(A/N): Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight. As always, let me know if there are any terms or details you would like me to clarify & I'll put them in the chapter's endnotes. I hate overexplaining things and like to keep the dialogue and terminology realistic to what you would hear in a conservatory.
I also just wanted to acknowledge that, yes, Edward doesn't have a huge presence in the story thus far. That's okay. This is Bella's story, and although he's going to be a large part of it, it's ultimately her journey that I'm focusing on. Thanks for reading!
Looking at New York City, one may see the bustling metropolis as a study in contrasts—the tall, strong, steel structures of a technologically advanced, business-savvy midtown, versus the historical, cultured beauty of the Village; the senile wisdom of perpetually tired native New Yorkers, versus the naïvety of the eager and excited newcomers, looking to make big it in the city that never sleeps; picturesque winter nights, blanketing Brownstones in crisp, white snow, muting sound, making you almost believe for a second that you stood in a quaint town rather than one of the most populated cities in the world, versus the bright, loud, bare-skinned, bustling summer.
However, no one seems to mention the sheer blistering heat that is summer in the city. Though Fall was less than two weeks away, Bella seemed to accumulate a sheen of sweat every time she left an air conditioned building. The glass and steel buildings that reflected the brutal sun and lack of overhead greenery made the city feel like an oven, sparing no one from its waves of heat.
The window in her practice room is propped open, but only a slow, warm draft of air occasionally enters through it. Sighing, Bella mentally curses the lack of air conditioning in the Old School, unsticking her jean short-clad thighs from the plastic folding chair for the fifth time that hour, leaning forward to take a sip from a bottle of no-longer-ice water.
The heat seems to make everything ten times more frustrating. As if the sounds of rapid, high-pitched violin scales in the room to her right and the pointed staccato of a trumpet player in the room to her left weren't enough to annoy her, the headache-inducing tick of her metronome almost sends her off the edge. She couldn't help but think of the heat and its effect in a play she read once. What was the name of that one? Oh yeah, Twelve Angry Men.
Finally giving up on making any progress that morning, Bella sighed and began to disassemble her oboe. Her back was sore from attempting to fix her playing posture and her fingers were sweaty and uncoordinated. Following Mr. Ferrucci's instructions seemed so much easier when she was back in the cool, dark basement of Symphony Hall. Maybe I'll come back in the evening, she thought to herself. Maybe then I'll have cooled down. Figuratively and literally.
Bella's phone buzzed in her pocket and she fished it out, finding a new text from Rosalie, the girl who was selling her the History and Theory textbooks.
I'm in the dining hall and I have the books. I'll be here for about an hour if you want to pick them up.
Making her way into the dining hall, Bella's eyes flit across the room, searching for the girl who described herself over text as "blonde, wearing a red shirt, near the back of the dining hall." Finally, Bella's eyes stopped on an extremely beautiful, very tall, and otherwise bored looking girl, sitting at a round dining hall table, flanked by four rather loud and boisterous guys.
I mean… she's definitely blonde. And definitely underselling herself. Red shirt? She should've just said 'look for the love child of Kate Upton and Gisele'. Damn! That's seriously unfair, Bella mused to herself as she approached the table. Rosalie lifted her gaze to meet Bella's eyes and gave a curt smile. The first thing Bella noticed were her cool, icy blue, catlike eyes.
"Hi, you must be Bella. I'm Rosalie." She extended her hand. The boys at the table stopped their chattering and turned to face Bella.
"Yeah, I'm Bella," she said, feeling awkward as she leaned in to shake Rosalie's hand. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise." Rosalie released her hand and lifted a tan leather tote off the floor, pulling out the books. "So I have—"
"Hey Rose, you're not gonna introduce us?" one of the boys interjected.
She rolled her eyes, setting the books on the table. "Yeah sure. This is Jake, Seth, Sam and Emmett. Trumpet player, violist, trombonist, and tubist respectfully. Guys, this is Bella. She plays…" Rosalie glanced up at Bella questioningly.
"Oboe. I'm in Mr. Ferrucci's studio."
"Ooh, a Ferrucci student," Jakesaid, offering his hand. The other guys followed his lead and offered their hands to shake as well. "You must be talented."
Bella shrugs, shaking their hands. "Eh, I think I just got lucky."
Rosalie sighed. "Oh please, I'm sure you're talented. Everyone knows he's a very selective teacher." Bella gives her a small smile. "Anyways, here are the books. I also found a couple of Solfege books you'll need for next semester lying around, so you can have them too. It's not like I'll be using them anytime soon," she chuckles to herself.
"That's really kind of you, thank you."Bella reached into her pocket and grabbed the $50 that she had managed to extract from an ATM by Symphony Hall after her lesson yesterday, handing it over to Rosalie and putting the books in her backpack case.
