ONCE CLASSES started, I barely saw Peter at all, which was just fine with me. He tended to sleep late, so I was usually up and out of the room before he even woke up. He was gone most afternoons, so I studied before evening music classes and rehearsals. If he was back from wherever when I returned from practice, he was either in the room studying or in the lounge down the hall, being social.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like being social, but I was often so tired after rehearsal that I didn’t have much social energy left.
The orchestra director was still settling on what we’d perform at the winter concert in December, so he was putting us through our paces, giving us a lot of challenging music to learn. He seemed to be trying to determine how far he could push us as a collective unit, especially after auditions and six new violins were added.
So when I left orchestra practice one evening in early October and Ellie said, “I feel like my arms are going to fall off,” I agreed with the sentiment.
I didn’t think about where we were walking, just followed Ellie. She said, “I don’t want to rush back. My roommate was being super dramatic this afternoon.”
“Again?”
“She’s still dating that guy.”
“The one who was cheating on her?”
“He’s still cheating on her. I saw him making out with some girl at the movie theater last week. But of course, she never believes anyone when they tell her he’s sleeping with half the school, because she loves him.” Ellie rolled her eyes.
“You went to the movies last week? What did you see?”
“Not the point of the story, Logan.”
I wasn’t terribly invested in Ellie’s roommate’s drama, except insofar as it stressed Ellie out a good deal of the time. I’d only met Ellie’s roommate, Rachel, a couple of times, and she’d seemed fairly nice until she got involved with the drama-causing boyfriend, whose name I couldn’t remember.
“Rachel caught him out with another girl this time, so she saw him cheat with her own eyes, and now she believes me. Maybe she’ll break up with him for good this time, but I doubt it. She still loves him. Give me a break.”
“I’m sorry she plagues you so much,” I said.
“She was all weepy when I left. I didn’t know how to help her. A couple of her friends came over, but I just… I can’t.”
“I get it.” I would have avoided the drama too.
Elle paused at a fork in the walkway and looked around. “I’m starving. Did you eat dinner?”
Had I? I couldn’t remember, which seemed like a bad sign. “I think I studied through dinner. Music theory test tomorrow.”
“Professor Steinway, right? Ugh, that class was brutal. You definitely need to eat, though. Let’s go to the Mac.”
I hoisted my violin case up on my shoulder and followed Ellie halfway across campus to the Mac, WMU’s student center. The building housed a restaurant of the same name that sold burgers, sandwiches, and pastries at all times, so it was still hopping when we got there.
I hadn’t realized I was hungry until we were in line for burgers and the scent of grease and sizzling meat hit my nostrils. My stomach gurgled loud enough that Ellie heard it. She slapped me. “Stop forgetting to eat.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just eat meals regularly.”
Once we had our food, we settled in at a table in the middle of everything.
“So how’s your semester going?” Ellie asked. “I’ve hardly seen you except at rehearsal.”
“It’s fine. More insane than I was expecting. I thought finishing off the last of my general education classes last semester meant the rest of college would be easy because I don’t have to take math or science anymore, but these music classes are rough. Plus Costner is kicking my ass.” Professor Costner was my violin teacher. He was a good teacher, but he was tough, particularly on me because, as he kept telling me, my potential was so obvious. I was good, but I was concertmaster-of-a-public-university-orchestra good; I hadn’t gotten into Juilliard, much to my parents’ dismay. I was at WMU on a music scholarship, but that still felt like a consolation prize sometimes.
“Yeah, this semester has been rough so far. I registered for an extra lit class, but I regret that now.” Ellie shook her head. “Stay away from Postmodern Lit with Professor Garibaldi.”
“So noted.”
“Oh, I went to see that new Disney movie. That’s why I was at the movies. I went with Gina and Kelsea.”
“Did you like the movie?”
“It was really cute! The songs were kind of forgettable, but I liked the story.”
Taking two hours out of my day to go to the movies felt like such a luxury, so I hadn’t seen a movie in a theater in months. Ellie talked for a minute about what she liked about the movie, and it seemed like it might be worth my time. I wasn’t a huge Disney fan, but this one sounded fun.
Ellie munched on some fries and looked around the space. “Hey, isn’t that your hot roommate?” She gestured across the room with her head.
I looked. Indeed, there was Peter, seated with a girl I didn’t know and a guy I recognized vaguely.
“That’s Dave… something,” Ellie said. “He was in my lit class last semester. I think he lives in Emerson, maybe?”
I recognized this Dave as one of the ultimate Frisbee guys. “Right, okay. I don’t know the girl.”
