattered about on them lined one wall, a rinky-dink wooden desk on wheels would roll around the room depending on how much space the class needed. Peter walked in and grabbed a chair to pull over to his usual spot. His music stand was the one with a large metallic scrape on the neck, but it had the best feet for twisting when he stood and knocked it with his foot.
A handful of other music class die hards were sat in the room with Peter when the teacher walked in. She had a cane in one hand and a stack of music sheets under her arm. She was wearing a hand knit cardigan over a deep purple turtleneck, a pair of glasses with a beaded string wrapping around her neck, and long brown pants. As she limped to her desk she addressed the students.
“You can all warm up quietly as you wait for the rest of the class.”
Peter set up his flute and stretched his long, strong fingers. A quick breath, a sweet trill, readjusting his grip, another trill. More students trickled in to the music room, either already with their instrument or grabbing it from the wall of shelves, and sitting down to practice or chit chat with their orchestral neighbor. The tinny bell echoed through the speakers ten minutes after Peter had arrived.
“Alright, class.” Miss Weaver, the forever bachelorette that only ever alluded to steamy love affairs when a student derails her during class, “Today we’re doing a full run through of the Chri- Holiday Fare concert. Let’s start from the top with our ambiance sheets. Does anyone have questions before we start?”
Peter resettled into his chair. Everyone readied up, the air was filled with antici….pation. Miss Weaver raised her baton. 1… 2… 3…
A knock on the door caused everyone to freeze. It was a strong, echoing bang on the door that seemed to negate the soundproofing on the walls. About 30 pairs of eyes turned to the door as Miss Weaver stepped towards it with a jilted pace. She looked through the window to see who was intruding before pulling it open.
The murmurs of speculation crept through the chairs, instruments clinked and clanked as they were set down or readjusted, Miss Weaver talked to whomever was at the door just out of earshot. She nodded and stepped aside, swinging her unimpeded arm wide to indicate the visitor could enter.
A girl looking about 16 years old walked in with a long black case in her arms. She had curly, strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail with a forest green scrunchie matching her sweater. She also wore thick black leggings under a dark brown pleated skirt, with Adidas style sneakers. She looked around the room with bright green eyes, slightly rosy cheeks, and a strained, tight-lipped smile. She was uncomfortable, coming into a class room after the bell rang, after having been lost in the halls by herself during passing period, being stared at by the whole class who obviously stopped whatever they were doing to see who was at the door.
“Class,” Miss Weaver led the girl to the front of the room, “this is Elizabeth. She will be joining our class from here on, and she’s a flautist.”
She turned to address Elizabeth, a polite smile on her face to hide the annoyance of having to accommodate a new performer so late into the semester. She pointed directly at Peter.
“You can pull up a chair next to Peter right there. He’s our flute first chair.” She turned to Peter. “Can you share your stand and sheets with Elizabeth for today?”
Peter just nodded. He was distracted by all the new information, but especially by the extremely attractive girl that was now walking towards him. A chair materialized, probably grabbed by one of the boys in the string section behind him, and Elizabeth sat down with her case readjusted into her lap.
“Hi, I’m Elizabeth.”
“Peter.”
He holds out his hand. No matter what situation, the nagging voice of his mother tugged in Peter’s mind, the one relating to meeting people. ‘Always make a good impression. Be polite, shake their hand. You can always be rude if they prove to you they need it.’ Elizabeth took his hand and shook it three times before letting go.
She worked on opening her case and assembling her flute. Peter rubbed his hands together, his mind focusing only on how soft Elizabeth’s hand was.
“Alright, class. Let’s get back to work.”
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“She’s really good, like professionally good.”
“Peter, you’re professionally good. Man, the way you practice until perfect… No one can beat you.”
“She can.”
Peter sat with his hands over his face in frustration. He was at his usual lunch table with his friends Jerry, Paul, Malik, and Darnell. Randi, their only girl friend in the group was sick today; she was the only one Peter trusted to give advice in a situation like this. Peter sighs loudly, cutting through the boyhood banter surrounding him.
