"Your tone was a little shaky, and there's definitely room for improvement concerning the intonation of your scales. But overall we were very impressed with your performance, Mr. Vantas."
The panel of judges had finished sorting their scoring materials, and were sitting with all of their hands folded on the table. The adjudicator addressing me was a thin woman with short bobbed hair, a blue dress, and glasses that suggested the temperament of a librarian or secretary. I had trouble believing she was actually a brass player. My scales were perfectly fine.
"We'll need a few more minutes to assess our scoring sheets before we decide your placement. In the meantime, gladly take a seat in the hall with the other young musicians?" She waved me away with her long red fingernails. I clicked the securers closed on my trumpet case, gathering up my sheet music and hastily exited the audition room.
I've been playing the trumpet for eight years, but only recently have I been accepted to the second stage of auditions for this particular academy. I don't have a problem admitting that I'm better than your average trumpetist. I must have learned something from all those summers I slaved away at music camp, all those Saturdays I surrendered showing up for orchestra rehearsal, and all those afternoons wasted leading a bunch of inexperienced band geeks in sectionals. I was good, and I was proud of it. After three straight years of placement as the unwilling and painfully disorganized section leader, it was suggested to my family that I enrol in a preparatory academy for the musically talented. Sort of like Julliard for kids, if you catch my drift.
Only one problem: I'm not quite as gifted academically. Just because I can read music doesn't mean I can read Cyrano de Bergerac. The more time I put into my musical life, the less appealing my report card looks, and over the years it's been getting worse. C average, to D average to... Nevermind. I'd applied to the school last year, and the year before, but I'd never gotten past the first stage of auditions before. This year was my only chance. If I couldn't make it in with the skills I had to offer this year, I'd have to start worrying about actually graduating from high school. Ugh.
The door to the audition room clicked shut, and I was faced with a long, white corridor. The building was strangely quiet as I wandered around a corner and followed several arrows that had been hastily stapled to the walls, instructing me on where to go. I turned a final corner and was faced with a thicker portion of hallway, that was lined with fold-open chairs and instrument cases of various shapes and sizes lying around. The seats and surrounding wall space were occupied by one or two other musicians, who I could only assume were around my age, their faces pinned shyly to the ground. I set my trumpet case down on the ground and tugged annoyedly at the collar of the stiff dress shirt I was required to wear to my audition. My red hair clashed rather dramatically with white, so I always felt pretty ugly and awkwardly conspicuous in my dress clothes. Not to mention the buttons. They were always popping off, the goddamn things.
I took a seat near (but not too close to) a girl with very long, straight hair that somewhat resembled the color of my own. She gripped a flute case tightly in her lap, and looked the other way when I sat down. A pair of bright pink glasses matched her freckles, but looked a few decades too retro to be taken seriously. I coughed, and she took a shameless glance at me, blinking rapidly. Why do girls blink so damn much? It was a mystery I had been trying to decipher my entire teenage life. I heard the far-off click of an audition door shutting, and the strawberry-blonde twitched nervously. I sat farther back in my chair, trying as hard as I could to go unnoticed.
A tall girl trotted carelessly around the corner, a violin swung around her shoulder and an arrogant grin on her face. The top few buttons of her dress shirt (which was, I daresay, much more attractive than mine) had fallen unbuttoned, and her sleeves were rolled fashionably up to her elbows. Her long brown hair floated in waves down to her waist, and her glasses were ominously shaded on only one side. I wondered why. She must have noticed me staring, and threw me a wink with her one visible eye before collapsing with a dramatic sigh next to a rather nervous-looking boy clutching a viola case.
The boy, whom I had barely noticed before, raised his head and trembled anxiously, hugging his instrument close to him. He was tall (taller than me at least, as most people were), but looked small and insignificant next to the young woman with the violin. He had big brown eyes that seemed to be frozen in a permanently shocked position, and short chestnut hair that had been shaved on either side of his head, in the shadow of a mohawk. He swallowed nervously and looked away again as the girl "accidently" bumped his knee with her violin case. I tried to blend into my chair, but I couldn't help observing.
"So, Tav," she smiled so wide it was somewhat frightening, "How'd ya do? Think you're moving up to be my principal buddy this year?" The pitch of her voice shot around dramatically, and she crossed her legs, bumping him again with her instrument, on purpose this time as far as I could tell.
"U-uh," He tried to scoot as far away from her as possible without seeming rude, but I could almost see him sweating. I crossed my arms indignantly. I hated rude people, although I was often classified as one myself.
