When Luna Hart transfers to Oakham conservatoire, something isn't right. Her flatmates, deemed 'The Five', by many, are made up of Oakham's most elite. They're known for being rich, ruthless and cold-hearted. But why is Luna so particularly despised...
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AS USUAL, I was early to the music performance lecture. Sitting alone, I watched as the rest of the students began to pour into the room, some with instruments on their backs, others dragging theirs along behind them.
It wasn't going to be a good day, and there was a reason why. We were playing our excerpts to the rest of the class, the teachers and the dance students too.
"God, you look depressed." Ryan's familiar voice sang into my ear.
I turned in his direction, shocked that he'd actually came. There was no instrument near him – but in his hands were loose, crumpled sheets of paper that I could only assume was his music.
He took the seat next to me and laughed. "Don't look so surprised."
"Well, I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've seen you in this class." I recognised my two professors enter, Dr Foreman and Dr Plough, in deep conversation with a woman whom I could only guess was Dr Rashir. Her long blue dress, matching the patterned hijab on her head, nearly brushed the floor as she walked gracefully, a calming presence about her; kind eyes, composed posture. The dance students, as far as I could tell, were nowhere to be seen – those arriving were people I recognised from my performance class. Perhaps the dancers weren't coming after all.
"I hope you're all ready for a fun and exciting lesson." Dr Plough addressed the class, his loud voice booming over the conversations that were now beginning to die down. "I think the other professors would like to talk to you briefly before we get started, so listen up."
Dr Foreman thanked him with a curt nod and stepped forward, his hair glinting with the spotlights above. "Hey guys. Thanks for coming. I just wanted to give you some tips – it's all about being calm and collected, remembering that we aren't judging you, we're simply finding out which students will be better suited together. There will be lots of aspects that we'll take into consideration so don't focus too hard on the performance at hand. Good luck." As he scanned the crowd, he smiled at me, perhaps an encouraging one at that – my jiggling knees and nail biting had probably given away how nervous I was.
And then Dr Rashir moved towards us, two hands cradling each other as she straightened. "My dancers, like you all, have been working hard to find a piece that they can pour their own souls into. Dance, without music, is a story without colour. When paired together they are powerful. Captivating." She stepped aside. "Backstage my students are waiting to enter. They will perform first, and will then watch you all too. So, without further ado, I welcome Emily Platt to the stage."
The professors took their seats, signalling for us, as audience members, to clap.
As Emily Platt entered, she waltzed around the room, arms held firm with elbows bent, her neck long and rigid. It was difficult to tear my eyes away – despite the only sounds being each step and each reply from the floor beneath her, her body demanded all attention.