“I am not losing first chair before the Holiday Fare. I worked too hard and too long to not have that solo.”
“I mean… You could ask for just the solo and have the girl play first for the rest a’ the concert.” Darnell was Peter’s best friend from elementary school, his oldest friend in the group, the one that always tried to find the fun in things. Or find the easiest way to do something.
“That sounds like less work for you. You could focus on the solo… and trying not to drool over Elizabeth.” Jerry burst out laughing. The rest of the boys joined in as Peter rolled his eyes.
“I am not into Elizabeth.”
“Yes, you are, dude. I could see you flubbering all the way from my section.”
Jerry was the orchestra’s percussionist, knowing how to play all of the drums they needed, the cymbals, marimba, and triangle. He had been watching Peter try hard not to ogle the girl next to him as he explained the sheets on their shared music stand. Peter had not realized just how obvious he was, though Jerry thought everyone was interested in everyone.
“Screw you, Jer. I’m only focusing on my solo now.”
The conversation took a breath before switching topics. The boys didn’t even bring Peter’s crush back up. That was until they all were interrupted by the previous topic’s main character.
“Peter!”
Elizabeth had an empty lunch tray in her hands, heading towards the return. She was following a group of girls Peter had known to be the popular ones; Adele, Chuny, Doris, and Yosh. The last ‘girl’ was Yosh, the only guy of the popular girls group whom they adopted after he came out in junior year. Elizabeth was quickly absorbed into the group as well.
She stood next to their table, waiting for a response from Peter. The two seconds it took for him to process her call felt like it lasted hours. His cheeks grew hot, his mouth went dry, his hands squirmed before they were hidden under the table.
“Uh, hi.” He swiftly averted her gaze. “Guys, this is Elizabeth. She’s new.”
“Oh, we know.” Jerry said under his breath. The other guys smiled or chuckled in response before chiming in with polite hello’s.
“I wanted to thank you for sharing your music stand with me today. I’m sure you’re used to being the only flautist in the class.”
Peter froze. Something switched in his mind, something in her tone seemed genuine but also grated him the wrong way. Like she was bragging about being another flute player in the class, like she was there to replace him. He looked up at her, glittering green eyes stared back with deception.
“Yeah, no problem.”
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The Holiday Fare was one month away. A surprise 3 inches of snow dropped the night before a full-class day. Peter read the email from Miss Weaver rescheduling the full-class day to the end of the week. She had added a post script asking all the woodwinds and percussion to attend today for readjustment of the seating chart.
Peter grabbed his thick over coat from the coat rack before running out the door. He was definitely going to be late to school today. The snow caused a 10 minute delay for the trains, and Peter already missed his first stop. His mom had asked him to shovel the walkway before he left but the snow was extra wet and heavy by the time he got the shovel out of the shed. It took him almost half an hour to do 10 minutes of labor if the snow had been fluffy.
The bell rang just as he walked into the music room. He was pissed, not at the trains or the snow or his mom, but at himself for letting himself be late to class. If he had just worked a little harder to shovel, to make his lunch, to catch the train. The icing on the cake… he forgot his flute.
Miss Weaver sat Peter in the center of the orchestra, right in front of her conducting podium. Elizabeth was moved to right behind him, at a slant so that no one’s sight line to the conductor was impeded. Peter could feel the arrogance emanating from Elizabeth, the feeling that she was better than him at the flute. The aggravation of being second chair when she knew she was good enough for the solo, for Peter’s spot. He sat there, stewing in indignation, as Miss Weaver asked Elizabeth to play his parts to establish the new location in the orchestra.
Conversely, Elizabeth was excited to be playing the flute in a full orchestra. She hadn’t been a part of an orchestra for a few months now; the move from England to America put quite the toll on the family’s schedule. She was proud to play such a difficult piece, not without some struggle, while Peter was listening.
