A la croisée des chemins

Summary : It's a story about a crossroad. There are three girls on it. The first lacks courage. Life's bigger than the second one. The third girl is stuck at a crossroads.

Disclaimer : I don't own Pitch Perfect and its characters.

"Look at this picture. You can see this part is, without any doubt, an anomaly on the karyotype. It could be dangerous…"

"Hey I didn't hear what he said, could you pass me your sheet a minute please?"

"Here" I respond, giving him my notes. He takes it after a grateful nod. Some moments later he pushes it back to me. I take it and continue to write whatever the teacher said, replacing my headphones in the same place. After a while it's just automatic. I don't even give a thought at what I write. There would be no point since I'll have to know it all by heart. It doesn't matter this year if you understand what you learn as long as you can recall it in finals.

"And here we can see several methods to study the nucleus of a standard cell of the human system…"

This girl at my side elbows me: "Could explain to me what he meant by …" I nod then proceed to clarify what was the point. She returns to the lesson, listening closely, her posture hunched forward, her eyes not quitting the screen even to check what she's actually typing on her laptop. That can-I-have-your-sheet guy is not as focused and eager to copy the course but he's altogether bent on doing his duty : listen, write, learn and check the hour on his phone, doubtlessly praying for the hour to advance quicker as so he can go have lunch. I let my eyes scan the rest of the room. Some students are on their phones, others whispering within their groups and plenty of others are focused on the lesson. I catch the eye of some girl, glancing my way with compassion. She's also suffering here, I send her back a small rictus and she nods and then with a sigh she returns to her notebook. I turn my mind to the screen and see I've missed quite a bit. I glance at my neighbor's laptop and write what's missing. I hear what the teacher say through the speakers but I don't listen nor comprehend it. Seems my focus is gone for the moment. Never minding it I continue to take notes trying to force myself to care about cells, chromosomes and anomalies leading to cancer and the likes. I can always read it later.

It works for a while; I even find some things interesting, waking up my care about these things a little, my feet taping on the rhythm of the music blasting in my ears. The girl in front of me gives me an annoyed look and I stop. It's nervous. I can't stop myself from doing it, but I can be conscious enough of it to make it soundless. It never has been as bad as it is now, though.

"Hence the form of this cytoplasm and its nucleus…"

What am I doing here?

It hits me like lightning, freezing me some seconds, rending me motionless. And as if a dam breaks, my thoughts emerge, the resentment accompanying it stronger than I ever felt, anger twirling and mixing within it dancing along the sweet bitterness.

What am I doing here? I don't care about the course. I don't even hate it. I just don't care about it. Like I could be in a lecture about knitting socks and it would be the same to me. I don't actually give a damn about this. Again, why am I here? Why am I sitting here whereas I could be somewhere else? I could be anywhere, really. But I'm here. Why? I know I have reasons, sensible reasons and mature justifications. They're not enough, oddly, not anymore.

I want to go.

And then, as it crashes upon me, I'm restless. I can't stay in place, can't stand still anymore, I squirm, change position restlessly and tap my fingers on the wood next to my sheet. The seconds seem to have become hours since I last checked its definition. It has awoken something within me. I feel confined, almost claustrophobic in this gigantism room filled with students. I'll suffocate if I stay in this place any longer. I can't breathe.

I want to run.

I rein myself, shame and disappointment keeping me in my seat. It should be interesting, I have to love this. I chose this. This is just normal. Others students may have this feeling as well. It's just because I'm hungry or perhaps it's because I've been sitting in this chair for hours now. So I watch closely others freshmen - earning me some suspicious glances. Sure, some are agitated but their faces are concentrated, and some people have their eyes straying but they could be tired of this. It's been hours after all.

I want to run.

I try to catch the attention of some childhood friends which were close to me eons ago. They smile at me, sympathy and encouragement filling their gazes. Perhaps they do understand, perhaps they can see what's beyond and find it worth. I'll try to see if it's just me or everyone go through this. I'm not special so it has to be a fleeting sentiment people go through. After all lessons are not always fascinating, I know that. And I've always been a good student, it should suit me.

So I wait. I just want to run so badly.