“No, me neither.”
We watched them for a moment. The girl had long brown hair and was wearing a navy blue dress with big white polka dots. She kept playfully punching Peter, which I supposed was probably flirting. “Think that’s his girlfriend?” I asked.
“Beats me. Oh, did you hear the Theater Club is doing Oklahoma! this semester? Are you going to do pit orchestra again?”
I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Peter, though I knew I was staring like a crazy person. I tried to focus on Ellie and her questions. “I don’t think I can do pit. Costner has me doing one extra class every week, and I think it’s the same time as pit orchestra rehearsal.”
“It’s not that rehearsal has a time, per se, so much as just meets whenever everyone is available.”
I shook my head. “I want to, but I don’t have enough spare time this semester. Sorry.”
“Bummer. It won’t be the same without you.”
We ate silently for a moment. I kept watching Peter out of the corner of my eye. The girl was basically hanging on him, but she did the flirty punch thing with Dave too. I couldn’t really figure out what the deal was, but Peter was probably friends with the jock types, and they all probably lifted weights and grunted and did… masculine… things together. I didn’t know what non–music majors got up to in their free time. It was all probably super homoerotic even though they were all straight guys—or it was in my overactive, sleep-deprived imagination—and then I was down some rabbit hole, picturing Dave and Peter making out with each other in a pile of other men, everyone writhing together.
“Ugh,” I said.
“If you’re not even eating regularly, I guess you’re not dating either.”
I looked back at Ellie, who was always an unrepentant gossip. “Who would I date? I only see orchestra people. Who am I supposed to go out with? Richard?”
We both laughed at that. Richard was a skinny little twerp viola player who was a gifted musician but a real pill in person. Everyone had been telling him for years how wonderful he was, and he believed them wholeheartedly.
Ellie shook her head. “This is not what college is for, you know. You should be meeting people, going to parties, having fun. And by fun, I mean sex.”
“Tell that to my parents.”
Ellie sighed. “I know.”
I watched Peter horse around with Dave and the girl, a little bit curious about his personal life but not enough to do something foolish like actually ask him about it. Instead I turned my attention back to my dinner and let Ellie talk my ear off about who was dating each other in the orchestra. The gossip distracted me from my handsome roommate, but barely.
I CAME home from rehearsal a few nights later and found Peter and the long-haired girl sitting together on his bed. It wasn’t like I walked in on them doing anything scandalous; they sat side by side while watching something on Peter’s tiny TV and giggling a lot, but Peter did have his arm thrown around her.
“Hi.” I put my violin case away in its spot at the foot of my bed.
“Oh, hey, Logan.” Peter shuffled forward a little, removing his arm from around the girl. “This is Lily.”
“Hi. I’m Logan.”
“I gathered,” Lily said with a wry smile. She held out her hand to be shaken, so I shook it.
“Fall TV is back,” Peter said. “Lily and I always watch Piper Hill together.”
I had never been much for TV—my parents banned it for most of my childhood—but I lived in the world, so I knew Piper Hill was a nighttime soap. “I’ve never seen it,” I said.
“Seriously?” said Lily.
“I don’t really watch TV.”
“What kind of American are you?”
Peter clapped a hand on his mouth, clearly suppressing a laugh. “Watch with us, then,” he said. “I guarantee it will suck you in.”
For once I didn’t have to study, so I sat on my own bed and toed off my shoes. By the time I’d settled my back against my pillows, the commercial break had ended. I watched for a few minutes as a blonde woman had a rather passionate argument with a brown-haired man. I had no idea what the argument was about or why I was watching this, but by the time the next commercial break rolled around, I was hooked.
“What’s the deal with Rebecca?” I asked.
Peter and Lily took turns explaining the backstory on the characters who had just been gracing our screen. They were so enthusiastic about the show, they reminded me of Professor Costner talking about Mendelssohn. I had a pretty good handle on the particulars of some of the characters when the show came back, but these scenes involved different characters, and I was lost again. And so it went until the end of the episode, when I had a shaky grasp on what was going on in the show, but still had trouble keeping all the characters’ names straight.
Peter and Lily had no such problem.
“I can’t get over Naomi,” Lily said when Peter put the TV on mute so they could talk. “She’s clearly in love with Noah, but she’s still going out with Ted.”
“I still ship Noah and Naomi so hard,” said Peter. “I don’t know why the show keeps breaking them up. They clearly belong together.”
Lily laughed. “Totally. Then that whole thing with Rebecca and Drake.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Ugh, don’t get me started. Drake is a tool.”