Elizabeth knew this solo was Peter’s, he worked so hard to get each note as crisp and clean as possible. She admired his dedication to perfection and strove to reach his level of commitment to something. And she liked talking to someone that knew how she felt about music. She thought he was someone to befriend the first day they met, and she was glad it worked out so well so far. He was always polite to her when they talked, but she could just tell how kind of a person he was from how he held himself and the way he spoke.
“I’m glad you all are excited for the Holiday Fare, but I don’t want you forgetting to practice this month. I know I’m probably preaching to the choir with this group. I just want you all to try your best and make this class, and me, proud.”
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“Do you mind if I sit with you today?”
Elizabeth asked Peter at the end of music class about lunch. She knew the Girls would see her sitting with him instead of them. She wanted to prove that she could find friends within other groups besides them. This sentiment arose after Yosh and Chuny were gossiping about some of the less popular girls in sophomore year. They had said some really crass things about girls that acted similarly, looked similarly, to Elizabeth. She didn’t appreciate their words, but didn’t want to spoil such new friendships over menial gossip.
So here she was, two classes from lunch and regretting everything. She couldn’t concentrate on the subject at hand, English, only spiraling internally as she replayed that sentence over and over in her head. The teacher was bounding in front of the chalk board with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas day waiting to open their presents. He pushed his glasses up every few steps as he wrote, scratching the chalk across the board almost illegibly.
Elizabeth tried to write notes, sitting next to Doris who had all the notes from last year, but failed to catch most of Mr. Greene’s ramblings on allegory and imagery in The Great Gatsby. Doris leaned over and whispered to Elizabeth.
“You wanna skip Math and go out for lunch today? Yosh has his mom’s car today.”
A pit opened in Elizabeth’s stomach. On one hand, she wanted to sit with Peter, to get to know him a little better, maybe even become friends rather than orchestral partners. On the other, she could give the Girls another chance and forge friendships that could last years beyond highschool, go to weddings, baby showers, all those fun milestones she would otherwise miss.
“I’ve actually planned to eat with Peter today. We were going to analyse some music for the Holiday Fare.”
“Totally fine… I don’t wanna disrupt you and your boyfriend.” She snickers as she flips the page in her notebook.
“He is not my boyfriend. I barely know the boy.”
Doris nudges Elizabeth with her elbow. Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed and she adjusted her curls. Mr. Greene turned around just as she was about to respond.
“Miss Pickman, I’d rather you listen since this is your second time in my class. And you shouldn’t be distracting the new student with chatter.”
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Peter sat stiff as a board, Elizabeth sitting next to him instead of his expectation of across from him. Jerry took the space across from both of them and didn’t lose his full-face smile for the whole lunch period. Darnell was on Peter’s other side, ribbing him with his elbow every chance he could get. Randi and Paul were having their own conversation on Darnell and Jerry’s other side, unperturbed by the romantic undertones Jerry was trying to instill.
“Do you think you’ll go on professionally after school?”
Elizabeth had her body turned towards Peter. She was wearing a thick jumper with alternating pink and darker pink stripes and darker brown corduroy pants. Peter was in another Grandma sweater, this one with a large sunflower on the front, and khakis. She liked how the sweater hugged his arms, the muscle underneath developed from playing the flute as well as just being a growing teenage boy.
“If it would get me a scholarship, I’d play any instrument.”
“Oh, that’s just silly. What do scholarships have to do with going to uni?”
Everyone turned to face her, flabbergasted. Jerry was the first one to laugh out loud at the comment.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, Liz. But we aren’t the richest kids around and college ain’t cheap in America.”
The table burst out laughing, not necessarily at Elizabeth but at her naivety. Peter quickly got defensive of his not-girlfriend. He sat taller and corralled the other as best he could.
“She’s from England, guys. She doesn’t know the details so we don’t need to laugh at her.”
“Don’t worry, Pete-”
“Don’t call me Pete.”
“We aren’t making fun of her-- of you-- we’re just laughing at the comment itself. Swear it.”
