Allegro

In Japanese class the next day, Professor Reiko announced a new oral presentation assignment. We had to research and present on a respectable Japanese figure — someone famous who made a positive impact on the world. The only issue was that It was due Monday, and it was already Friday. I heard Will groan as soon as it was announced, as if the upcoming deadline was physically crushing him.

Later, we ended up in the library, staring at blank documents on our laptops. Will looked thoroughly annoyed, so I nudged him lightly. “Relax, we’ve got this shit. After all, I’m on your team.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and smirking. “You underestimate me, Huang. Sure, I may be lazy, but I know more than you think. You pick the person, though.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “You’re just trying to make me do all the work, aren’t you.” He held up his hands in mock innocence. I sighed dramatically. “Fine. What about Yoko Ono?”

Will cocked his head to the side. “John Lennon’s wife? I thought all she did was music.”

“Widow,” I corrected. “And she didn’t just make music, she was also a big peace activist during the sixties and seventies.”

Will grumbled something under his breath, but I ignored him and started researching. My fingers flew over the keys as I jotted down notes, scrolling through articles about her bed-ins for peace that she did on hers and John’s anniversary. My leg bounced under the table as I fully locked into my work.

Without a word, Will reached over and gently rested his hand on my knee, stilling it. Startled, I glanced at him. He just smiled casually and nodded toward my screen, signaling for me to continue. I turned back to my work, feeling a blush creep up my neck. Though Will knew I was in a “relationship”, he never seemed to stop his efforts. Part of it was a bit odd, but the other was flattering, as if I was falling for it.

For the next hour, I focused on my research while he sat beside me, doing absolutely nothing but watching. Finally, I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my eyes which were strained from staring at a bright screen for so long. I noticed his hand was still resting on my leg.

“You know,” I said, clearing my throat. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to help a little.”

Will clicked his tongue. “Come on, Huang. You’re the brains, and I’m the beauty in this duo.”

I dropped my jaw, pretending to be offended. “Excuse me? You think you’re prettier than me?”

He shrugged, flashing a smug grin. “I mean, I’ve got good genetics. What can I say?”

I rolled my eyes and shut my laptop, admitting temporary defeat in my research. “I’m done for now. We can finish this later.”

“So, what should we do instead?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

I leaned away from him, laughing at the gesture. “Sorry, but I’ve got to get to rehearsal in a few.”

“I’ll walk you,” he said instantly, his face lighting up.

I tried to act indifferent, though somewhat excited by his offer. “If you want.”

As we walked, I noticed he kept sneaking glances at me. “If you don’t look where you’re going, you’re going to walk straight into something,” I teased.

“This is a risk I’m willing to take,” he said confidently. His confidence biting him almost immediately, he grazed his hip against a pole. I burst out laughing as he winced. “Still worth it,” he muttered with a sheepish smile.

Shaking my head, I looked down at my feet, feeling the corners of my lips twitch up in a smile, fighting back the urge to say “I told you so”. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, we reached my locker in the arts building.

“Thanks for walking me,” I said, pulling out my case.

He rocked on his heels. “I could come in and watch, you know.”

I laughed lightly. “That’s probably not the best idea. I might mess up a chord or something.”

Will leaned in slightly, his grin turning devilish. “Are you saying I make you nervous, Huang?”

Heat crept up my neck, which I covered by poking his shoulder to push him back. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Ricci.”

He laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. But I’ll win you over someday.”

“I’d love to see you try,” I called after him as he walked away. But even after he disappeared down the hall, I stood there longer than I probably should’ve, staring at where he’d just stood.

Shaking off the thought, I headed into the rehearsal space down the corridor. I spotted Dae, Eunice, and Mr. Moon, though Dae and Eunice were mid-argument. Not wanting to interrupt, I found a quiet, vacant spot in the back of the room and unpacked my guitar.

As I unbuckled the case, a pair of shiny, expensive dress shoes entered my line of sight. I looked up, startled, to see Mr. Moon hovering over me with his hands on his hips.

“That won’t work,” he said, his tone dripping with disapproval as he motioned toward my guitar.

I frowned. “Excuse me?”

“An acoustic guitar? For the Moon showcase? No, no. You’ll need an electric,” he said dismissively.

Though I had no real preference in the type of guitar, his condescending tone rubbed me the wrong way. I decided to stand my ground, my confidence unwavering. “I think this guitar will do just fine.”

He shook his head firmly. “An acoustic performance would bore the audience. Don’t you want to aim higher? You need to shoot for the moon!”

