Something that popped into my head. Let me know what you think!
I.
Rachel thinks her dads are the only ones not surprised by her decision to go to Sarah Lawrence.
She gets into NYU of course, and she's quick to correct anyone who assumes otherwise, but she doesn't feel quite ready to tackle the big, bad city.
She likes that, for now, its fifteen miles away, at her beck and call, instead of the other way around.
She's also the daughter of a lawyer and a doctor, and while she has always had dreams of Broadway stardom, the more practical side of her wants to get an actual degree, succeed in something other than what she knows she already kicks ass at. Tisch, she knows, will ensure that her whole life becomes performing, and maybe her dads have made Shelby's failure into too much of a cautionary tale, but it's one that she feels that she must heed.
Plus, she steps foot on the Sarah Lawrence campus one snowy day in February and immediately falls in love. She can see herself living there for four years, and, even though she doesn't mention it to anyone until she has the acceptance letter in her hand, her mind is made up long before then.
It ends up being just as great as she imagines. She and her roommate immediately get along, and their small suite feels almost as much like home as her huge bedroom back in Ohio. For the first time in her life, she makes friends easily, and she has a core group of people in her dorm that she regularly hangs out with.
She loves the school's focus on academics and their mandatory faculty tutorials. Never before has she met people who are so willing to challenge her ideas, who unearth opinions and beliefs she didn't even know she possessed. The daughter of two gay dads, she has always known that Lima was a small town, but she had never realized just how closed-minded it was until now.
The best part is that Sarah Lawrence still emphasizes the performing arts, so in addition to her regular classwork, Rachel also sings in choir and joins the theater group. Thinking of all the famous people that have graduated before her fills her with a sense of belonging, and she just knows that one day she will be one of them. It's all so perfect that most of the time she pats herself on the back for a decision well made.
Intro to World Music is not one of those times. She has to take a foundation art course, and the photography class she wants is filled by seniors scrambling to fulfill the requirement before graduation. As a freshman who is only in her spring semester, she could probably wait, but foundation art is a prerequisite for many upper level film classes that she's thinking about for next year. So, Intro to World Music it is.
Except, she knows music. It's been her entire life since even before she could talk, and she shouldn't have to sit through an introductory course on it. The morning of the first class, bored, she flips through the syllabus as she waits for the teacher to arrive and realizes that 70% of her grade is a 10-page paper, and the other 30% is participation in class discussions. She decides then and there that, at the very least, this will be the easiest A she's ever earned.
There are twelve people total in the class - six guys, six girls - and everyone grabs a seat at the round, conference style table. The regular chatter fills the room. No one has ever heard of the teacher before, and as they all talk about the syllabus requirements, everyone seems to be of the same mind: this course will be a breeze. Seriously, half of their homework assignments are almost exclusively Youtube videos.
At exactly 9:30 am, their teacher walks in, and Rachel comes face to face with Jesse St. James for the first time.
His commanding presence immediately quiets the room, and Rachel overhears one of the girls whisper to her neighbor, "He's cute."
Cute is an understatement, Rachel thinks. He has clear blue eyes, dark curly hair, and he looks delicious in simple dark jeans and a navy sweater. She has always thought that she had a type. Finn, Mike, and Puck were all different races, sure, but they were all jocks in the glee club: built, tall, and buff with singing voices that could melt her.
Mr. St. James is taller than average, and slight. He's definitely not a jock, but she can't classify him, and that intrigues her. He has the good looks of an actor, but he doesn't exactly scream theater geek. She's lost in these thoughts until he shrugs his sweater off and she catches a bit of skin. It's immediately apparent how toned and fit he must be under all those layers.
She swallows hard and forces herself to listen to what he is saying. She will not let this easy A go simply because she has a bit of (off-limits) eye-candy in class. She tells herself that she is just desperate. It's been a long time since she made out with anyone, and she's probably just getting antsy.
She takes a sly look around the room and sees that all of the girls in the class are probably having the same impure thoughts that she just cured herself of. She decides then and there that she will be the exception: she will not be just another girl who fawns over him. She is only here to get her A, her prerequisite, and, then, move on with her life.
She tunes back in to him. He has foregone the deskchair and perched himself on the edge of the table, hands tucked casually into his pockets as he talks. He is a graduate student, he explains, not a professor, and this is his first time teaching. He brushes over his past except to say that he plays five instruments and that he once made some good money by writing a song that he promises they all know, but can't reveal the identity of without embarrassing himself. His academic focus is on South American tribal music, and he and his girlfriend, Carmen, lived in a remote Amazonian village for two months while they made a series of recordings for a paper they co-authored.