Peter turned to Elizabeth, her face was flushed and she was nervously fixing her ponytail. He reached out to comfort her, a hand on the shoulder or something, before quickly retreating. Touching her would be a step too far for their budding friendship, too intimate a motion after such an embarrassing event.
Elizabeth clasped her hands together under the table after fiddling with her hair. She was trying her hardest not to look embarrassed, awkwardly gauging everyone’s expression in the moment before the subject changed. Everyone seemed to be less affected in the moment after, simple banter starting up again rather than lingering on her lack of experience with American customs.
The bell rang shortly after the situation that was now ingrained in Elizabeth’s mind, a memory that will play over and over in her mind as she’s trying to fall asleep at night years down the line. The group of teenagers got up, put trays away, and went on their way to whatever class was next in their schedule.
Elizabeth was sitting with Chuny and Adele in History class. The teacher was outlining the worksheet meant to be done by the end of the class period. Mrs. Adams sat back in her chair, having checked out mentally after teaching her trouble class last period. Elizabeth was now stuck trying to fill out this worksheet designed for an American highschooler rather than a British transplant. All the while, getting distracted by her friends gossiping loudly on either side of her.
“I think that freshman is cute. What was his name? The one that’s like a year older than everyone in his grade.”
“I think he just looks older ‘cause he’s taller than everyone.”
“Definitely cuter too.”
“Chun, I don’t think you need to pursue a freshman. We have perfectly adequate boys in our grade.”
“Like who?”
“Well,” Adele leaned in towards Elizabeth, “Peter is pretty cute. Right, Liz?”
Elizabeth looked up from her worksheet, a frown on her face.
“Sorry, I forgot… Elizabeth.” Adele corrected herself.
Elizabeth had told each of the Girls a handful of times already that she hated that nickname; Liz. She also warned them about bringing Peter up around her, but they listened less to that warning than to the nickname one. The two girls started ribbing her about Peter until a screeching alarm rang out through the halls and the classrooms.
The fire alarm blasted, making Elizabeth’s ears ring. The alarm’s white light strobing through the hallway warned the students and staff about an unseen fire. Mrs. Adams stood up.
“Everyone stay calm, this is just a drill.” Then muttering more to herself, “Doing this BS in the dead of winter… gonna freeze my ass off outside now.”
The students stood and filed out into the hallways. Everyone walked briskly to their designated spots outside, some instantly complaining about the cold weather. Elizabeth tightened her grip around herself as the brisk cold wind bit through her sweater. Chuny and Adele huddled together as the class walked up to their spot, next to Mr. Romano’s Math class from next door.
The Vice Principal, the woman that Elizabeth had spoken to on her first day of school, Mrs. Hicks shuffled out of the main entrance with a walkie talkie in her one hand and a clipboard in the other. She looked just as pissed off as everyone else standing outside in the cold semi-melted snow-covered parking lot. She jabbered into the communication device in her hand as she walked up to the pod of teachers waiting in front of the mob of students.
“Hey.”
Elizabeth turned. She was abandoned by the Girls unknowingly, easy to be approached by the one person she didn’t want to see right now.
Peter stood in front of her, his eyes running up and down her body in a mysterious scrutiny. She curled into herself tighter to quell her stomach churning under his gaze.
“Don’t you look cosy.” She said, recognizing his thick coat over his burgundy turtleneck.
“Ha ha,” he retorted sarcastically, “Here.”
Peter shed his coat and handed it to her.
“But don’t make it weird. My friends already think I have a thing for you.”
“Oh, do you? Maybe I shouldn’t take that.” She tried to tease but the cold made her regret her hubris.
She grabbed his coat and wrapped it around herself. Being pre-warmed, Elizabeth melted into the coat. She felt the soft fur interior on her hands, smelled the bergamot and cedarwood cologne Peter wore, absorbed his warmth from the fabric. His actions were nice but his words cut into her sharper than the cold wind ever could.
“No.”
Peter saw the look of anguish on Elizabeth’s face and swiftly tried to back pedal. His eyes widened and he shrunk down within himself to make his large figure seem meek.