"I don't really think I'm, uh, good enough for principal viola," he stammered, shrugging humbly. "But, um, thanks anyway, I guess..." He swallowed again, the girl scooting closer to him. She seemed to enjoy making him uncomfortable. I noticed the flute-girl beside me tensing up as well.
"Well," the violinist finally leaned back, smacking the poor violist in the face with a flip of her long brown hair, "I'm out of here." She bounced excitedly out of her seat, throwing her instrument haphazardly over her shoulder.
"Hope you chumps make the cut. See ya', wouldn't wanna be ya'!" She galloped gracefully around the corner, and I could hear her whistling for a while until her footsteps were swallowed by the echo of the corridor. The flute-girl relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief. The violist boy was stuck wide-eyed and slightly traumatized, but he leaned back in his chair and tried to calm himself down a bit. As a general rule, most violinists were pleasant and often very devoted people. Apparently not this one.
I tossed my bangs out of my face. "Who does that girl think she is, anyway?" I muttered aloud, not really expecting a response from either of of my fellow musicians. The boy let go of his breath, and his nervous eyes finally re-dilated. He hugged his instrument and turned to face me, in disbelief.
"Y-you mean you don't know who that was?!" he whispered harshly.
"No," I admitted.
He looked around, as if afraid to speak aloud. "That's Vriska Serket. She's been the concertmaster and president of the junior youth orchestra for three years!"
The flute-girl next to me nodded in agreement, her long hair waving back and forth. "She's a prodigy!" she added, unable to restrain herself from conversation any longer. "No violinist has been brave enough to cross her for years." The boy nodded earnestly.
"I went to school with her," he shrugged shyly, "I guess that's why everyone assumes I'm some sort of genius."
A few more kids piled in from the hallway, chattering and throwing their instrument cases lazily on the ground. A tall, lanky boy with thick, ebony curls tossed his trombone case next to my trumpet and nodded at me wearily. I was glad to see another brass player- I hadn't seen any others besides myself so far today. A cellist with a short, black bob and a surprisingly stylish skirt lugged her instrument into the hall and collapsed, exhausted, into a chair. She pulled out a tube of lip-gloss and reapplied some to her chapped lips. A very small girl, who also appeared on the younger side, bounced joyously into a chair, tossing her clarinet case on the ground beside her. A rather tired looking bassist followed her, beads of sweat falling down his forehead past his suspiciously dark shaded glasses. The clarinetist squealed excitedly at him, and he found a seat next to her. A nerdy-looking blonde kid with a bassoon and a ridiculous overbite shot me a nasty look as he wandered in, sitting as far away from me as he possibly could. I blushed with annoyance, which I was definitely prone to, being as pale as I was. Several more non-descript violinists made their way to the waiting area, as did a grumpy french hornist girl with a cane that I suspected of some kind of sight impediment.
It was starting to get crowded, but no one seemed to want to get closer than me than they had to (big crowds in tight spaces made me antsy), so there was an awkwardly empty seat right in between the flutist and I. That is, until a particularly showy jerk with thick black glasses and strange black-and-purple hair was excitedly waved over by the flute player and bravely took a seat next to me. The flute player hugged him, much less tense now, and he had to lay his oboe down on the floor before fully returning her embrace. I rolled my eyes and looked the other way until their affectionate greeting had been reduced to hand-holding. I hated couples.
There was a little bit of chatter, now that the area was full, but it was mostly just a collection of social awkward teenagers looking around nervously and silently refusing to acknowledge each other's existence. Everything quieted down immediately as the secretary adjudicator woman walked daintily around the corner, her high-heels clicking in a very professional manner. She held a clipboard in her hand, and I straightened my back and tucked my messy red hair behind one ear at the sight of it. The other kids were silent, each and every pair of eyes directed at the adjudicator. She cleared her throat and raised her eyebrow, adjusting her glasses and glancing down at her clipboard. She glanced skeptically up at us.
"It's good to see so many new faces in today's crowd," I felt her eyes drift over to me, "Along with some old ones. As you all know, this concludes our final stage of auditions. If your name is called, you have been graciously accepted and we expect you back here on September 2nd, 6:00 AM on the dot for room assignment and your brief orientation. If your name is not called, you are dismissed and encouraged to try again next year." She feigned a sad smile, but her face soon returned to it's usual neutral.
"I will call you by section," she pointed to the first line on her clipboard, for her own benefit. "Strings first." She cleared her throat again, rather dramatically.
