Page 3 of The Baritone's Rival

“Trent!”

Trent’s shoulders tensed. Julie. He couldn’t escape. She was a brilliant pianist, but she’d heard everything Anthony had said. Shealwayshad opinions.

He turned to see her walking down the long gray hallway, looking chic in a black pencil skirt and silk pussybow blouse. Her heels clicked on the olive-green linoleum floor. In a school full of music nerds, she was a style icon.

“Thanks for playing,” Trent said, wracking his brain for a possible distraction. “How’s the recital coming along?”

Julie flapped her hands, waving away his question. “Who cares? Listen, a couple folks are heading over to Manhattan to hit up a jazz club. Why don’t you go with us? It’ll be a nice change from all thebel canto.”

Trent shook his head. “I’ve got to get a few more hours of practice in.”

“Trent.” Julie reached out, squeezing his forearm. “You heard what Anthony said. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“I really shouldn’t…”

“I know your first class tomorrow isn’t until one. Live a little.”

Maybe she was right. He had been pushing himself hard. That was the way he liked it, but everyone needed a reprieve. He was in rough shape. His shoulders were sore from tension, and the knot in his stomach hadn’t unraveled in days.

“Who else is coming?” Trent asked.

“Well, it’s me, and Farah, and…” Julie trailed off, her eyes moving distractedly to a large student event bulletin board on the wall of the hallway.

“And?” Trent squinted at Julie with suspicion.

“...Oscar.”

“I’m good.” Trent walked away. “Like I said, I have to practice.”

Julia’s heels clicked behind him as she moved to keep up with him.

“He’s a great guy.” Her voice was tinged with frustration. “You’d like him if you gave him a chance. Just because the two of you are like polar opposites…”

Trent slipped his left arm through the empty strap of his backpack and continued on, like a soldier hiking into enemy territory.

“How is he great?”

“Oh.” Julie kept up his pace, biting her lip. “Well, he’s kind, and he’s an intelligent singer. And he’s fun.”

“So we’re polar opposites, huh?”

“If the shoe fits,” Julie said, not bothering to hold back her sarcasm, “might as well walk the damn runway. You could be more fun.”

Trent stopped cold and turned to her. “You know why he’s fun? Because he doesn’t have to worry about buying food or paying back student loans. That’s what happens when you’re a spoiled trust fund kid.”

Julie stepped back with a confused squint. “How do you know he’s a trust fund kid?”

“Please. He doesn’t work. He lives on the Upper West Side. His clothes are absolutely ridiculous.”

An undergrad in pajama pants turned his head and stared as he walked past. Trent must have been getting louder. Why was it so hard to keep his cool today?

Julie grabbed him by his upper arms. “Don’t judge people like that. You can’tmake a bunch of assumptions about someone’s background and then use that as a justification.”

“Myassumptionsaren’t why I don’t like him. I don’t like him because he never has anything intelligent to say in class. I don’t like him because he’s a classic egotistical tenor. All he has to do is sing a high C and everyone forgets how vapid and obnoxious he is.”

“You’re jealous!” Julie pulled her hands away, her eyes wide in shock. “Did he call you out on your back rolls or something?”

The blood rushed to Trent’s face. It was ridiculous to get angry. Oscar Acosta didn’t matter. He shouldn’t be getting this worked up.

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