“I don’t mean it like that. It’s just, um… like this… we’re rivals, yaknow? We’re competing for this solo and I… I’m not explaining myself well.”
Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped and she took a step back. He truly didn’t have feelings for her, but for that to be confirmed so bluntly was a shock to her. And the excuse of ‘being rivals’ was just the next level of low in her mind.
A week prior to the sharing of the coat, Peter and Elizabeth were in music class. Peter had been struggling on the last part of his solo for half the class, enough so that Miss Weaver noticed. She asked him to take a break and for Elizabeth to sight-read his sheet music just to get the timing for the next song. Elizabeth had played perfectly, in peter’s opinion. His hardest work couldn’t even reach her natural talent, in Peter’s mind at least.
He spiraled for three days after that, collecting another chip on his shoulder. His resentment was solely one sided up until the coat incident. Now Elizabeth thought that Peter hated her; she had a weird mental battle happening between her crush for the cute boy with similar interests and the anger that stemmed from that same cute boy crushing her heart by telling her he didn’t feel the same.
Elizabeth stood in the hallway trying to warm up next to a heat vent. She wore Peter’s coat until she got back to her locker. Retrieving her own over coat from inside, the locker housed a multitude of things for her classes. They were much larger than the lockers she was used to back home, but she was not complaining. The lighter her book bag the easier life was. She planned to give Peter his coat back next music class.
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The Holiday Fare was just a week away, can you believe it? Peter’s stress levels rose exponentially. Every other music class, Miss Weaver gave Elizabeth more and more opportunities to play a more forward part in the songs around his solo. Every time she played, Peter could feel his anger welling, his resentment for the girl he once had a crush on building with each note closer to his solo song.
Each music class, Elizabeth grew more and more arrogant. She was getting more prominent playing time in the songs meant for background music. Miss Weaver was also giving her more leniency when she messed up than she would other students.
“Girl, you need to stop this feud and just kiss him.” Chuny was done with Elizabeth’s complaining every lunch.
“I don’t think that’s her style, Chuny. She’s totally a passive girl that wait for the man to make the first move.”
Elizabeth flushed, angry that Yosh was reading her accurately. She made a mental note to do the exact opposite of her nature when the opportunity presented itself. In response, Elizabeth stuck her nose high in the air and ignored them. She had been trying all November to make nice with the Girls, but the endless gossiping was just getting to her.
Peter was sitting in Science watching his lab partner do all the work for him. They were doing some project on titration and John was starting over again. He had missed the point right before the liquid turned pink for the third time and was visibly getting frustrated.
“Hey, man. We don’t have to restart, we can just calculate close to the mark from our other tries.” Peter was trying to help but was too distracted with his own thoughts to truly care.
Peter’s mind was running through Concierto Pastoral over and over, his fingers twitched with each mental movement etched into his brain, his head tilted slightly with the flow of the music in his mind. He barely noticed when John asked the rhetorical question “what’s going wrong?”
John was a freshman placed in the advanced program. Peter had heard second hand that he was home schooled for the longest and didn’t qualify to start as a sophomore at County High. John, the only one dressed in a lab smock and goggles, barely looked up at Peter as he huffed around restarting the lab procedures.
“We gotta make sure it’s right, Peter. I don’t want to get a bad grade for half-assing the assignment.”
“It’s not that serious-”
“And the Holiday Fare isn’t that serious, but you don’t see me complaining about your stressing over it.”
It hit too close to home. Peter frowned, but agreed deep in his heart. He had been stressing about the Holiday Fare and telling John about it before lab time started. But how else will he be noticed for a scholarship or skyrocket his professional flute-playing career if he didn’t perfectly play his solo during the Fare?!
John was starting the titration again. Drip. Drip. Drip. And it’s pink again… Peter groaned.