While I'm waiting, I speak about lectures with my fellow students. They love this first year of college. Medicine isn't always fun – especially the first year where it's just survival of the fittest; but it's altogether what they were expecting. They're motivated to go through this year and be of the few hundreds who got to pass on the next year. They don't love every subject, but the pros are overwhelming the cons. They ask if I'm alright, if it pleases me as much as them. It's not. I answer yes to both. It's not their business and I want to belong here if nowhere else. I need this. Everyone expects me to be like a fish in water here. Expecting me to become a doctor and to go to others countries to help people, becoming a doctor without borders. Because what else could I be?

I try to speak of it to my dad. He's the one who's been supporting and even sometimes pushy when I began to tell everyone I wanted to be a doctor. And he was also the parent that failed me less and might have been one of the teachers of the college I go to. I tell him I'm not sure anymore. He tells me I'm depressed, that I'm new and I couldn't be despising it as much as I say. It's just that it's all new and I am scared of failing. It's just one year, after it's going to be better, I'm going to do what I want. He tells me it's normal when one leaves home – which home I whisper to him. He doesn't respond. But it's going to be ok, he tells me, I have to continue. I have to work for once. I have to force myself, to push myself, because I have apparently always wanted it.

Except that I don't.

But he's family at the end of the day. Even if it doesn't mean much to me. It's loyalty. Thus I tell him he's probably right. I hate disappointing people. I've been let down to many times for being indifferent to it. Doesn't matter I've always been fascinated with music. Always been passionate about learning instruments or that I could spend hours behind my computer arranging and rearranging some mixes. It doesn't matter that it won't make me happy to stay here. It's the only family that I have.

So I wait. I figure I'll fake it until I can actually love it. (But I still want to go)

Apparently my faking it is quite limited. A month and a week, that's all I'm able to endure. Not as badass as I would have liked to be, pretty pathetic even.

One morning during that damned lecture on cells, I just can't anymore. I stand up – not even attracting surprised looks from others students - people come and go all the time and there's not even a teacher present in the room during the lecture. I'm not yelling, I'm not expressing my resentment in a drama queen way. It's so simple. I just quit the room and walk fast toward the exit. And when I pass through it, it's as if a burden has been lifted of my shoulders and on my neck, causing me to actually have my head held high and proud. And it's so exhilarating, so freeing to be here, outside in the cold rain of autumn. The rain never smelling as sweet as it is now. I've never felt so liberated before this moment. And I would have laughed if I've been the kind of person to be expressive in front of strangers. But then I don't care. I'm laughing and breathing and then just coughing – because you apparently can't do both at the same time. It's painful and my throat aches but it feels so great to finally get rid of that numbness which has been a such faithful companion. I just feel limitless. For once.

And I run. At last.

I don't intend of ever coming back.

Of course, I came back. I wouldn't have let my trusty headphones be forgotten on the sticky floor in this freaking room. They've been so dear to me.

I tell my father. Tell him I want to be an artist. That I want to sing, to play, and to create ways for me to express myself all the things that I've been unable to with words. I tell him that I crave to study music, and literature and sports and everything that is not actually devoted to giving up my life for others. I tell him that for once in my life, I want to live for myself and do things because they're stupid and careless and entirely irresponsible for someone like me. I want to feel nineteen.

"And what would you actually do?" he asks me succeeding in sounding both disappointed and disdainful.

"I want…"

"Not what you want. But what are you going to do? Want and need won't lead you anywhere and it will certainly not pay you nor give you a place to live or even dispose food in you fridge. Stop being naive and childish. That's not the Beca I know, or raised."

"It's not as if you raised me at all." Resentment and sarcasm flowing from my voice before I could stop it. I wouldn't have anyway. That's just the truth. Harsh and painful.

"Don't speak to me like that. You know with the divorce and Sheila and the kids that…" Hence why he doesn't deny it.

"That you couldn't afford me time. I know, it was reserved for the stepmonster."

He sighs "You know it wasn't like that, you were already grown up enough to not need me anymore. Understand me, grasshopper, I've always lived for your mother and you. I just needed to breathe a little."

I don't respond. I don't want to comprehend the implications or consider it.

