The opus one

Richard cursed quietly to himself, as up ahead a trumpet player squeezed into a practice room Richard was about to claim for his own. The guy had materialized around the corner and beaten him to the room. He didn't even glance at Richard as he closed the door.

Dickhead. School hasn't even started yet, and already this place is a zoo, he thought to himself. He hefted his shoulder bag with a sigh and continued walking down the hallway past the occupied rooms. Musical fragments faded in and out of each other. Why do the oboe players have to practice in rooms with pianos?

Up ahead, a door opened. Richard quickened his pace, holding open the door as a girl walked out.

"Thanks," she said.

"No problem. It's crazy trying to find a room here."

"Yeah, for sure. What do you play, piccolo?" she asked, eyeing his bag.

"No, piano," he answered. He didn't need to ask her, as she was carrying a French horn case.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said.

"Sorry? What's wrong with the piano?" Richard asked, surprised at her comment. Was she a brass snob, or something? he wondered. She's cute about it, though.

"Nothing, but ... You won't like this room." She looked apologetic.

Richard peeked around the door and groaned. It was one of the empty rooms. He hadn't yet learned which ones had pianos and which didn't.

"I'm Emily," she said, holding out her hand.

"Richard," he said, taking her palm in his. It was warm, and slightly damp. He figured he was sweaty too, and he hadn't even sat down to play yet. The rooms had no cooling, since vents would transmit sound from one room to the other too easily. Richard vaguely wondered how long summer lasted around here. The late-August humidity and heat permeated the building, and got trapped in the practice rooms where students would add their own heat. By late afternoon, as it was now, the rooms were almost unbearable.

But there was no other place to practice, being a pianist. Not exactly an instrument carried on the shoulder, or easily fit in half of a dorm room.

"Well, I better be going," she said.

"See ya," Richard said.

She squeezed by him in the narrow hallway. Richard closed the door to the room and then continued walking. He passed the three 'Piano Majors Only' rooms, but they were full, as usual.

Finally he found a room. He almost missed it, but then he noticed there was a gap in the patchwork symphony that played as he passed the doors. He backed up and peered through the small square window, and thankfully there was a piano in the room. And no oboe players.

Before he even sat at the bench, he was already feeling the prickles on his forehead, as sweat began to bead up. But there was nothing for it; he couldn't open the door and flood the hallway with his playing. He had his first lesson tomorrow morning, so ditching the practice was out of the question.

Richard stretched as he looked at the stack of music he had brought. He wasn't quite sure what he would play for her.

Should I choose the Liszt, go for impressive? Or Beethoven? I think I play that one section really nicely. Or the Scriabin? She is Russian, after all.

Richard adjusted the bench and sat down, running his hands through his hair. He selected a book from the pile, opened it, and began his warm up routine as he ran the piece in his head.

Three hours later, Richard was done. His throat was dry and his head was swimming. He hadn't drunk any water, but that was typical. Not many things could break him out of his concentration, not even a heavy thirst. Now that he had finished though, he realized his mistake and wandered out in desperate search of a water fountain.

The water tasted like a mix of concrete and chlorine, but he drank greedily anyway. He could almost feel the water soaking through him like liquid through a dry sponge.

When he walked back down the hall to collect his stuff, Emily was peering into his room. She didn't have her instrument with her, though.

"Oh, hey," she said, when she saw him. "I'm looking for my roommate. We were supposed to go eat dinner a half-hour ago."

"Who's your roommate?" Richard laughed to himself at his question. Not that I know anybody here yet.

"Sandra d'Arcy. Do you know her?"

"Nah, I don't," he said, with a shake of his head.

"All right, I guess I'll keep looking. See you later." She smiled and started to move past him.

"Uh, where are you going to go eat?" Richard asked.

Emily stopped right in front of him. Richard didn't back away, but she did slightly.

"I don't know, probably the Domino's pizza down the road."

Richard made a face.

"Yeah, I know, it's nasty," she said, "but it's cheap. Do you have a better suggestion?"

"No, I've already eaten there twice myself, unfortunately," he admitted.

Emily laughed. "Do you want to come?"

"Uh, sure. I think I'm done practicing. This room's an oven." Richard unconsciously wiped at his brow for the hundredth time that afternoon.