Miss Weaver stood in front of Elizabeth and Peter. The bell had rung 5 minutes prior, the rest of the class had left, the door was locked, a serious static filled the air. Peter put his foot down after Elizabeth started his solo by accident when sight reading. He turned around and glares so hard that tears welled in Elizabeth’s eyes noticeable enough for Miss Weaver to see. She told the two to stay behind after class before the orchestra started the next song. The full run through was smooth except that part.
“I need you to explain what happened after Merrily on High. Peter.”
Peter shrunk down in embarrassment, still towering over Miss Weaver but visibly withered. He didn’t mean for that look to be so savage. Elizabeth was holding back tears for the whole solo, and now was visibly uncomfortable standing in front of the teacher and next to the person that upset her so drastically.
“I was just… surprised.”
“You looked like you were going to kill me!”
“I didn’t mean to! I was surpr-”
“Cool it, you two!” Miss Weaver smacked her hand onto the rickety desk next to her. “I don’t want either of you to ruin this concert, but if you can’t work out whatever is happening between the both of you, I am going to have to remove both of you from the orchestra.”
Both flutists’ jaws dropped. Elizabeth flushed, overwhelmed with feeling of unfairness, anger, and annoyance. She clenched her fists but bit her tongue before cursing out loud. She can’t have another problem in another school. Her mother would hold it over her head until she was on her deathbed.
Peter clenched his jaw, panic filling his mind and kickstarting his sweat glands. To lose this solo would be the death of his academic career, the failure he never dreamed of and feared on par with the Devil. He gulped dryly.
“I’m… sorry, Elizabeth. I didn’t mean to upset you with my reaction.”
Elizabeth didn’t look at him. She knew that was a hollow apology, something to get over with instead of being heartfelt. She squared her shoulders and swallowed the lump in her throat.
“Apology accepted.” She turned her attention to Miss Weaver, “May I go to class now?”
“Fine. But you two are on thin ice.”
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Twinkling lights glimmered within the branches of green garland wrapped with red ribbon hanging around each doorway into the gymnasium. A row of tables line the flat facade of the bleachers, each one with different holiday themed plastic tablecloths. Some of the tables had snacks and drinks, others had information on the school meant for the prospective students’ parents attending the Holiday Fare. Several stands scattered around the room had various pieces of art from the different art classes; some were visibly more artistic than others. In the center of the floor, 30-odd chairs sat in a semicircular arch around the conductor’s podium wheeled in from the music room.
Peter, along with the rest of the orchestra, was the first in to the beautifully decorated gym. He was wearing a nice black turtleneck and charcoal tweed pants, with shiny black shoes; the formal outfit for the orchestra. He carried his flute out of its case but in a white cloth that would be draped over his lap to prevent the noise of setting the instrument down when it wasn’t his turn to play. Peter settled into his chair along with the other members to practice for 10 minutes before the official start of the Fare.
Elizabeth tightened her grip around her own flute. It was her first real concert in an orchestra and the nerves were hitting her harder than ever. The outfit she was wearing was a textural nightmare that didn’t help any with her nerves. She took a deep breathe to try to quell them before practice time.
Most of the music played was classic Christmas music; Jingle Bells, Silent Night, Nutcracker March, Deck the Halls; all separate arrangements to highlight different instrumental sections while still being calm enough background noise.
Peter, being extra competitive after bruising his ego with the apology a couple days ago, leaned over far enough to block Elizabeth’s view to Miss Weaver. He would sway wider than usual when needed, square his shoulders when raising the flute, even going as far as scooting his chair between songs in minuscule increments until he was almost directly in front of her. Elizabeth noticed once they stopped playing Waltz of the Flowers that Peter’s larger frame was now obscuring her view to the conductor.
“Peter,” she whispered, the tuba was testing notes before the climax of the concert, “could you move your chair over a skosh?”
“My chair is where it’s supposed to be, Elizabeth. I’m not going to mess up Miss Weaver’s placement.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, if lasers could shoot from them they would. Peter turned around with a smirk. He readjusted his sheet music. The big solo was just a minute away and he couldn’t be any more anxious. To have one over Elizabeth, like blocking her view to the conductor, gave him an ounce of power in the situation.