"Vriska Serket," she raised her eyes. Wasn't she that violinist I had encountered earlier, who'd left already? The adjudicator didn't seem surprised as several people mumbled that she wasn't here. "Well," she continued, "Someone please confirm miss Serket's assumption that she has once again managed to claim the concertmaster seat for her division." Several of the violinists muttered annoyedly.
"Aradia Megido," she called, glancing up to scan the crowd of violins. I nervously looking girl in the back of the crowd shouldered her way to the front, her bushy charcoal hair brushing her fellow violinists and she went. She raised her hand timidly, but bravely. The adjudicator nodded. "It's nice to have you with us this year. We love new additions," she attempted to smile, "That is all for the violins." The rest of the violinists looked at each other in disbelief and began to wander away, dreams crushed. The adjudicator shrugged, numb to their pain.
"Tavros Nitram," she nodded kindly at the violist boy with the big brown eyes. He shifted excitedly and tried to smile himself. "It's nice to have you with us again this year, as our new principal viola." He smiled even wider.
"Kanaya Maryam," she looked up from her clipboard and the cellist with the black bobbed hair, who was raising her hand politely. "Welcome, dear." Kanaya nodded graciously, adjusting the green bow fixed in her hair.
"Equius Zahhak," she concluded matter-of-factly, and the bassist boy smiled while the small clarinetist girl grinned and tugged excitedly on his long black hair. To my surprise, he didn't seem annoyed, but welcomed her childish high-five. It made me wish I had bothered to make a friend in all of this business.
"Moving on to the woodwinds," she cued the rest of the rejected string players to gather up their items and be on their way. The flutist giggled excitedly and the oboe boy shushed her.
"Feferi Peixes," she announced and the flutist girl gasped and raised her hand as straight in the air as she could get it. The adjudicator looked slightly confused at the extent of her enthusiasm, but nodded politely at her and muttered some kind of welcome.
"Eridan Ampora," she recited, and the boy next to me with the oboe nodded politely in acceptance. "It's nice to have you back this year," The adjudicator smiled fondly at him. "Principal oboe, as expected." He didn't look awfully surprised that his name had been called. It looked like a lot of the crowd was the same as last year.
"Nepeta Leijon," she fumbled the last name a bit, but the little clarinetist with mousy brown hair and bright green eyes seemed too happy to mind. She giggled sweetly, and raised her hand, trying to maintain her composure. Her bassist friend shot her a congratulatory smile.
"Sollux Captor," she announced, in the voice that I recognized as the conclusion of a section. The blonde boy with the bassoon and the overbite smirked arrogantly, and raised his hand as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He glanced challengingly at me, and I think I blushed.
"Last but not least, brass," she banished the rest of the woodwinds that had been rejected, which looked like quite a few, and cleared her throat one final time in preparation of the final section. I swallowed nervously. It was disconcerting how little players were being admitted into each section. Out of a whole crowd, only four woodwind players had achieved a performance satisfactory enough to be accepted. The crowd of hopeful brass players that had assembled around me numbed my spirits.
"Gamzee Makara," she sighed, looking disappointedly at the list in front of her. The tall trombonist boy with the curly ebony hair grinned. "It's... nice to have you back," the adjudicator choked out, suggesting it was the least appealing thing she'd heard all day that this boy had been admitted for a second year.
"Terezi Pyrope," she glanced up, as did many of the other kids, to a girl leaning wearily against a wall, a pair of bright red glasses fixed to her face and a seeing-eye cane in her hand. Her french horn case sat on the ground by her feet. It took her a moment to realize her name had been called, but she raised her hand casually, unaware of the many strange stares she was receiving from the other musicians. "Congratulations," the adjudicator mumbled.
She coughed and glanced down at her list one last time. I pressed my hands together anxiously. This was my last chance. If my name didn't get called, I might as well forget about musicianship as a serious career choice and refocus on not failing my sophomore year of high school. I could feel the blood rushing to my face, I was so nervous.
"Karkat Vantas," she concluded, and I felt myself raise my hand before it even registered in by brain that my name had been called. She nodded at me, and I let go of the breath I'd been holding. Tavros smiled at me from his seat across the hall, and I thought I saw the bassoon player, Sollux, glance at me as well. She spared me a welcome speech, merely flipping her clipboard under one arm and clapping her hands together matter-of-factly. I tried not to smile, although I was beyond relieved.
"Alright. I expect all of you back here in a week exactly, at 6 AM sharp. Any lateness will not be tolerated. We aim to prepare you for the professional world, and that is exactly what we'll do."
I swear she looked at me funny, like she suspected me to object. I might have been a troublemaker in public school, but this was different. This was serious.
"Until then, you are dismissed."