"No problem. Do you have a class soon?" Rosalie asked.
Bella checked the time on her phone. "No, I have a Liberal Arts seminar at 2, but I'm free until then."
"Have a seat, if you want. Stay. Talk. You can hang out with me until then."
Bella took a seat at the round table and chatted with Rosalie for the next half hour about the Conservatory, the boys around them cutting into the conversation mostly to vie for Rosalie's attention. Rosalie only rolled her eyes and gave them curt responses in return, turning back to Bella each time and continuing where they left off. When the conversation turned to their morning rehearsals, Rosalie's tone turned more serious.
"The orchestra director, Professor Laurent, likes to be really brutal during the first rehearsal of the year to scare everyone into practicing the orchestra rep. Show up prepared and you'll be fine, but don't be surprised if he calls you out or something."
Bella nods, taking in this new information. Discreetly checking the time on her phone, she realizes it's almost time for her seminar.
"Thanks, Rosalie." She stands up from the table, grabbing her backpack case off the floor. "Sorry to go, but I have to get to class. It was nice talking to you." She turns to the boys. "And it's nice to meet you guys." A chorus of 'nice to meet you's follow.
"Yeah, it was good to talk to you Bella." Rosalie smiles, this time more genuine. "Make sure you pick up your music soon. See you at rehearsal."
Bella waves goodbye and turns, only to hear Rosalie call her name. She stops and turns to look at her.
"Oh, and Bella? Don't let them get to you."
Shuffling into her Liberal Arts Seminar classroom, Bella's first thought is of her choice of seating. The door to the room is on the side of the classroom, with four rows of long tables facing a blackboard and podium to her right. A revolving fan mounted over the blackboard blows the occasional tepid breeze in her direction. She eventually makes her way to a seat in the middle of the rows, towards the door. As more people begin to fill the room, Bella reaches down into her backpack case and pulls out a notebook and pencil. Checking the clock on the wall, she notices she's still a couple of minutes early and pulls out her phone to fidget with. She sees a text from Alice.
meant to tell u on tuesday, but I totally forgot! im having a few ppl over tomorrow night for some drinks. come over at 8 if ur free! also- how was ur first lesson w ferrucci?
Bella smiled, typing out her reply.
Ok, I'll be there! Lesson was okay, I'll tell you more in person.
Bella looks up to see Dr. Volturi enter the classroom, and she puts away her phone hastily. He greets a few students before making his way to the podium. He pulls his laptop out of his bag and begins to hook it up to the overhead projector. After pulling up a PowerPoint, he flicks off the lights, the students' conversations fading out in anticipation.
"Good afternoon, everybody. Last class, we looked at Aldous Huxley's background and the social context of his novel, Brave New World, which we are going to be reading together and discussing soon. Today, we're going to be looking at the history of dystopian fiction as a whole to understand the context behind this genre as well as the space that Brave New World occupies within it. But first, I'm going to pass around this attendance sheet." He holds up a blank piece of lined paper. "Since many of you have joined—and many have dropped out of—this class since our last meeting, this'll have to do until I get the updated class roster from the Dean's office. Sign your name, legibly, so I can make sure you're here."
As the paper was passed around, the glow of the projector illuminating the room just enough to be able to write, Dr. Volturi made his way through the slideshow.
Bella tried to take notes, attempting to focus on the words coming out of the professor's mouth, but her body felt way too relaxed in the warm darkness. The gentle hum of the fan was almost soothing. She propped her elbow on the table and rested her head against her hand, fighting her drooping eyelids.
I'll just close them for three seconds, and then I'll open them again, she justified to herself, hoping that it was too dark in the room for the professor to notice her longer-than-average blinks.
At some point, she heard someone slipping in late into the seat next to her, but she couldn't be bothered to open her eyes from their three-second break and look.
"Can I borrow a pencil?" The person whispered. Bella pushed her abandoned one in their direction, giving up on taking notes. "Thanks," the person chuckled quietly.
After an indeterminable period of time, Bella realized that the presentation was coming to a close.
"Alright, that's it for today." Dr. Volturi flicked the lights back on, a few students groaning at the sudden change. Bella swiftly moved her elbow off the table. "Please buy the book and have it read by next week. Get the edition they have at the bookstore, it'll be easier if we're referencing the same pages during class and when I'm grading your essays." Students shuffle around, grabbing their bags and picking up their conversations from where they left off.
Bella saw movement out of the corner of her eye and realized that her loaned pencil was being returned.
"Thanks again."
Bella looks up at the pencil-borrower and nearly gasps at the retreating figure. Though she didn't catch their face, from the hair alone, she knew.
It was, unmistakably, Edward Masen.