Unfortunately for Peter, Elizabeth’s mind went into overdrive thinking about revenge. Miss Weaver tapped her music stand to get the orchestra’s attention. Everyone raise their instrument, readied their breaths or their hands or both, and froze in wait.
“Now, to celebrate County High at our annual Holiday Fare, to show off the hard work our first chair flute and the entirety of the orchestra, I am proud to present to you all in attendance: Peter Benton on the flute performing Joaquin Rodrigo’s Concierto Pastoral accompanied by the County High Orchestral Class.”
Sparse clapping filled the air before it died off with another tap of the conductor’s wand. Miss Weaver raised the fancy stick, 1… 2… 3… 4…
Peter started. The flute sang high and low, the imagery of running through a field in spring, in summer, in fall, in winter, the orchestra following suit with accompanying notes. The song was gloriously long and so so short at the same time. Peter closed his eyes, fully immersed in the music, letting it wrap around him and cradle his body as his mind hit the flow state so envied by players. The woodwinds conversed with the brass, a back and forth with a backdrop of all the other instruments, each working to the best of their abilities.
When the oboe responds to the flute’s call around the halfway mark, Elizabeth knocks her foot into Peter’s chair causing a sharper than intended tone to emit from the woodwind. No audience member seemed to notice the interruption or the incorrect note, but Peter had, and he was livid.
He unintentionally quickened the pace during the fast trills, the orchestra was audibly off now. Miss Weaver pointed her conductor’s wand directly at Peter, the look behind her glasses one of dissatisfaction. Peter’s heart leapt, a sharp tap of the wand on the music stand meant to correct his behavior shot through him like a bullet. He matched the pace of the rest and continued the song somewhat erratically and dissociative rather than in the flow state headspace.
The audience cheered when the song ended, Miss Weaver bowed before turning to the orchestra. She raised her arm, all those that could, stood up and bowed as well. Peter hesitated a moment longer than those around him as everyone stood, he was out of it to say the least. Elizabeth puffed her chest out, proud with her actions that so devastatingly affected Peter. The class got a two-minute break before starting up with the easy listening holiday music. Luckily there were only two more songs before the players got a well deserved break.
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“You botched by playing!”
“Did not!”
“You kicked my chair! Mid-way through my solo!”
“If your chair was where it was supposed to be, then my foot would not have even been near it!”
Peter’s ears were hot, his face hurt from trying to stay calm, his hands were fists. Elizabeth was standing her ground, feet planted and face stern, even with the flush of anger on her neck and cheeks. The two were in an alcove of the hallway to the music room, arguing in a quieter volume than should be for the situation. Both of them knew if they made a scene right there, both of them would probably get several detentions if not a few days suspension.
The two of them were standing face-to-face at the start of this squabble but it since turned to Peter towering over Elizabeth as her back was against the wall. She stared up at his face, memorizing each crease and curve from such a close proximity. He stared at her with rage behind his eyes, those dark endless brown eyes. She took a breath.
Peter was shocked when Elizabeth leaned forward and up and planted a kiss upon his lips in the heat of this argument. His eyes widened, his anger simmered, his fists released. He hesitated to lean into the kiss. Before he could decide, Elizabeth pulled away. She raised her hands up and pushed him away from his chest. Then she stormed down the hallway, leaving Peter alone and confused.
Time passed agonizingly slow. Peter was standing in the alcove, staring down the empty hallway leading to the music room, mouth slightly agape. He blinked slowly. The door behind him, down the hall a ways, slammed open and the sound of conversation once again filled the hall.
“Hey Pete, whatcha up to?” Paul, Jerry, Darnell, and Randi walked up to him.
“I… I don’t know what just happened…”
“We saw you and Elizabeth storm out here a minute ago. I told the others to give y’all some time.” Jerry winked.
“Are you okay, Peter? You look like your brain just melted.” Darnell peeked into Peter’s eye from way below, eliciting a bout of laughter from the others.
“I think… I think I have feelings for Elizabeth.”