Chapter 2
"Thanks for stopping in," Christine said, with a small amount of false cheer. Those particular patrons had been rude about selection of books available and the service she provided. Christine worked at a local secondhand bookstore, and it was an out of the way place tucked in between a hipster coffee bar and bakery called "The Croissant Moon" and an apartment complex where Christine lived in number 209.
Christine watched the neon red-and-blue 'open' sign flicker a little bit. This wasn't the nicest part of town, and anytime the weather got nasty, it was questionable if the power would stay on or not. It was surprisingly stormy out for September, and the front door rattled a little each time there was a gust of wind.
Christine puttered around for the remainder of her shift, tucking books back onto shelves here and there. Soon enough her shift ended, and she flipped off the lights and locked up the store behind her. On nights like tonight, Christine was glad that she lived so close to her job, and campus. She mistrusted the dark enough already, and the bad weather only made it worse.
She hurriedly entered in the keycode to let herself into the building, and shut it behind herself firmly before making her way up the wet staircase. The overhang provided little relief from the wind or the rain, so Christine was practically pushed up against the walls in an effort to remain dry.
Once inside her apartment, Christine kicked off her shoes and set her bag down by the kitchen table. She took her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and went to turn on some music, but was surprised to find that she had a new voicemail. She put the phone up to her hear to listen to it.
"Hey, Christine, it's Mom. Um, it's been a while since we've talked, so I thought I'd give you a call. Call me when you get this."
Christine pulled the phone away and squinted at it. Her mother never called unless she wanted something, or - no, that was pretty much it. She sighed. The call would be made after she had made herself a bowl of soup. She took a can out of the cabinet and opened it before pouring it into a bowl. She was just about to pop it into the microwave when her phone rang. 'Mother Dearest', her screen glowed, and Christine answered it, simultaneously placing her dinner in.
"Hey, Mom, what's up?" Christine asked, noticing she had gotten some broth on her thumb. She sucked on her thumb and wiped it on her jeans while listening to her mother.
"I'm not interrupting anything, am I, Christine?" Her mother sounded nervous. What was going on.
"Nope, just making some soup and I'm getting ready to do some homework. What's wrong? You sound nervous."
"Oh, nothing. Nothing." Christine could hear her take a big breath on the other end of the line. "I'm engaged."
Christine didn't know how to respond. The microwave beeped in the background, but it was ignored. She should say something. She should be happy for her mother.
"...Oh. That's great, Mom." Her voice was monotonous in her own ears, and she cringed. Her mother was obviously nervous enough as it is. "I'm really happy for you!" That was better.
The other end was silent, too. This was awkward.
"Do you want me to come home next weekend?"
"Sure, that would be great. Dom's been wanting to meet you for some time now, I just.." the sentence trailed off.
"It's okay, Mom. I'm happy for you, really. You deserve it." Christine smiled. "I'll see you next weekend."
Christine was completely distracted the next day in class, and it showed. Even Meg noticed.
"Hey, Christine, you okay?"
"Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just got a lot going on, is all." She shrugged and twiddled her pencil between her fingers while she waited for class to start. She had decided to sit in exactly the same spot as last history class, and Meg had placed herself right next to her. Meg's hair was in a ponytail again, lower today.
"Okay, well, after class I'll take you out to coffee and you can tell me about it." Meg placed a hand over Christine's to stop her fiddling, and Christine looked at the freckled girl with surprise.
"That would actually be great, thank you," Christine said smiling a little.
At that moment, Dr. Destler strode into class and wasted no time in jumping right in. Christine observed mostly, and took extensive notes.
"Miss Daaé, can you tell me who Guillaume de Machaut was?"
Christine's eyes snapped up at him and she paused for a moment. "He was an medieval poet and composer. Important to both, so much so that you could learn about one of his accomplishments with the other never having even been mentioned," she said, summing up what the textbook had said in the most basic sense.
Dr. Destler looked at her for a moment. "Well, yes," he agreed. "He was a fourteenth century composer and poet..."
Christine only half listened to what was being said, but there was only thirty minutes left in the class, so she wouldn't miss anything important, if she missed anything at all.
Immediately after class was out, Meg grabbed Christine's hand and drug her out of the room. It was all Christine could do to grab her book bag. She could have sworn that she saw Dr. Destler watching her, but she must have been mistaken.
