Disclaimer: Me? Own this magificent...thing? –bursts out in hysterical laughter-
"It took you long enough," Meg whispered when Christine dropped down beside her.
"Sorry," Christine whispered back.
"Mom—sorry, Madame—has been going over that damn syllabus for over twenty minutes. Twenty minutes! Christine, twenty minutes is a very long time when one is being lectured and that woman hasn't changed the syllabus in a least four years!" She closed her eyes, gathered herself, then quoted: "In my class, you will not curse or taunt any other student. I will have no 'prima donnas'. Our accompanist is off-limits when it comes to insults, just like any student. You will sing when I tell you and stop when I tell you. No one—" She paused. "Can I stop now? Do you have the full picture?"
Christine laughed. "I'm glad I missed that."
Her friend looked pained. "Chrissy, it isn't even coherent! I really should talk to her about stringing it together more smoothly…"
Madame Giry clapped her hands together. "Class, line up on the benches. No particular order today, we'll work that out later. For now, just set yourselves up and be quiet while I get Erik settled with the music."
The class complied efficiently. Christine saw one girl shove past a trio of timid-looking boys; she lifted an eyebrow.
"Who is that?"
Meg glanced up and scowled. "Ug. That's Carlotta. Be sure to bow when she passes."
"Why?"
"Because she's Carlotta. She's the bitchiest girl you'll ever meet. Do yourself a favor and don't get on her bad side, all right? Even I can't save you from her."
"If she's so bad, why doesn't your moth—Madame do something about her?"
"Because she's Carlotta," Meg repeated. "And because her father is Madame's boss. He's the principal here."
Christine rolled her eyes. "Let me guess: she's Daddy's little princess?"
"In a nutshell," Meg confirmed. "Just do as she asks, get out of her way, et cetera. Don't piss her off and you'll be fine."
"Sounds great. What you're telling me is….to survive in this school, I have to fade into the shadows," Christine reiterated miserably. Meg shrugged.
"Discreetly, yes. Don't give me that look," she added when Christine's face fell. "It isn't my choice, you know. This is where Mom works, so this is where I'll remain. You too, unless you can come up with a better option."
Christine said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on the hunched form of Erik, bent over the piano. She imagined that he was biting his lip in concentration as he set his hands against the smooth porcelain keys. What color were his eyes? Something piercing, she was certain, blue or green. Or perhaps a stormy gray. Yes, that was probably it; something fiery and mysterious, like Erik himself.
What are you doing? her rational side demanded. Thinking of his eyes! You shouldn't be watching this boy, you should be watching Madame!
"Christine, are you all right?" Meg questioned. "You look like you're asleep or something."
"Fine," she replied instantly. "Sorry, what are we doing?"
"Nothing yet. Mom's looking over her music, trying to find the perfect thing to torture our vocal cords with."
"About that," Christine said, narrowing her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me your mother's a teacher here?"
"I figured you could use a nice little surprise." Meg smiled. "You know, something to brighten an otherwise-agonizing day?"
"All right!" Madame Giry exclaimed. "We will be doing this piece today…wait, I'll pass them out…there. All right, the male and female parts are highlighted accordingly. Begin when I say."
Christine frowned down at the lyric sheet in her hand. Something about these words…
"Begin!" Madame Giry cried over the music that had begun to pour from the piano.
"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came," the girls sang tentatively. "That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name."
Christine's heart pounded. That song! What was the likelihood of this?
"And do I dream again, for now I find…the Phantom of the Opera is there. Inside my mind."
The boys started up. "Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you grows stronger yet. And though you turn from me to glance behind…the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind…"
"Those who have seen your face, draw back in fear. I am the mask you wear—"
"It's me they hear…"
Here the two genders nodded together. Christine closed her eyes to better lose herself in the haunting lyrics.
"My/Your spirit and your/my voice in one combined…the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your/my mind…"
"Stop there," Madame Giry instructed. Erik's fingers ceased to dance along the keys and the spell over what seemed to be the entire class shattered. Christine drew in a shaky breath.
"Wow," she murmured. Beside her, Meg swayed slightly.
"That was a good one," she agreed. "I've never heard that song before…Mom must've just dug it out."
"I have sung better," Carlotta scoffed from her front-and-center position. "That was a horribly tune…"
The strongest desire to go down to the other girl and deck her smacked Christine like a bag of textbooks. She started forward; Meg grasped the back of her shirt.
"What are you doing?" she demanded. "Christine—"
"I'm going to give her what she deserves," Christine growled. "How dare she insult such a gorgeous piece, I swear—"
"Christine!" Staring, Meg gave a sharp tug on her friend's collar. "Stop that!"
"Why?"
"Do you want to be expelled?"
Grimacing and rubbing her throat where the shirt had strangled her, Christine sighted. "Sorry. I'm not…I do that sometimes. With music. I just get so swept away…like when my father was alive…"
Though her expression was sympathetic, Meg's voice was firm. "Control yourself. I can't be holding you back every time Carlotta makes a comment. That would be a full-time job and I have something of a life."
"That wasn't bad," Madame Giry was saying. "We'll continue to work on that piece tomorrow and see where it goes. Now, however, I believe we are almost—"
The bell rang, right on cue. Christine felt a wave of crushing depression wash over her as she watched the class file out. Madame Giry smiled at several students, then leaned over some paperwork. Erik, apparently oblivious to the way her eyes lingered on him, simply left, hands jammed into his coat pockets.
"You still have one class left," Meg reminded her. Christine looked up to realize that her friend was already halfway to the door and hurried to catch up as Meg continued, "Come on, we're together for last hour too. French."
"Are you kidding me?"
"Why would I joke?" Meg blinked. "Christine, didn't you even look at your schedule?"
The girl shook her head desolately. Meg smirked.
"Your grandmother was practically from France, dear. I think you'll be fine. Come on, you know the language already, don't you?"
"Yeah, know. Not speak." Christine protested. Her friend only chuckled, taking her arm and leading her out of the choir room—out of sanctuary and back into Hell.
A/N: This is, what, the third chapter today? –faint smile- Don't expect this many updates this frequently; I just happen to have no life today. Or any day, for that matter, but we can pretend otherwise. Oh, and the lyrics are kind of strangely-incorporated, sorry. It was the only format I could work with.
Review replies:
EmailyGirl- Glad you're amused by the T.A. thing. It does paint a rather interesting picture, doesn't it?
Maeve Of the Nile- Tanky! –grins-