“He is not! God, he’s dreamy. You don’t think so?”
Peter scoffed. “You clearly have no taste. His face is so weird. Like his eyes are too close together or something.”
“Him looking weird doesn’t make him a tool.”
“No, his jerking around Rebecca makes him a tool. Do you think he killed Erica?”
“No. I bet it was Rebecca.”
“Girl, you are crazy.” They both laughed.
It was a strange thing to watch. I figured this was the way couples often operated, but I wouldn’t have known. I’d dated a little in my time at WMU, and I was hardly a virgin, but violin so dominated my life that I hadn’t ever really had a relationship.
I was missing out.
I was intensely jealous of the rapport Peter had with Lily, of the easy way they related to each other. I had friends, sure, but not a romantic relationship, and as I watched Peter walk Lily to the door and give her a quick peck on the cheek, I yearned for one.
Until that moment, I hadn’t appreciated how lonely I was.
I rested my head on the wall behind my low wooden headboard and sighed as Peter came back into the room and softly closed the door.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I was hardly going to get into my stupid little personal crisis with stupid hot Peter.
Today his blond hair was a little disheveled, and he was wearing a blue T-shirt with a big green T. rex on the front, stretched over his substantial pectoral muscles. His jeans were a little baggy, but not so much that they didn’t nicely highlight those thighs, and I might have stared a little as he sat back down on his bed and mimicked my pose.
“I’ll convert you to a soap fan by the end of the semester,” he said.
“Huh?”
He grinned. “I know it’s totally ridiculous, but I love this kind of garbage TV. Everyone has worse problems than I do, you know?”
I seriously doubted Peter had any problems. He was gorgeous, he never seemed stressed, and he had the sort of major that led to financial stability. Because he’d probably finish college and get a job right away, whereas I’d leave WMU with a bachelor of fine arts in violin performance—with minor debt because of the scholarship, granted—but no guarantee of anything except a lifetime of auditions.
I stifled another sigh. I didn’t want to seem like too much of a sad sack. So I said, “It was entertaining.”
Peter chuckled. “Oh, sure. Say it all proper like that. ‘It was entertaining.’ Don’t you ever have fun?”
Probably not. “Playing in pit orchestra is fun.” It was, actually, now that I thought about it. There was less expectation in pit orchestra, less perfection required. It was recreational, not for the sake of impressing anyone. Most of the people who played in pit weren’t music majors; instead ensembles across campus were populated by kids who’d played in their high school bands and orchestras and hadn’t given up their instruments, but weren’t interested in majoring in music. They just wanted to play. No one was telling the pit orchestra that this semester’s production of Oklahoma! Was their ticket into the Boston Pops or the New York Philharmonic, like Costner kept saying about the December concert.
“Oh, are you going to do pit orchestra again? Because I’m doing tech on Oklahoma! And the guy playing Curly is really good. I saw him sing the other day.”
“You really like doing tech.”
He shrugged. “I like musicals. I can’t really act or sing, so this is my contribution to the Theater Club.”
It was a good answer, but something about it seemed inaccurate or inauthentic to me. I supposed it made more sense than Peter just having a general desire to lift heavy things. “Okay,” I said. “I’m not sure about pit orchestra. It’s looking like it won’t work with my schedule this semester.”
“That sucks. Maybe next semester, then. A bunch of the kids in the club want to do Hair or Rent, but we’ll probably end up doing something safe and vanilla like Bye Bye Birdie or Sweet Charity. There’d still be a pit orchestra, though, obviously.” He smirked. “I’ve heard you play, and you don’t suck.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, returning his crooked smile. “I’ve heard rumors. We’ll see about next semester.”
The conversation died after that. Peter picked up his remote and started flipping through channels, so I got up and grabbed my music theory book and my laptop to do my homework.
“Some of the guys from the Theater Club are having a party Saturday night,” Peter said just as I powered on my laptop. “You should come. I think it would do you good to not study or practice for five minutes.”
I didn’t like him deciding what would be good or not for me, but I didn’t hate the idea of a party. “I’ll think about it.”
“I’ll drag you if I have to.”
I bristled, an instinctive reaction to him bossing me around, but I quickly reasoned that Ellie was probably going, if it was a Theater Club do. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll go.”
He smiled and nodded. “Good.”
As I got into working on my assignment, though, I kept wondering why Peter cared so much. It was nice of him to invite me, but why was he being so insistent? Was I really that much of a wet blanket that people felt they needed to force me to lighten up for my own good?
I wanted to groan when I realized that yes, probably this was true. But I kept that thought to myself.