Meg and Christine walked in relative silence until they made it to a café that Christine would have never set foot in, but it seemed like it was Meg's scene. It was crisp and clean, and a little preppy, she thought. She felt a little out of place, but it helped that Meg had brought her, and she seemed to fit in.
"Grab a table, and I'll order our drinks. You like mochas, right?" Christine nodded affirmation and found an empty table off to the side and sat down in it. She twiddled her thumbs nervously when Meg came and sat across from her.
"Spill," her new friend commanded, and Christine did. She told Meg about her mother, and about Raoul, too. Meg was quiet, except to thank the barista who set their coffee down on the table.
"Okay. So. Wait. You mean Raoul DeChagny? Arguably the most talented tennis player this college has had in over a decade?" Meg asked, attempting to find her straw with her mouth while not breaking eye contact with Christine.
"Uh, yeah," Christine said, watching with amusement. "At least, I assume so. I haven't exactly been around this college for that long, so I can't say for sure."
"I can. My mother has taught ballet here for the past 15 years or so, and hasn't missed a home match, except once in the early 2000's because she was so sick she couldn't think straight. It's one of her greatest regrets," Meg giggled. "So having grown up around my mother, I developed an appreciation for the game."
"I see," Christine nodded. "All right, I should probably go. I'm meeting Mr. Tennis Player for a match in a half hour, and now I'm regretting it."
They both laughed, and Christine picked up her bag and headed down the street towards the tennis courts. The sky had cleared nicely since last night's storm, and everything smelled of rain and maple leaves. Even as she made her own way down the sidewalk, she watched other students mingle amongst themselves, milling about in their own lives. It always amazed Christine that everyone's lives were just as complex and busy as her own. Just as interesting, just as-
"Hey, Christine!" Raoul shouted, waving her down from inside one of the courts. "I've already gotten you a racket, just get changed and meet me out here!"
Christine shouted back acknowledgement and changed, stretching a little as she was walking back to Raoul.
"You didn't tell me you were an excellent tennis player," Christine accused playfully, walking up to him and snatching the racket from him, grinning.
"You weren't supposed to find out!" Raoul said, jogging to the other side of the court. He bounced the tennis ball a couple of times to test it out before serving.
"I always find out things I'm not supposed to!" Christine returned the ball back to him neatly, though she soon discovered she was woefully outmatched, and their match was over shortly.
"Do you want to grab coffee after we clean up?" Raoul asked, tucking his racket into a sleeve and zipping it quickly.
"I can't," Christine declined with a grimace. "I've got to study for my history class."
"History? Who with?" Christine couldn't tell if he was actually interested or if he was just making polite conversation to keep her around longer. She answered anyway.
"Dr. Erik Destler. He's new here this year, and he packs a lot into one class period," she explained, unscrewing her water bottle impatiently. She took a swig and glanced at her companion.
"That name sounds vaguely familiar." Raoul tapped his chin dramatically. "Oh, I remember now. I was in Europe a couple of summers back, and my girlfriend at the time dragged me to an opera in Paris. I think the lead tenor shared his name. Maybe they're the same guy. I could be wrong, of course."
"Huh. I'll look into it," Christine promised, "And get back to you."
And Christine did, as soon as she got home. She flipped open her laptop, opened her internet browser of choice, and googled her professor. There were quite a number of show reviews, and Christine clicked on a couple. Each of them spoke of the genius of the tenor, Erik Destler, and while Christine was intrigued, she needed some visual solidification. So she went under the image search, and sure enough, there on her screen was her professor.
So that was that. However, upon closer inspection, Christine noticed that Dr. Destler didn't appear to have his mask in any of the photos. She dug deeper, and couldn't find any explanation for the mask's sudden appearance. She found it more than a little strange that an obviously successful performer would come and teach at some run-of-the-mill, po-dunk college. But who was she to judge?
Her phone dinged at her, and she picked it up to read the email, only half paying attention. 'edestler '. Wait. What? Christine's eyes snapped to her screen and gave it her full attention. She read the email over once, twice, thrice.
Nope. This was ridiculous. A successful opera singer was her professor, and now he wanted to meet with her after class, for reasons unknown?
Christine had too much going on in her life right now.