"Well, I quit this. I'm going to move away from here."

"You can't really do that. You've nothing. I'm stopping paying for your bills, kid."

"Bye Dad" I say a little bit triumphant hanging up on him. I hate to consider myself childish but it felt good to have the last word for once.

I stand in my flat behind the kitchen counter wondering what I'm going to actually do. I like being a student. Just not here and not what I was doing. I figure I'll find something along the way. I start packing my stuff, taking only the indispensable, including my laptop and my instruments. When I'm done, I see a dozen of boxes surrounding me. It is way too much for my car. She isn't really that big, a tiny car I bought myself with summer jobs. I have literally no idea why I've got so much stuff. It's really useless and I hate the major party of this. Stepmonster gave it to me; she wanted to get rid of these things and I as well, so why not kill two birds with one stone. I snort, I've grown attached to some of this stuff. It was horribly out of place in this flat. I stare at them wondering what to do with all this stuff since I can't take them and can't bring myself to abandon all of this. Old things that have been patched up too much time, overused. Like this square mirror breached in the lower left corner or this old bunny plush that has been one of the boy's when they were little – stepmonster didn't want her children to rely on plush for comfort so here it was, with me. I make my decision as I take one box containing my instruments and DJ stuff. One bag with my laptop and others things. I charge another pack on my bag, all necessities. I go to near the door of the flat then I as I watch a last time around, my eyes fall again on the plush and the broken mirror. On an impulse I pick them up and put them in my backpack.

"We're together on this shit"

I arrive at the faculty a little past noon. It's sunny and my eyes hurt from the drive and the brightness of the day. I just wish I knew where I put my sunglasses when I packed. I drove all night and I spent all morning in a coffee shop finalizing my inscription, hence the hurting. Thanks free Wi-Fi. I'm so tired. That's why when I arrive on campus, all I want to do is find my room, scare my roommate away to finally be able to grab some hours of sleep. Simple enough. Of course, it doesn't happen the way I wanted it. Why does it keep surprising me though?

First, I can't find parking places on campus. It must be moving day, because the parking is full, a lot of places have been taken by trucks. Seriously, how can you need so much stuff that you would require a truck. It's dumb. You don't own a mansion on campus. I have to park my car far away from my future building. It gives me two choices. One, I do the sensible thing and do two trips to take all my stuff without it being in danger of me. I snort, who I am kidding. I choose obviously the second choice. It isn't responsible and I might resemble a donkey the way I'm loaded. Stupid. I'm on my way to my building, trying not to stray away on the path. It's a little hard since I don't really know which one is my building.

"Hey need help Cinderella?" I turn my head to see a car stopped at my side. The guy behind the wheel staring at me, smile on his face. I ignore him and continue walking. However, unfortunately, he doesn't.

"It's not fair to you to bear all of this stuff. Your sister should help you. Do you need a lift?" He seems genuine, his voice smiling. Voice smiling? What I'm even talking about? But it's not that which makes me stop.

"Wait what?" He looks at me with some confusion. "My sister?"

"Sorry I assumed, your brother then? Well it's worse, he shouldn't exploit you this way. What are you even doing here? Has not high school already begun? I'm sorry, I'm quite at loss with dates." He checks on his phone. "Ah, yes, you should be in school right now. Your brother must be an awesome guy if you miss school for him. Might not even be…." He stops rambling when he sees my irritation and confusion.

"Pardon me?" I struggle to stay polite.

"Yeah, I know, it's not really my business, I'm sorry. I'm quite noisy, you know. But if you tell me where your brother is, I can give you a lift and help you move his things. I also want to meet what kind of guy lets his tiny sister do all the work for him. I mean, you're practically crumbling under all this weight." He gets out his car walking toward me. "I'm Jesse by the way. I'm a freshman here so I don't really know all campus, but I figure I can help you. Beside it's not a problem."

"Would you please stop talking a second?"

He flinches. He actually flinches. And he just looks like I kicked his puppy. Great. Hell, I didn't even raise my voice. I was being pretty nice. As nice as I can be. I've been up since yesterday morning and I don't have the patience to support him.

