Chapter 1
Beca Mitchell
You're sitting on a swing at a park on the rich side of Barden. Anybody can tell it’s the rich side because the chains on the swings aren’t rusted, and the ground isn’t sprinkled with pieces of broken glass. You shift uncomfortably. You're out of place here with your ripped jeans and faded grey flannel.
You laugh, out of place. The story of your life.
Your mom had kicked you out of your house a few hours ago. She claimed that you were a waste of money that she never had in the first place. She said your dreams of being a musician weren’t going to get you anywhere. She said if she didn’t kick you out now, she’d be stuck supporting your “scrawny ass” forever.
If you're honest, you're going to miss the house more than your own mother.
When you left you stuffed everything you could into your tattered, army green JanSport backpack. Your life now consists of identification papers, the money you saved from a few deejaying gigs, a sweater, jeans, and some underwear.
You take out your phone and plug it into the small portable speaker you got as a present from Jesse on your birthday last year. You set it on the sand by your feet. The speaker took the spot in your bag where the few textbooks you owned should have, but you don’t care. Music is literally your entire life.
The houses that surround the park are at least three times the size yours is. Was. Whatever. You’re always mesmerized when you see them. Which despite living an hour walk away–on the poor side–isn’t very often.
It isn’t exactly the law to stay on the side you were born, but it’s a known fact that rich kids have a habit of beating up poor ones when they “cross” territories. It's not that the Southside kids can't defend themselves, it's just that they don't have the money to pay the hospital bills if things get out of hand. So instead of risking it, they run.
You catch sight of some rich kids now. They're crossing through the park. The girls are in brand name outfits that you could never dream of affording, and the guys walk like they own the world. They all go to the same school you do but rich and poor kids rarely if ever mingle with each other. It’s weird for you to see them walking in a group, and goofing around just like you would with your less fortunate friends.
Suddenly, they change paths and your heart seizes in your chest when you realize that they’re heading right for you. You grip the chains tighter in your fists as you watch shadows turn to people. When they’re close enough to you that you can tell who they are, your eyes automatically roll. Of fucking course.
“Hey Bumper, look who it is.” Tom Shepherd says, lips twisting into a gleeful smile.
Tom is a cliche small town boy. A football player for the Barden Bulldogs, the mayor's son, that kind of cliche. You and Tom have never gotten along. Even less so after the two of you fought in freshmen year. He broke your nose and chipped your tooth because he was bored. He walked away with a warning. You walked away looking like Lloyd Christmas. You were tempted to make a huge deal of it, but Mayor Shepard shut you up by offering to pay your medical bills and dental care.
Bumper sneers, "what're you doing here Mitchell? Get lost scrounging for dinner?"
You clench your jaw looking away, but when you do, you make contact with stunning blue eyes that you know can only belong to one person: Chloe Beale.
Wow, you think. Even her eyes are richer in color than yours.
You've always liked Chloe. Everyone likes Chloe. She's the kind of girl that's nice to everyone. The kind of girl that'd get chewed up and spit out after one day in the Southside.
“Cut it out, Tom.” Chloe grinds out.
Tom’s right in front of you now. You swallow hard. You know anything that happens is completely your own fault. You decided to come to this side of town. No one made you do it.
Tom pouts, “oh, come on Chlo’, we’re just having some–” he kicks your speaker sending your phone flying. You hear it ding off the pole behind you. “–fun.”
You look up at him doing your best to keep a bored expression on your face. On the inside your boiling with rage. “I think you should listen to your girlfriend, Tommy.”
"He's not–" Chloe starts, but Bumper cuts her off.
“Well, I think you should go back to where you came from.” Bumper retorts smugly.
Behind Bumper, a snobby looking blonde crosses her arms over her chest. You faintly remember her throwing up at the school’s talent show fundraiser. She stands beside Chloe looking a little bit uncomfortable but doesn’t speak up.
“Let me handle this,” Tom says, pointing at himself like he’s God.
“No,” you say, making all eyes turn to you. “Let me.”
You jump off the swing kicking Tom in the dick as you do. Grabbing your backpack, you book it the hell out of there. There’s shouting behind you, when you look over your shoulder, you see Tom rolling on the ground, his hands clutching at his groin. Bumper leans over him, asking him if he’s okay. You start to laugh but it dies as quick as it forms in your throat. Chloe's watching you with a smile dancing across her lips. You shake your head and pump your legs harder.
Once you're far enough away from the park, you reach into your back pocket to grab your…fuck. You left your phone at the park. Fucking awesome. Now you can’t call Jesse to pick you up.
You run a hand through your chocolate locks going over your options. You can walk to Jesse’s house, but that’ll take too long. You could take the bus, but you don’t have money to waste on it. So, really, your only choice is to wait it out, and hope that Tom and Bumper were decent enough human beings to leave your phone alone.
You sit down on the curb, letting out a deep sigh. Your fingers twitch, you wish you had some music to distract you.
You have never taken a music lesson in your life. You’ve never even owned an instrument but when you started music in elementary school you fell in love.