The atmosphere in the room tangibly deflates at the mention of his girlfriend, and one of the guys in the room laughs quietly, hiding it behind his sleeve. Rachel thinks that Jesse notices, that he probably dropped his girlfriend's name in purposefully, to stave off any unwanted attention from the girls in the room. She admires his commitment and his effortlessness. She wants to laugh at the other girls' surprise and disappointment. At least she had rid herself of her short-lived attraction to him.
Of course, her attraction doesn't fade, because, quite frankly, he amazes her. It's obvious that music is his passion. She thought she knew music. She knows the scales, the notes, and the beats. She knows the power of a flawless performance and a standing ovation. Yet, he knows all of this and more. He can speak to how music is used in other parts of the world: how it has a sensual, almost mystic ability that he's witnessed with shamans in the Caribbean or field workers in China, mothers as they nurse their babies in villages in Africa, and churches in the deep, rural south.
She's never had this kind of reaction to anyone before. With every boyfriend that she has ever had, she was attracted to him physically, and their relationship grew from there. She's pretty sure that there was never attraction based on personality or intellect on either side. She's never had that feeling that she has with Jesse: that she could listen to him talk for hours about things that never interested her until he mentioned them.
As a result of his dedication and enthusiasm, their classes are always interesting. One day he comes in, plays Mandy Moore's song Candy, and simply says "Discuss." The class is still going when time ends and the teacher of the next class is banging on the door, instructing them to leave. She's smiling and laughing with another girl as they leave, and, when she glances back at him, he's smiling softly to himself, confident in a job well done.
Yet, despite the fact that she's learning more and enjoying every minute of it, she still sticks to her guns. Four weeks into the class, he has them present their ideas for their final projects. Each of them has an individual conference scheduled with him, but he wants them to keep each other informed about what they're working on.
She's the last to go, and she confidently tells the rest of the class that she is planning a comparative analysis of the French and Broadway productions of one of Sondheim's greatest works. The rest of her class seems to think it's a good idea, but Jesse has a slight frown on his face.
As everyone else packs up, she's waiting for him to comment on her project, and it's the first time she's seen him look hesitant. "It sounds like a good paper, Rachel," he finally states, "But don't you think it's been done before?"
"I…" She doesn't know how to respond to that. She didn't realize how much she had wanted to impress him until she failed to.
"It's a comparative analysis of a domestic and an international work of music," she states glumly, paraphrasing the words from the syllabus, "I thought that it would fulfill the assignment."
"It does," he states plainly, "But it's a bit boring, don't you think? Has nothing we've talked about these last few weeks interested you at all?"
She wants to tell him that it does interest her, that she downloaded many of the songs he had assigned to her IPod, that she listens to them frequently at the gym, changing from African drums to Indonesian tribal chants when she switches machines. She likes all of it, but she loves Broadway, and she's never been one for stepping outside her comfort zone.
"It does interest me," she defends, "But Broadway's my thing, and that's what I want to write my paper on."
He seems impressed by her conviction, and, it wasn't what she was hoping for, but she'll take it. He smiles comfortingly at her, she tries to ignore the fact that she just called Broadway "her thing," and then they both pack up and leave the room in complete silence.
She cries herself to sleep that night, because he called her boring, and, despite all of that, she still thinks the world of him.
II.
She knows that many of the girls in her class are using this individual conference as a way to flirt with Jesse, but she just wants to be done with it. She's not going to change her mind. Broadway is who she is. He'll just have to deal with it.
He's playing the guitar when she walks into his office, and it takes him a minute to realize that he's not alone.
She doesn't mind. She watches intently as he plucks at the guitar, how his curls fall into his eyes as he hunches over the instrument.
"Oh, Rachel, hey," he says when he realizes that she is there.
"I didn't mean to interrupt," she states uncertainly, more timid-sounding than she has ever felt.
He dismisses her comment with a wave of his hand. "I was expecting you."
Without much fanfare, she describes the same project in more detail than she was able to in class. She found the French version on Youtube, and her dads are sending her their copy of the Broadway stage version so she can start her research for the paper. Given the last time, she's not expecting a very favorable reaction from him.
He's watching her talk with a slight smirk, and, within five seconds of her being done he tells her: "You're stubborn, but I can respect that."
Her mouth falls open, because she hadn't expected that sort of comment from him.
"Jesse…" she begins to react. He's told them all to call him Jesse, but his first name feels too casual, almost dangerous to her all of a sudden.
He gets up quickly, goes to the large bookshelf against the back wall, pulling books down from the top shelves. She follows his movements and immediately glimpses something that makes her gasp.
"Is that real?"
