Melody's Muse ✓

1. Intrigued

Cole

"I can't believe you talked me into this," I grumble, tugging against the unfamiliar tightness in my collar. I hate wearing ties, and these dress shoes are making my feet sore. "I'm not interested in this artsy crap like you are." Not to mention I'm missing out on a party my frat is throwing tonight.

Trisha just rolls her eyes at me. "You weren't my first choice either," she scoffs. "Matt didn't want the tickets to go to waste, he's the one who suggested I ask you."

We finally pull into a vacant parking spot and re-bundle ourselves up in preparation to face mother nature's ruthless winter. I step out and the ice cold air immediately prickles parts of my face uncovered by my wool scarf and hat. 

"But why me?" I groan.

"Is it such a problem that he wants his future brother in law to have some culture in his life?" She gives me a small shove, playful but with a hint of sincerity. "Come on, can't you take a break from that auto-tuned trash for one evening? Classical is beautiful."

I mutter some obscenities under my breath, muffled by the soft crunching of our footsteps in the thick white snow.

-----

We enter the theatre just as most of the guests have settled into their seats. The average age of the other attendees seems to be decades older than we are. Just a vast sea of greying hair and collagen-lacking faces. Ok Cole, too mean. We look for our seats, walking down the aisle lined with a deep crimson rug, passing rows of brown oak seats topped with plush velvet cushioning. 

"Down here," Trisha whispers to me and tugs my arm as the small chandeliers along the walls dim. We awkwardly shuffle through the narrow row, maneuvering past the legs of fellow guests unfortunate enough to be seated near us. We're quite close to the stage, probably only four or five rows away.

I take a look at the gold-trimmed program some stuffy guy in a vest and bowtie gave me in the lobby. The back of the thin cardboard has the schedule of performers in a plain black font - mostly local symphony orchestras. I flip it, and printed on the front is the main performance in a very large and fancy silver font. The one the majority of the audience is here for.

Chopin - Piano Concerto No. 1, Op 11, 

as performed by Melody Aria

What an ironic name.

Surprisingly enough, the name does ring a bell. A musical prodigy as a child – at least from what I know. I remember seeing her appear on practically every talk show when I was a kid. A small blonde girl, always dressed up in fancy dresses, playing complicated songs with arms barely long enough to reach both ends of the keyboard. She's quite famous in the music community and has become popular in mainstream media in recent years too.

Most, if not all, music teachers I had would gush about this girl. It also gave mom and dad an excuse to tease me about my lack of musical talent. Trisha has been obsessed with her music for years. Our bedrooms were next to each other's and I was forced to constantly listen to that classical music before she moved out. Despite not even knowing each other, Melody has been a huge pain in my ass.

The chatter dies down as the tall, bright red curtains part, revealing a large string orchestra ready to play. Orchestral Suite No. 3 in D-major, according to the program. They're all dressed in black, contrasting against their deep amber violins, violas, and cellos that gleam under the stage lights. 

It's nice...I guess, although by the time the third orchestra finishes their songs, I begin struggling to stay awake. My brain conjures up the image of fluffy sheep jumping over the stage. One sheep, two sheep, three...sheep. My eyelids feel heavy like lead, and my mind drifts.