Connor and the Wolves - 9. Posturing

The fresh burn of cinnamon rested under her nose. Khurtschono lingered at the end of the hall, watching Miles hand out packets to students as they entered the practice room. She had avoided him during gym, running with John in cross-country. But there was no avoiding the elf now.
One hour. She only had to make it through one hour, and then she’d be free.
Who was she kidding? This was going to be a year-long disaster. And dropping orchestra was not going to happen. She would not let it happen.
“Fuck it.”
The words blurted from her lips, words she would never let her parents hear her say. But they did what she needed. Khurtschono drew herself up, taking a deep breath. Cinnamon burned through her lungs, and she used the scent, along with the forceful acknowledgement of potential failure, to propel herself forward.
“Ah, Kurt. I’m glad you could make it.” Miles smiled warmly, and Khurtschono’s heart skipped a beat. “Why don’t you take a seat by Arban?”
He pointed toward the viola section, where an Ythin neko was leaning back in a chair with his eyes closed. Khurtschono nodded, taking a packet from the elf before hurrying into the room. She dropped into the plastic chair next to the black and white Ythin and let out a relieved sigh. With other students around, there were plenty of scents to distract her.
Her leg was already tapping, a steady staccato that the carpet muffled. Beside her, Arban’s eye cracked open. He sighed as he stared at Khurtschono’s foot. Khurtschono grabbed her knee, trying to cut down on the restless stimming.
A glance around the room showed that Elias Academy was much better equipped than King’s Crossing High. The room’s ceiling was nearly six metres over her head, and the stands that lined the room in a half-circle looked new. Miles’ piano sat off to the side of the stands, ebony gleaming under the room’s bright lights. The storage room behind the piano was filled with instruments and lockers, where King’s Cross had students carrying their instruments all day.
A sudden wave of terror struck Khurtschono. What was her locker number? 40? No… that was her gym locker. Somewhere near the right of the locker bank. Was it two or three lockers in?
“Sup?”
The sudden word from Arban broke through her thoughts, and Khurtschono turned her head.
“Not much,” she shrugged. “I’m Khurtschono.”
“Arban,” the tuxedo neko replied. “Fresh from the desert?”
“Yes. My family just moved a week ago.”
“Mr. Miles, this seating chart is wrong.” A Niwo scowled at the packet in his tan hands. “You have me in the last desk.”
“And Haru in the first. We are trying something new this year,” Miles said. “Please, take your seat, and I will explain it once class starts.”
The neko stormed past Khurtschono, grumbling as he dropped into the first violin section. An elf and two nekos separated Khurtschono from him, the three of them chatting quietly as they waited for Miles.
The chime to start class filled the room for a second, and Miles closed the classroom door, cutting out any distractions from the hall. He strode to a tiny dais in front of the stands, looking over the waiting students.
Seconds stretch out, five, ten, fifteen, filled with a silence that quickly became agonising.
“What is the most important thing?” Miles barked.
“Downbeat!”
“What’s the second most important thing?”
“Posture!”
“Let me see the musicians in this room,” Miles demanded.
Around Khurtschono, students straightened, correcting their posture. Khurtschono followed their lead quickly, her ears ringing from the sudden yells.
“Excellent.” Miles looked over the group. Khurtschono averted her eyes as he passed over her. “Welcome to another year of music. There have been a few changes this year. We are missing an oboe, and our principal first violin graduated last year. But that won’t stop us, will it?”
She was losing the battle. Even over the masker she wore, Khurtschono could still smell the light orange cologne that melded with Miles’ natural scent. His voice faded as she finally looked at him.
‘Tareth help me, he’s hot.’
“Kurt?”
She startled, blinking rapidly to clear her daze. Miles frowned as he watched.
“Care to explain the seating arrangements for the year?” he asked, in a tone that made it clear it wasn’t his first time asking.
Shaking her head quickly, Khurtschono flipped through her packet.
“Sorry… um… rotational seating. Each person in the section gets a chance to sit first desk, rotating weekly?”
Miles nodded.
“We will still have monthly chair auditions to let you show improvement. But every single person in this room will have at least one solo in a concert this year.”
Khurtschono’s eyes swept the room quickly. Twelve solos? Either they were going to have a lot of concerts or the ones they had were going to be horrendously long.
“But who is first chair?” the tan neko demanded from the violins.
“No one, and everyone. If someone feels they aren’t up to the task, they can see me in private,” Miles said. “In that case, I will look at the chair auditions to decide. So this is no excuse to slack off just because you might have one solo. I expect everyone to give their best effort.”
Khurtschono glanced at the clock, biting back a groan. Five minutes. She still had to survive another fifty-five minutes.
“But, I’m not going to have us sit around reading from a syllabus all period. I’m sure we all had enough of that already,” Miles added. “So. We have a new student in almost every section. Why don’t we all spend this time saying hello?”
Arban and Khurtschono glanced at each other.
“Hello,” Arban said.
“Hello,” Khurtschono parrotted.
A small smirk cracked the corner of Arban’s lips, and Khurtschono snorted.