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to stay calm before I lost my shit on the guy. Remembering Professor Lee’s advice, I smiled tightly. “Minimalism can be a nice change of scenery. Imagine the audience holding up their flashlights — the crowd engagement could be just what you need.”

To my surprise, Mr. Moon’s expression changed, and a grin spread across his face. “Ah, you have fire. I like! I see why Minho chose you.”

I blinked at his phrasing, his objectification of me nearly setting me off, as if he didn’t see me as an individual but merely his son’s girlfriend. Still, I managed a polite smile. “Thanks for the advice. If you’ll excuse me, I need to practice.”

“Of course,” he said, chuckling, the corners of his eyes creasing

I sighed, shaking my head to myself as he walked off, likely to bother someone else. No wonder Minho didn’t want to go away with this man for a weekend. I pulled my guitar out of my case a bit harshly and started tuning.

. . .

I sat on the lawn near the courtyard, strumming my guitar to a Beabadoobee song. Grumbling, I scratched the song off my list. I’d practiced countless pieces, trying to find something special, but nothing stood out. Frustration lurked at me as Mr. Moon’s suggestion to switch to electric started coming into mind as a genuine temptation.

It was bad enough not having a song locked in, but now I had to spend hours every day in rehearsals with a teacher I hated, including weekends. I felt an almost stubborn obligation to stick with acoustic, just to avoid giving him the satisfaction of being right, that bastard.

Annoyed, I tossed my guitar gently into the grass. When I glanced up, I noticed Stella walking by. Her gaze lingered on me for a moment — a weird moment in itself — but to my surprise, she veered off the path and climbed the small grassy hill I was sitting on, waving politely as she approached.

Skeptical, I raised an eyebrow at her. “Hey, Stella. What’s up?”

She gave me a smile that seemed unusually genuine — a very big difference from the glares she’d been throwing my way for over a month. Maybe she’d finally moved on from her crush on Minho. “Hey, Michelle. I didn’t know you played guitar.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” I muttered under my breath. Looking up, I forced a polite smile, though my gut twisted in a way that made me not want to trust her. “What are you doing over here?”

“Looking for you, actually,” she replied, her tone uncharacteristically light and sweet.

I raised an eyebrow, my skepticism deepening. “And why’s that?”

She shifted awkwardly on her feet, hesitating for a moment. I gestured for her to sit down, and she let out a dramatic sigh as she settled next to me on the grass. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot,” she began, rambling with a kind tone I hadn’t expected. “So, I thought I’d make an effort to, you know, smooth things over.”

I blinked, caught off guard by her sudden change of heart. Unsure how to respond, I cleared my throat and gave her a slow nod. “Uh, yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

“I was just... jealous,” she admitted, gesturing animatedly as she spoke. “At the welcome dinner, it felt like Minho and I had a connection. But I see now that it was just a silly, one-sided crush. I know you two are together, and I don’t want to be that person, so... I’m backing off. Sorry you got caught in the middle of all that.”

I studied her expression, searching for any sign of insincerity. To my surprise, she seemed genuine. The maturity of her statement threw me off, but I began to feel my suspicions fade. “Thanks, Stella. I really appreciate it.”

“Friends?” she asked, extending a hand toward me with a hopeful smile.

I laughed softly, finding her boldness amusing. It felt like a bit of a stretch, but I shook her hand anyway, admiring her confidence. “Friends.”

“So,” she began, leaning back and nodding toward my guitar. “As your friend, I couldn’t help but notice your frustration with your instrument.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, leaning back on my hands. “I can’t pick a damn song to perform for the showcase.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were competing in that,” she said, her eyes lighting up with interest. “If you want, I can help you pick something.”

I hesitated for a moment. The idea of playing in front of her still felt a little strange, especially given how, as far as I knew, she despised me only a few minutes ago. But I figured I was desperate. With a shrug, I picked up my guitar. “Alright. I’ve tried every modern acoustic song I can think of — Wildflower, Glue Song, Sofia, blah blah blah. But the problem is either the vocals are boring, or the guitar part is way too basic.”

“Why don’t you play me a bit of each?” she suggested, crossing her legs and settling in comfortably.

I nodded and began strumming snippets from each song I mentioned. When I finished, I glanced at Stella, who nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’re right. They’re all a little unbalanced,” she said. “But if you don’t mind, I have a suggestion.”

“At this point, I’ll take anything,” I muttered.

“Are you familiar with Pink Floyd?” she asked, a mischievous glint in her eye. When I nodded, her grin widened. “The Great Gig in the Sky. It’s got great vocals and could work for you on acoustic.”

My jaw dropped slightly. “You do realize those vocals are insane, right?”