Anything you put effort into, you were good at. Mrs. Parker, your music teacher, saw potential in you. She let you come in during lunches and sometimes after school so you could practice your tiny heart out. She was the one that taught you that music was in more than just instruments. It was in the chimes that caught wind on Mrs. Lawson's door. It was in the sound of the rain slapping against the pavement. It was in the rhythmic beat of your heart.
Currently, music is between two sticks in your hand and the ground in front of you. You tap out any random tune that pops into your head. Sometimes you make up your own beats. You don’t really play in front of anyone. You know if you want to make a career out of it you’ll have to, but for now, you keep your talents hidden.
“Wow."
You freeze, head snapping up. Your eyes connect with the same blue ones that captivated you earlier. You don’t know what to say, so you blurt out that you're sorry because it seems like the safest option.
Chloe laughs, and you find that there's music in it too. “For what? Teaching Tom a lesson? He deserved it.”
“Um,” you stare at her trying to come up with something else to say. “Did you follow me here?”
“No, actually,” Chloe sits down next to you, smoothing out her light blue dress as she does. “I live here.”
“Oh, right.” You forgot you were still on the Northside. You look over your shoulder to see a huge, white, mini-mansion behind you. Five times the size of your old one. “Nice house.”
Chloe smiles, taking the sticks from your hands making you look up. "You play?"
"Yeah, sort of."
"Sort of? Weren't you just tapping out Fool in The Rain?"
"I was trying to, yeah." You say, surprised she was able to guess what song you had been doing a half-ass job playing. "You know you're music."
"I more than know it." Chloe gestures with her head towards her house. Her curls bounce, "want to come inside? Our whole basement is full of instruments."
You swallow hard, Chloe just described your heaven. But you can't go in, because you're you, and she's rich. So you shake your head no and stutter out an excuse about going back to the park to grab your phone.
"Oh yeah, almost forgot. I was going to give it to you at school but..." Chloe reaches into her backpack and pulls out your phone. "Here. I’m pretty sure it still works, don't think I can say the same for your speaker though."
"Thanks.” You run your thumb over the crack across the screen before clicking it on to check if it still works. A picture of you, Jesse, and Amy sitting on a curb, mid-laugh with coke bottles in your hands, glows to life. It's your favorite picture.
"So now that you have your phone, do want to come in?" Chloe asks.
You bite your lip, does she really not understand? You're not even one of the southside kids that can pass as north ones. You're pure southside stock. "Um, I don't think you know who I am."
Chloe tilts her head a little, "of course I know who you are. You're Beca Mitchell, you're more bad-ass than the mayor's son."
"No, I mean-"
"I know what you mean Beca," Chloe says, interrupting you. "It doesn't matter to me what side you're from. So, are you coming in or not?"
She stands up, you follow her like the two of you are tethered. You walk up to the huge front door and she’s made the decision for you. You're going in, and you're nervous while Chloe rummages through her bag for her keys.
"Are your parents home?" You blurt out before you have the chance to think about what that sounds like.
Chloe stops her search and looks over with a small smile on her face. You can’t decide whether it’s pity or just curiosity. "My dad will be home soon but right now he's not. Why?"
"I don't know, they might not, you know, approve of me." You shrug trying to make it seem casual.
Chloe rolls her eyes and goes back to looking for her keys. When she finds them, she unlocks the door and holds it open for you. You take a slight step back, ready to bolt but stop when she gives you a reassuring smile. "Come on."
You follow her in, trying not to gape at the high ceiling of the foyer and the art that hangs on the walls. You know just by the quality of them that they’re the real. Nothing like the second-hand, cheap imitation art your mom has up in the living room. Chloe kicks off her sandals, you bend to take off your ripped Vans. For the first time in your life, you embarrassed by them. By who you are.
Chloe reaches around you to lock the door. You feel the heat radiate from her body and you try not to enjoy it as much as your body wants to.
"So, do you want something to eat first or do you want to go downstairs?" She asks.
You shrug, "what do you want to do?"
"I'm asking what you want," Chloe says back, patiently.
"Downstairs?" You'd choose music over food any day.
"Okay, awes." Chloe grabs your hand, tugging you along the hall and down some stairs.
She lets go, and you're standing in a large carpeted room with literally every instrument you can think of. They line the shelves on the wall: banjo, sitar, xylophone, drums. Holy shit. It’s like you've died and gone to heaven.
"Dude," it breathes out of you in utter amazement.
Chloe lets out a small laugh, probably at the look of pure awe on your face. "It's like you've never seen-" she cuts herself off realizing that you actually haven’t seen anything like this before. She shakes her head at her own mistake and asks what you’re going to play for her.
You scan the room. You want something that’ll knock Chloe off her feet as much as this room has knocked you off yours. Your eyes land on a white, grand piano. You know she’s probably heard people play the piano before. Maybe she plays it herself, but you’ve always loved the way the keys feel under your fingers and it’s been years since you last played one. And never in your life, one as beautiful and well kept as this one.
Walk over to it, you run your fingers on top of the keys giving Chloe a suggestive look. You've become emboldened by the atmosphere of instruments. Chloe giggles.
