Melody's Muse ✓

7. Scales

Cole

"For the millionth time, this is middle C," Cara groans exasperatedly, jabbing one of the keys a couple times for emphasis. "It's called middle for a reason."

Cara sure is impatient for someone whose part-time job is a children's piano teacher. In her defense, this is our fifth lesson since we started last Tuesday. We've begun every lesson with scales, and I've managed to start at the wrong location on the keyboard every time. Whose idea was it to make all of the keys look exactly the same?

"Sorry Cara." I give her a sheepish smile.

Her frown doesn't falter whatsoever, and she glares at me with her piercing icy blue eyes. "Let's just get started."

By the time we've finally gotten through the song, Cara's long brown hair is a mess from stressfully running her hand through it dozens of times and her extra large coffee is finished. There was probably more time spent pausing and arguing about my supposed refusal to cooperate than actual playing. I thought I sounded fine, alright? Telling her that definitely didn't make things better though.

The sharp beeping of the timer on her phone goes off. "Alright, I have to head to class." She quickly gets up from the chair next to the piano bench and hesitates for a moment before speaking again. "Listen Cole, this isn't working out."

I pause as I'm packing up my bag. "What do you mean?"

"These lessons." She rubs her temples. "You need a new teacher with more patience, much more patience."

"I don't have time for that!" I whine. "Please? It's really important to me, I'll double what I said I'd pay!"

"Sorry, but no." Cara shakes her head again as she tugs her coat on. She slightly tilts her head and studies me curiously. "What's with the sudden interest anyway? You never struck me as the classy type."

I furrow my brows. I'm not sure if I should feel offended or not. "It's complicated." 

Cara and I dated for a month or so during freshman year, not exactly someone I'd like to confide in. Not that I think I could explain it to her if I even wanted to anyway. Why am I learning to play? So I can get closer to Melody for an interview...right?

Why else?

-----

"You're late again, Flynn." Michael rolls his eyes as I try to quietly enter the dark room illuminated by the projector. I quickly take a seat at the meeting table.

"Sorry Michael, class finished late." I'm getting the feeling that I'm starting to push Michael's patience.

He waves his hand casually. "Anyways, we were just reviewing Francine's article."

I glance at the document on the projector screen and grimace at the headline.

"U of M's Varsity football's quarterback wins MVP. I get a kick outta you."

Francine looks completely oblivious to the monstrosity that's going to be printed on the front page tomorrow. This is why so many people don't take the Green and Gold seriously. After some editing and discussions, the article is finalized. Despite my persistent griping, no one is on my side about changing the horrendous title. 

Michael switches the lights back on and turns to me. "I couldn't help but notice the lack of your article in my inbox Cole." Michael frowns at me disapprovingly. "The newspaper goes out tomorrow morning in case you forgot."

Everyone turns to me, giving me puzzled and shocked looks that I try to ignore. I've never been late, I'm usually early in fact - my draft is almost always the first to be uploaded to our cloud. I've been known to be a bit harsh when someone is late, often calling them out during meetings.