He turns back to her, his arms full of books, and follows her gaze to the award sitting at the very top of the shelf. He sighs, and deposits the books on his desk, reaches up to pull the Tony down from its perch.
"Yes. Best featured actor in a musical, 2003," he states matter-of-factly, handing it to her by the base. "I was just a kid, 19."
It pains her that he thinks of himself as a kid at 19 when she's only been 18 for a couple of months. But then again, given their current situations, age difference is the least of her worries.
"Then you're a hypocrite," she says quickly, loudly, without thinking, "Because you can't tell me that this doesn't mean anything to you, that this wasn't one of the happiest moments of your life. You wouldn't have it here otherwise."
She can tell immediately that he didn't take well to her outburst. "I am not a hypocrite," he says crossly, "Forgive me for trying to teach you that there is so much more out there than some stage in one city, in one country, the same songs over and over, night after night. Music is universal, Rachel. There's more to life than Sondheim."
She feels like crying, because no teacher, ever, has made her feel this way. She settles for biting her lip until he tells her she can go.
Meanwhile, he tries to regain his temper, taking long breaths to calm himself. "I'm sorry."
She nods solemnly, and watches as he rifles through one of his bottom drawers and comes up with a small zip drive.
"These books will help with your research," he tells her, "But I want you to listen to this mix as well. Just humor me." He attempts a smile for her benefit, and she tries one back, but inside her heart is breaking. She can never seem to get it right with him.
As she leaves, he calls out, "I look forward to your comments on that mix."
She cries again that night, and she hates herself for thinking that him being a Tony-winner makes him all the more attractive.
III.
There's a campus fundraiser one Saturday night, and she and her friends all go because there isn't much else to do when it's this cold out. It's twenty dollars per song for karaoke, which is ludicrous, but they put together and sign her up anyways, because Rachel bringing the house down and impressing their peers will be more than enough entertainment for them tonight. She gladly agrees. It's been a long time since she's had the stage solo, and she's missed it.
She debates over what to sing, and it isn't until she sees him, with his pretty, voluptuous, girlfriend in tow, that she finally makes up her mind. It's completely transparent and she knows he will get the message, but she can't bring herself to shy away from it once she's decided.
So, she sings Let me Entertain You from Gypsy, Sondheim of course, and catches his eye, as he stops in the crowd to listen. She knows how captivating her voice is; she's been told time and time again, but it's nice to see it every now and then. He hardly looks at his girlfriend when she signals that she's going to get something to drink, because his eyes are riveted on her.
At the end of it, she wants to wink at him, but she won't, can't be that girl. No one else needs to be in on this. He gets the point, and right now, that's enough for her. She feels bold, but she's glad that none of her friends, no one else will be able to tell that, even if it was just in her head, that was the most blatant, the most flirtatious she has ever been with any man.
Later, she walks by his table. He's alone and he raises his bottle of beer to her in acknowledgement. She smiles, and, after a long moment, he smiles back.
A few days afterward, she finally gets up the courage to stop by his office again.
This time, she doesn't have an appointment, and he's not expecting her when she walks into his office.
"The Israeli rap," she says without introduction. "I listened to it on repeat for hours."
He pushes his chair away from his keyboard to face her as she stands by the door. "Good choice," he says, "That's one of my favorites too." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "But I thought that Sondheim was a given after your performance last weekend. There's no doubt about it, Rachel. You belong on Broadway."
She tucks her hair behind her ears and searches for a chair to sit in. "Thank you," she says, fighting a blush. "But you were right. I can do that in my sleep," she states confidently. "I've never heard anything like that rap song before. I have two gay dads, one of them is black, the other Jewish, and ... it just spoke to me."
It's the first time that she's been this excited about a piece of music that wasn't glee club or musical theater related. The mix intrigued her. She could tell that he had carefully selected each piece of music, even if she hadn't been able to decipher the relationship amongst the songs.
He seems happy, and she's glad that she was the one that was able to make him smile. "I'd like to change my paper topic, if that's okay."
IV.
He gives her some more books, as well as the name and contact info for another grad student that produces raps similar to the one on the mix. It means more work on her part for the project, but she thinks that it will be worth it, and that she will enjoy it.
After their rocky beginning, they seem to have stumbled upon some sort of ceasefire. Their interactions in class are always professional, but every now and then she will see him around campus, and she will wave, and he will smile and wave back. One day, she is seated in a campus café, reading, and he spots her first. He waves at her and gestures to her that he is about to buy the specific bottle of Honest Tea that she always has with her in class. It sends a shudder through her that he noticed.