You sit down on the bench in front of the piano, Chloe sits down beside you. Your thighs press together. Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallow hard. You don't want to admit to yourself how good it feels to have someone this close to you. Your heartbeat picks up, beating every first, second, third, and fourth beat instead of it’s usual first, third beat. You don’t know if it’s because of how close you are to Chloe or because this is the first time in a long time you’ve played in front of a stranger.
Keeping your eyes shut, pushing away the nerves, you let your fingers take over. You do this every time you play an instrument. It allows you to put everything you’ve ever felt into the song you're playing. Mrs. Parker said that’s what made you so good. When you play, you make people believe the song. Believe the words, the emotions.
I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do ya?
It goes like this the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composed it hallelujah
Your fingers work across the keys to make up for the four other hallelujah's in the song. Before you can pick up where you left off, Chloe takes over.
Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to her kitchen chair
Your fingers strain to keep playing as Chloe's voice rises with emotion.
She broke your throne
She cut your hair
And from your lips, she drew that hallelujah
Chloe stops for the other hallelujah's just like you had and then begins again when the note’s right.
Maybe I've been here before
I've seen this room
and I've walked this room
I used to never long before I knew you
I've seen your flag on your marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a bro-ken hallelu-
Chloe's voice cracks with an overflow of emotion and you hit the wrong key, your eyes snap open.
"That was amazing." Chloe breathes out as if she can’t believe the two of you just did that. You don’t know if you can either.
Your laughs as breathless as Chloe’s voice sounds. "Your voice is so...beautiful." Everything about you is.
You force yourself to look at her. Goosebumps rise on your arms when you see that she’s looking at you too. Except it isn’t with the hesitant expression your sure is on your face. She’s looking at you with so much intensity it makes something thrum low in your stomach and spread through your chest. Your eyes drop to her lips. So pink. They part slightly, the air coming out tickles your face. When you look back at her eyes, you notice her cheeks are tinted the cutest shade of rose.
A phone buzzes making you both jump. Your knee bangs off the piano. The moment’s over.
You pull your phone out of your pocket to check it. It’s a text from your mother. You don’t know if you’re glad that she broke the moment or completely pissed off. Tell your friends to stop coming around here.
You frown.
"Who is it?" Chloe asks.
You shake your head slightly, you definitely don’t want Chloe to know about your current homelessness. You spout the first lie that comes to your head. "My, uh, boss."
"You work?" Chloe asks, sounding a little surprised. It rubs you the wrong way. Her surprise, the text from your mom, and the confusing moment that you two just shared spikes your anger to something irrational.
"Oh and that’s surprising to you because I'm poor right?"
Chloe's eyes widen, "no…no, Beca, that's not what I meant."
You squeeze your eyes shut. You know that's not what Chloe meant. If she was like that, you wouldn't be sitting here with her right now. She wouldn’t be looking at you with so much genuine concern on her face.
Her hand lands on your arm before she asks, “who really texted you?"
Not wanting to answer the question, you stand up from the bench making Chloe's hand drop. "I should go. Thanks for," you gesture to the piano. "Thanks for this."
You grab your bag from the floor feeling Chloe’s eyes follow your every movement. When you walk past her, she reaches out and grabs your wrist, spinning you around. "Beca, if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask." She bites her lip. "And I'm sorry about what happened at the park today."
You nod, "yeah."
She tugs you closer and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, “see you.”
You go upstairs, half expecting and half wanting Chloe to follow you up but she doesn't. You walk the hallways certain that you’re heading towards the exit but when you see a stove and a fridge you know somewhere along the way, you’ve gotten lost.
"Beca Mitchell?"
Your whole body seizes, you have to stop yourself from putting your hands up in surrender. You know that voice all too well. Your brain has begun to associate it with getting arrested--mostly for fights you didn't start. You know that voice from years of getting lectured and being told “you’re a smart kid, Beca. I just don’t understand why you insist on getting in trouble all the time.”
"Sheriff Beale." You say, placing a name to the voice. You shake your head mad at for not making the connection sooner. Chloe Beale is Sheriff Beale's daughter. Fucking duh.
You turn to face the man who’s standing in front of the stove. He’s got the muscles of a man who’s been training to be Sheriff all his life. He’s got short-ish hair the same color of Chloe’s and a shadow of a beard.
"You're not–” he squints “–this isn't you breaking into my house, right?"
"No sir," you say, adjusting your backpack strap. You never knew your father. He left your mother when you were too young to remember. If you were to choose someone who is even the teeniest bit like a father to you, it’d be Sheriff. Which makes you even angrier for not knowing that Chloe's his daughter. "Your daughter invited me over to play music for her."
The sheriff laughs, loud and hearty. "Just like her mom. Are you on you're way out?"
You nod.
"Chloe didn't invite you to stay for dinner?" He asks. You shake your head. "Would you like to?"
"Um, no…thank you."
He stares at you for a moment, "all right then. Stay out of trouble."
"Sure," You hesitate for a second not knowing which way to go to leave.
"It's all the way down the hall, to your right." Sheriff Beale says with a smirk, he turns back to the stove.
You bow, nod and then shake your head and roll your eyes at how awkward you’re being.
When you've finally managed to find the exit and leave, you’re certain that this is the last time you’ll ever step foot in the Beale residence.