"Tell me about it."

"They should put in space heaters. It would probably cool the rooms off."

Emily laughed.

"Excuse me," said the trumpet player who had earlier beaten Richard to a room. He was walking hurriedly towards them.

"Hey, Jimmy," Emily said brightly.

"Oh, hey," he said blandly, squeezing through and hurrying off.

He's friendly, Richard thought to himself. He gave Emily a questioning look. She just shrugged wide-eyed.

"Let me get my stuff packed," Richard said, gesturing into the practice room.

"Are you in the dorm?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Cool. You want to meet in the lounge in twenty minutes?"

"Okay."

"I'll try to find Sandra meanwhile. Bring your roommate if you want," she added.

"Nah, he's not even here yet."

"Oh, all right. See you in a bit."

Richard looked after her as she walked off. I can get up in front of hundreds of people to play and not feel any nervousness; why do I feel a little anxious now?

Richard convinced himself it was his upcoming lesson with Ms. Tertychnaya that was weighing on him a little.

I'm ready, he reminded himself.

Sandra d'Arcy was incredibly gorgeous. Not just cute, not just pretty, but gorgeous. When Richard saw her and Emily come out of the stairwell and stand in the foyer, it took him a few seconds to realize they were waiting for him. As he jumped up off the couch, he hoped they didn't notice he was staring.

"Richard, Sandra," Emily introduced. Richard started to move his hand out, then took it back, feeling awkward. Then Sandra started her hand out, and for a moment there was a silly arm dance as they tried to decide whether to shake hands. Finally they did, amidst some laughing.

"Shall we?" Richard asked, holding open the door to the dorm building.

The trio stepped out into the warm evening, walking in a line but not too closely. A group of people were playing a pickup game of soccer on the lawn. He thought he'd seen a few of the people earlier that day in the practice rooms.

"So what do you play, Richard?" Sandra asked.

"Piano. You?"

"Voice."

Figures, Richard thought. She's too pretty to be buried in an orchestra pit.

"Cool," he said.

"Are you a first year?" Emily asked.

"Yeah, you two, uh, too? Also?" he asked.

They were.

"I hope this orientation stuff this week isn't too long," Richard said.

"Yeah, hopefully we don't have to do stupid games and stuff," Sandra said.

"Or sit through long meetings about common sense," Emily added. "If it's common sense, then why are they showing us? 'Lock your doors at night ... Don't let strangers into the building... ' Well, duh!"

"Yeah, I hate that stuff!" Richard exclaimed. "In high school we had these safety classes and they were so stupid. It was stuff for five-year-olds and shit."

Richard winced at having let out a bad word so soon, but the two girls didn't seem to be bothered by it.

"I mean, if you haven't learnt that stuff by now, you probably would have been kidnapped already," Sandra added.

"Weren't we supposed to get a schedule for the week?" Richard asked.

"Tomorrow afternoon at the first meeting," Sandra said.

"Ooh, I can't wait!" Emily said.

"Do we really have to eat at Domino's?" Sandra asked, as the blue and red sign came into view. She wore a grimace on her face.

"I vote for wandering the area and looking for something better," Emily said. "You guys?"

"Yeah, me too," Sandra chirped.

Richard hesitated for a moment. He didn't have much cash, and he had to stretch it out until the meal plan kicked in. That meant two more days of eating out.

"Uh, sure. As long as it's cheap. Otherwise I'll be starving the rest of the week until we hit the cafeteria."

"Eh, you'll probably starve there, too," Emily said. "I hear it's nasty."

"Yeah, Tapler Dining Hall." Sandra spat the words out. "They're under new management. Some hotel took over or something, but a polished turd is still a turd."

"Thanks, that's really appetizing, Sandra. I can't wait until Friday night," Emily said sarcastically.

"So where to?" Richard asked.

It feels good, being on my own, he thought. His nervousness was gone. Maybe it wasn't the lesson.

"Let's go up that way," Emily said, pointing. "Looks like there's stuff there."

They crossed the street and made their way towards a section of shops.

"So where are you from?" Emily asked Richard.

"New York. The Bronx, actually."

"What's your accent? It doesn't sound like New York," Sandra noted.