He's always alone, which gives her more hope than it should. His girlfriend lives in Bogota, she learns one day in class, and he will be visiting her over the long weekend, during which most of the students will be preparing for their upcoming midterm exams.
She's shocked to see him on the Friday night before midterms at the market right across the street from the campus library.
"I thought you were in Bogota," she asks, when she literally bumps into him in front of the freezer of energy drinks.
He looks nervous, which is not a word she would normally associate with him. "Change of plans," he answers vaguely, but she can tell what he is getting at, and she must be the most evil person in the world because her heart soars.
"Heartbreak makes for good songwriting," he jokes weakly, "Heartbreak and Redbull."
"I think you need something stronger than Redbull," she counters. "I wrote some of my best stuff when I was…" She trails off when it finally catches up to her that even though this is Jesse, she's still speaking to her teacher, and it's probably not the best idea to tell him of her escapades with alcohol in high school.
He laughs, because he can tell how she planned to finish that sentence, but he saves her the embarrassment. "You write too?" he questions her.
She nods, and grabs her own Redbull from the freezer. "Sometimes. You're right. Heartbreak is key. My original song about my ex-boyfriend won our glee club Regionals my junior year."
He seems to second-guess himself before he asks her the next question. "Does it help?"
She smiles, more to the freezer than to him. "It was the best thing for me. It made me realize that I could try as hard as I could, but if I was the only one trying, then there was no way that I was going to make our relationship work."
"Sounds familiar," he states softly. "She won't leave Bogota, and I won't give up my career and move there."
She turns to him. "My song was called Get it Right. No Sondheim, but I still think it was genius."
They both laugh as they walk to the counter, where he grabs her can of Redbull and pays for it along with his, though neither of them discuss it.
At the exit of the market, he's going left and she's going right. He looks at her a long time before he wishes her good luck with midterms. She rests her hand on his arm. "You too," she states, and she knows it makes no sense. She can't exactly say what she wants to say: please get over her quickly, even though she's not sure she has a chance anyway.
V.
They all turn in their final papers, and Jesse decides to throw a small party so that they can share the conclusions of their projects with the rest of the class. It's hard to find a day during finals week that works for everyone's schedules, so he reserves the classroom for lunch, orders sandwiches, drinks, and a couple of bottles of wine for the graduating seniors, tells people that they can leave when they have to.
Obviously, Rachel arrives early and stays late, unwilling to leave and admit to herself that his class, and seeing him every week is finally over. She has company, too. Many of the girls in her class have the same idea, and she wonders if this spark between her and Jesse is a figment of her imagination, something that maybe the other girls are imagining too.
She and some of the other underage students make a playful attempt for him to serve them wine, but he's serious about it, actually carding two juniors who he doesn't believe are 21. They've become a close knit group, and they all laugh and promise to keep in touch, making plans for a folk concert series in the city next week.
It takes a while, but, eventually, she is the last one there, the entire music department clear, and she offers to help him clean up. They do, and then all that is left is ¾ of a bottle of red wine; the top nowhere to be found.
"You're going to have to throw it out or finish it," she tells him with a frown. "I know which I would recommend."
He sighs and looks at her, actually checks behind his shoulder before he pours two party cups full of wine. "You tell anyone about this…"
He doesn't finish his threat because she giggles and draws a cross over her heart. "I won't."
It's the confirmation she needed that he wants this too, but now that she's gotten it, she wants him to make the first move.
He seems to be stalling.
They retreat to his office down the hall, and to his couch, him closing the door behind them.
They talk some more, and, though she's drinking slowly, she's made it through half of her cup of wine.
Time is running out, as is her patience, and her sobriety.
She switches her wine to her left hand, reaches with her right to play with the curl above his eye that has fascinated her for months.
He closes his eyes at the gesture, but still makes no movement.
"What are you thinking?" she breathes, because, ever since she's met him, its what she's always wanted to know.
"This is so wrong," he states, but doesn't say anything more, and doesn't move away from her touch.
She moves her fingers from his hair, and grabs his hand, resting her cup on the ledge behind the couch, where he's already put his.
He opens his eyes, and he mirrors her previous action, stroking her hair with his free hand.
"You want me," she confirms.
He nods, ever so slightly, and it's just enough to be what she wants.
"Jesse, please," she whines, "I want you too, so please, you have to do something."
His eyes widen at her admission, and it's a complete shift from just a moment before. He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her into his lap, his lips on hers before she can even register that they've moved.
It is, quite literally, the best kiss she's ever had, and it's over way too soon.
He breaks away, and rests his forehead against hers. "I can't believe I just did that."
"You're not my teacher anymore," she reminds him, the words familiar because she's been repeating them to herself ever since she turned her paper in. "So do it again."