Page 16 of Little Monster
It hits my solo, and I listen closer, trying to detect any mistake I might’ve made, but the notes land true.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, shifting the headphones to my neck. “That sounds amazing.”
Michael’s brown eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles. “Right? Just wait. Here, listen to this.”
I put the headphones back on, and he plays the song again, but this time with different notes layered over where my solo should be. It’s not strings, but I like the sound of it, and when I quirk a brow, he pauses the music.
“I’ve been messing around with your solo for the lastweek, and the crew agrees we should try this and see how it sounds.”
So, he’s the reason I’m back here again. “Did you write this song?” I ask, and when he nods, I give him an impressed smile. “You’re super talented. I had no idea.” I realize a second later that my words came out wrong, but Michael just laughs.
“Yeah, we all do a bit of writing—except for Lucas, that fuck—but Dex and I wrote this almost exclusively ourselves. I wrote the strings part, but if you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears.”
“I... I’ve never written music before. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
He shakes his head. “You’re a musician; it’d feel natural once you started.”
“I guess I’ve never thought about it that way.” I take the headphones from around my neck and hand them back. “I’m so used to playing what others have written, I’ve never considered writing something of my own.”
The producers loop the bridge Dex is working on, and Michael and I go quiet as he sings the lyrics. He’s got a unique sound with an impressive range, and he hits a high note that makes my eyebrows rise.
Beside me, Michael chuckles.
“That’s the one,” Naomi says. “We can wrap it.”
A moment later, Dex walks out of the sound booth, and I try to school my expression into casual disinterest. He pauses for a fraction of a second when he sees me on the couch, then turns to Naomi and starts looking over her shoulder at the three computer screens she’s currently working on.
His lack of greeting feels like a punch in the gut, and I have to remind myself that I’m no one to him. It’s not like we’re friends or something. One cheeky comment on my Tribe page does not a friendship make.
“All right, Nora, you ready to get in there?” Naomi asks, spinning around in her chair to face me. Beside her, Dex leans back against one of the desks and bites his lip ring. I have to look quickly away.
“Yeah. Do you have the music for me?”
“Oh, I do.” Michael rustles around in the shoulder bag by his feet and pulls out a few sheets of handwritten notes. I’ve never played from handwritten music before, but the notes and staff are clearly inked, and I can read it without trouble. Shouldn’t be a problem.
“All right. I’d like to run through it once to get the hang of it, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. We’re ready when you are. Oh, and take these.” She hands me a pair of headphones, which I loop over my neck.
I kneel to open my violin case, and I can feel Dex’s eyes on me while I rosin my bow, but I don’t bother to look at him as I step into the booth. Alone, it’s quiet in here, and knowing everyone is watching from the other side of the glass makes me feel like I’m onstage. But that feeling is almost comforting to me, and my nerves start to melt away as I grab a stand and set up Michael’s handwritten sheet music.
Naomi gives me an A through the headphones, and I tune up quickly.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
“Great. Go ahead.”
I lift my bow to the strings, take a breath, and start to play.
The solo is similar to the original, though it’s slightly more technical, and it feels more passionate somehow. My first playthrough is light, without much in way of flair. I play it through once more, making sure I’m comfortable, and then I give Naomi a nod.
“Okay, recording,” she says through my headphones.
The music starts, and I close my eyes, listening closely to my previously recorded notes to know when to come in. Hitting my cue, I play through the new measures without a hitch.
“Let’s run it again, and slide into that high E in the fifth bar a bit more,” Naomi says through my headphones. “This isn’t the ballet; it can sound dirty.”
Nodding, I try to loosen up. I’m used to the formalities of the orchestra—Mr. Edrington would roast me alive if I slid into a note like that—but it’s a totally different vibe here.
