Vanilla

Orchestrate

Do not read this chapter if you haven't read the note before this 😊 Kindly return to the previous chapter. Merry Christmas! -slides down your chimney- -gets stuck- -oh nu-

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The Rivendell School of Musical Arts had finally recovered from their greatest financial downturn of the century as small-town, independent art schools would so often experience in the unfortunate era of practical parenting that inevitably produced practical children who were ultimately convinced by society and the people around them to walk the conventional path—brightly lit and present on every obscure map of the world.

Among the passionate students was a rare species of club enthusiasts, simply ecstatic to hear about the school's re-opening of funding options in club activities. This was a year after they'd decided restrict afterschool activities to supplementary theory lessons, which were really all they could afford under absurdly strict financial circumstances.

At present, all club activities had to be started anew and the online forms for applicants keen on proposing the start of their very own club soon churned out a list of all interest groups. For a high school of musical arts to lack their very own symphonic orchestra was to Vanilla Julian White the greatest criminal liability. He'd sought the list of recruiting clubs with the intention of joining one but upon discovering that everyone else had proposed multiple acapella groups of different genres, rock bands, choirs and at least five different varieties of Korean-pop interest clubs, the first-year filled in an application form of his own.

Under the temporary guise of three different names, he'd registered himself as the club president, vice-president and treasurer all at once. Either way, this wasn't going to be official anytime soon; all he required was for the orchestra's name to be on the list and, at the very least, be garnering some form of attention.

It wasn't long before the bespectacled bean encountered a devastating obstacle that could not be solved by his IQ of 144 or the vastness of his knowledge—the requirement of a club advisor in the form of a full-time teacher or instructor at Rivendell.

Within minutes of unnecessary panic, Vanilla knew what he had to be doing. It was go big, or go home.

"Mr. Honeycutt," he approached his favourite instructor the very next day with his tie done up proper and his dress shirt pressed to perfection, as always. "Have you, um... have you, maybe, had any musical background or experience in the field? I was wondering if you'd like to be our student organization advisor. For the school orchestra, I mean.

"I've put it down as a symphony orchestra but there's a line-up I have in mind and it would require players of other instruments like the electric guitar and perhaps guest soloists for the piano and harp but the term could be settled otherwise at a later date. I digress—um, it says here that I need the approval of an instructor. For... well, club advising. It's like an overall IC thing. Looking after the kids," sighed Vanilla. "And now that I've said all that, I can't see why anyone would agree to it."

Chip Honeycutt was the ever-radiant north star of Rivendell and the youngest of all full-time instructors at twenty years of age. To say he was a man of kind and heartful nature was an offense—Chip did not belong to the race of man; he was an angel. He also happened to teach the least relevant subject at a school of musical arts: home economics.