“So… Vielen’s 8th. Ever listened to it?”
Khurtschono shook her head.
“No. I was raised on neko music, not elven.”
“A lot of what we play is elven,” Arban said, pulling out a tablet. He handed an earbud to Khurtschono, and she clipped it on. “Just the first movement, yeah? Miles isn’t big on longer music.” Arban glanced up at Miles. “Don’t worry about him. First day of the year, he’s just going to double-check the music and the seating charts and… well, whatever teachers do.”
Khurtschono nodded as a viola started up in her ear. She and Arban listened in silence, tuning out the room as the music rose and fell. Six minutes later, the first movement ended, and Arban tapped his tablet.
“Viola solo,” he said, glancing at Khurtschono. “I’ll take this one since you’re unfamiliar with the piece. The other is…” He grabbed his packet, flipping through it quickly. “...Nicansien-”
“Dathier?” Khurtschono interrupted. “I know that one.”
“If Miles keeps to his usual practice, there will be three solos per concert. He likes to give us a chance to show off. I’d say… probably pair us with one of the second violins. Maybe the bass, if he’s feeling bold. If it’s the violin, we’ll probably be the first concert.”
“Are we playing the rest of the suite?”
“I don’t think so,” Arban said, scanning the syllabus. “Just the Nicansien.”
“It makes sense.” Khurtschono shrugged, pulling up the sheet music on her own tablet. “That is a piano piece. Transposing the whole suite would probably be painful.”
“It would be a fun project though…” Arban mused, swiping across his own tablet. “Maybe to start as a quartet, then move up to a sextet? Nicansien is already transposed to piano and viola… and to orchestra… but I might have to move some things around to mesh well with a smaller group. Plus the other three movements.”
“If it was for this class…” Khurtschono glanced around. “I think there is an orchestral version already. The flutes could be played by the first violins, then we split the second violins to fill the first violins’ role, at least for the first movement.”
“That could thin out the sound, though.”
“Not sure what to do with the horns in the second movement,” Khurtschono continued. “Maybe split the violas?”
“The sound…” Arban grumbled.
“It’s a small orchestra. I don’t think the quality would suffer too much. If it does, try rearranging the stage. Open the orchestra up a bit more.”
Arban stared at Khurtschono.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?”
“I know some things,” Khurtschono shot back. “What part was incorrect?” She froze, and took a deep breath. She was better than this — she could handle this better. “I’m sorry. What am I wrong about? Please explain.”
Arban shook his head, turning back to his tablet. Pulling his earbud off, Khurtschono dropped it in his lap before grabbing her own earbuds. Fine, she could play this game. She needed extra time to study the scores for the first concert pieces anyway.

“If everyone could stack up their chair before leaving, that would be a great help. We want the janitor to feel welcome in here, or they won’t clean properly.”
Khurtschono dropped her chair onto a small stack in the storage room. Most of the students seemed happy to leave, ignoring Miles’ request, and Khurtschono sighed, grabbing another couple of chairs.
“Thanks, Kurt.” Miles smiled as she emerged from the storage room again. “You were in the cross-country group in gym, right?”
“Um… yeah,” Khurtschono said, glancing at the Niwo cellist who was also ferrying chairs into the back room. As long as she wasn’t alone with Miles, she was fine. She could resist his scent. “It gave me a chance to get away from my brother,” she added with a weak laugh.
“Understandable,” Miles chuckled. “Alice said you stood out to her as a decent runner. If you’re interested, the team’s meeting for practice until six. I’m sure she’d be happy to have you join.”
“I’m actually more of a sprinter.” Khurtschono bit her lip. Where had that come from? She enjoyed running, especially in wolf form, but she was no athlete.
“Really?” Miles beamed at her, and Khurtschono’s heart skipped a beat. “Well, the track team could also use a few more members to round out our events. I understand you got here late and didn’t know about tryouts, so you can jump in with us for a few days, maybe give running a shot.”
“Sure.” She really needed to stop opening her mouth. It was digging a deep hole for her. “Just let me tell my brothers. John can take Altanchono and Soren home.” It had to be the mate bond. She couldn’t stay away. “I’ll meet you at the track then.”
“Don’t forget your viola,” Miles said. “Wouldn’t want you to leave that here; you need all the practice you can get.”
Ouch. That stung. Khurtschono was almost certain the hurt showed on her face because Miles frowned.
“I’m not saying that to be rude. Everyone practices hard in this class and missing a day of practice can be fatal to a performance. Especially if you’re unfamiliar with the material, and I know many are.” He shrugged, chuckling. “I tried to pick unfamiliar songs alongside more popular pieces, to help broaden our horizons.”
“Oh. Well, I need to go talk to John-”
“Kurt.” The werewolf looked back at Miles, hand inches from the door. “Your viola?”
“Oh… right…”
Hurrying into the storage room, she knelt beside the lockers on the far right, running a hand over them. One in… two in… opening the locker, she came up empty. Not locker S19 then. S20? S18? Only one way to find out for sure.