“Somehow, I get the feeling that if you push yourself a little, you could pull it off,” she said confidently, her tone somewhat reassuring to me.

The faith she had in me made my heart bubble, similar to the way it did when Professor Lee showed confidence in me. Slowly agreeing with her, I found myself nodding. “Yeah... yeah, that’s perfect.”

She pulled out her phone, scrolling for a moment before handing it to me. “Here, there’s this arrangement I found on YouTube a little bit ago. It’d be perfect for you.”

I studied the video as she held the phone, strumming along to figure out the progressions. They were very detailed, but not impossible. When the video ended, I looked up at Stella with a grateful smile. “Thanks, Stella. I think I’ll use this. I’ve got rehearsal now, but this is exactly what I needed. Text it to me?”

She grinned, giving me a thumbs-up. “Go put Mr. Moon on his ass.”

Her comment caught me off guard, but I let it slide due to her helpfulness. Slinging my guitar over my shoulder, I headed toward the art building for what felt like the millionth time that week. The rehearsal space was awfully quiet aside from warm-up exercises as I walked in. Dae spotted me almost immediately, making his way over with a wide grin.

“Wow, Minho wasn’t kidding. You really do play guitar, huh?” he teased.

“And you really do sing,” I shot back, smiling. We hadn’t talked much since the welcome dinner — just the occasional polite greeting in passing — but I’d missed my old friend.

“Do you know what you’re performing yet?” he asked, leaning casually against the wall.

I shrugged. “Stella gave me a great idea, but we’ll see how it goes. What about you, you little pop star? I always knew those shower concerts would pay off someday.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. I’m doing Seven.”

“Jungkook, excellent choice,” I said, giving him a mock applause. I patted his shoulder with an encouraging smile. “You’re going to kill it, Dae.”

He held up his hands in defense. “Hey, don’t speak too soon. Anyway, I should get back to Eunice. See you later?”

I nodded as he walked off, calling after him, “Wait, what did you mean you couldn’t believe I could play—”

He only laughed, waving over his shoulder as he disappeared to the other side of the room.

I sighed and sat down with my guitar, pulling up the link Stella had texted me to the arrangement of The Great Gig in the Sky. The melody and progression stressed me out, but I was determined to learn it. As I played through the first minute, I found myself hitting several wrong chords, each mistake making me cringe. Unable to properly follow the author’s showcase, I quickly bought his arrangement, finding the sheet music far more manageable.

It wasn’t just the guitar that was a challenge. The time signatures shifted at the most random times — from 4/4 to 3/5 and back again — forcing me to stay on my toes. Still, the piece was beautiful, and the more I practiced, the more I could feel its potential.

By the time Mr. Moon strolled into the room, clipboard in hand, most of the other students had left. Only Dae and another boy remained, waiting their turns. Mr. Moon’s eyes landed on me, and he waved me forward with a smirk.

“So, Minho’s girlfriend,” he began, his tone dripping with condescension. “Please, feel free to blow me away.”

I stiffened at the remark, already irritated. Setting up my guitar, I prepared to attempt the song, most of it being sight-read. I took a deep breath, steadied my hands, and began playing. It was the worst playthrough of the day. I stumbled over the chords, messed up rhythms, and went offbeat more times than I could count. By the time I hit the final note, I wanted to crawl into a hole. Even Dae glanced at me sympathetically from across the room, clearly embarrassed on my behalf.

Mr. Moon, however, grinned like I’d just performed a masterpiece. “Excellent work, Miss Huang,” he said, jotting something down on his clipboard. “I look forward to hearing it with lyrics next time.”

I blinked, my frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

He handed me his clipboard before walking away cheerfully. Dumbfounded, I looked down at the paper, expecting a laundry list of critiques. Instead, there was just one note: “Add lyrics.”

My jaw clenched as I crumpled the paper in my fist. The performance had been a disaster, and anyone else in the room could see that. But Mr. Moon didn’t care about my actual abilities, for some reason. In my mind, the only way he would do this was because he only cared about my connection to Minho. He was buttering me up, trying to score with his own son by using me. The realization made me sick.

Fuming, I packed up my guitar and slung the case over my shoulder. My frustration boiled over as I left the rehearsal room, my feet carrying me toward the only person I could think of to help me. I knocked on his door.

The door opened, and Professor Lee stared at me, his usually icy expression faltering with surprise. “Miss Huang,” he said, his tone low, stern as ever. “This is highly inappro—”

“I need your help,” I interrupted, almost pleading with desperation.

He raised an eyebrow, studying me for a moment. Then, with a small sigh, he stepped aside and motioned for me to enter.