"I'm so sorry, I tend to ramble, like a lot. I know it's not really cool and that chicks prefer mysterious super dark men but I can't help it. I seem to be doomed to stay the best friend character all my life. It doesn't even bother me, not so much, at least. You know in movies, the guy who's always there for the girl and she finds out at the end of the film that he was always there…"

"Please stop" I raise my hand which is holding my laptop bag and a cup of so-much-needed-now-coffee to urge him to stop saying all the things passing through his mind. I don't even think I have understood all the things he has told me. "And chicks prefer to have their sleep before indulging someone in a conversation so early in the morning."

"It is the afternoon."

"Sure doesn't seem like it." I retort agitating my hands. "I'm quite tired, I just want to find the dorm and go to sleep". My coffee slips from between my hand falling on the floor with a light sound splashing it with the little rest of liquid that was in the cup. Sigh. At least I didn't lose much. As I lean to take it back, he does the same and our heads just collide, sending me on my back with the weight of my stuff. Ouch.

"Damn, dude" I groan "Couldn't just leave me alone? You had to assault me with your words and then you didn't find it enough and decided to head-butt me?"

"Calm down woman, I wanted to pick your cup not murder you."

"You might as well…"

"Dramatic much? Do…"

"Stupid much?" He ignores my interruption. So he's actually able to ignore me. That's a useful skill and it's unfortunate for me that he has not been using it since the beginning.

"Do you want a lift to your brother's or not?"

I want to sleep. And to be left alone.

"Whatever floats your boat."

He nods and proceeds to take some of my bags – with so much less struggle than I, it's quite shameful – and puts them in the trunk of his car, leading me then to the passenger seat to the other side of the car in silence. He's gaining some friendships points here.

"Where are you headed, Cinderella?"

"Barker Hall. Cinderella?"

"I still don't know your name" he says focusing his eyes on the road, now that he possesses an address to go to, a frown making its way to his face.

"Beca"

"Well Beca, it's nice to finally meet you."

"Same." And it's unexpectedly genuine. He has to hear it because he smiles like he's the only beacon of hope and light around. It's quite too bright for this day. Or any day to be honest. He stays fairly quiet after that, humming silently focusing on the traffic. Nothing notable happens during the rest of the ride, allowing me to put my head against the window, closing my eyes and listening to low music coming from the radio.

When we arrive, he shakes softly my shoulder, making me cringe at the unexpected contact, I recoil, escaping his grasp. He looks a little startled but seems to restrain himself from demanding answers for his smile is now a little tight and still. I shrug and he accepts that, he doesn't have a choice though, we have only known each other for twenty minutes or so. We're not BFF, besties or whatever the kids call it these days. I don't owe him anything. Still, I look at him and convey a smirk his way. He's been out of his way for me.

"Let's go Jesse"

After that he helps me take my stuff out, putting it in front of his car. There's a bit of playful jibs and not as playful punches in the shoulder when he mocks me for being overbearing with my laptop. It's not me being protective or paranoid, not really, I just don't trust people to know how important it is for me and even less to be careful handling it, hence why I hastily take the bag from him when I happen to notice it in his hands. He then insists to help me find my brother (?) and his room, but whatever he means by that I refuse and thank him for giving me a lift and a hand for the moving. He then makes a movie reference – which I don't get, and go back to his car, singing noisily a song which fades progressively as he drives away.

I stand in front of Baker Hall observing and analyzing it for the first time. It's not that big of a structure, Barden's not really the most populated college; its size is pretty decent though according to the campus I went through. Baker Hall is neither magnificent nor extraordinary. It seems homey. Maybe I'm biased since it'll be my home for the four next years. I don't have a choice, it's not like I have other places I can call home, even if I didn't choose it. Nevertheless, I'm quite appreciating the sight before me. I wouldn't have picked it, but the activity and buzzing is somewhat comforting. And it would become pretty annoying once the novelty of the move wore off.

Sighing I start to collect my bags once more this day. I just want it to be over so I can sleep already. Once I've taken hold of everything little thing I deemed necessary to bring with me – did I need as much stuff as I thought? – I make my way to the dorm, hoping to find my room quickly.

AN : Hey, thanks for reading ! (: