Page 12 of Feral Touch
I still had a few applications out to grant committees I was hoping to hear back from. The truth was that I just didn’t have the money for next semester’s tuition anymore. If I didn’t get any of the scholarships I’d applied to, I’d have to drop out.
“I’ll have the money in time,” I told him.
“Excellent. It would be a waste if someone with your potential was forced to leave without finishing your degree.”
Tears stung the back of my eyes. I thanked Temsah for meeting with me and left as quickly as I could.
My mother had been laid off from her job after twenty years. My father had been trying to get his small business off the ground for more than a decade. We were okay as long as we could live off my mom's salary, but now they were barely making ends meet. Both sets of grandparents lived in retirement homes and subsisted almost entirely on their pensions. There was no extra money to lend.
I’d worked a part-time job through high school and got a job every summer, but my classes were so time-intensive that I couldn't work during the school year.
My money had been quickly depleted. Scholarships paid for school, not living expenses, and even though I shared an apartment, rent and groceries and other necessities quickly added up.
I wandered through the school in a daze, wheeling my cello case behind me, its heaviness feeling very familiar.
I didn’t want to leave. I’d worked so hard to get in! I was one of the best students in the school. The Academy of Orchestral Performance Studies, colloquially calledOpus Academyas a play on words for Magnum Opus, was a small college with a great reputation. Many of its teachers were world-renowned and its students went on to have successful careers in music. Graduating from Opus would give me the best shot at achieving my dreams.
Not to mention the thought of going back home a failure and a drop out was like a kick to the stomach.
No. I couldn’t let that happen. I would just have to find some way to make money fast. Not every job had daytime work hours. Maybe I could hook up with a tutoring company and teach music lessons after school, or busk on street corners and subway stations, maybe find someone looking for a session musician. There had to be some money in that, right? I even thought about retail or flipping burgers if it came down to it. It would cut into my practice time, but that was okay. I’d just sleep less at night.
I felt better armed with a plan. I just needed to make some money on the side and all my problems would be solved.
All my problems except for one.
I still had no idea if a certain famous rock star wanted to see me again. The only reason I’d even gone to that concert was because Natalie had an extra ticket and guilted me into tagging along, but that didn’t seem to matter anymore.
On the way home, I grabbed a few of those free daily newspapers that are always left forgotten on subway seats, hoping to go through the classified ads. Maybe something would jump out at me. I pulled out my phone at one of the aboveground subway stops, hoping to do a cursory search online and see if anything turned up.
Before I’d even opened a browser I got an email notification. I didn’t think twice before opening it, expecting spam.
From: [email protected]
Re: VIP Fan Meeting contest entry
My heart skipped a beat and I nearly choked on my own tongue. They wouldn’t be emailing me if I hadn’t won, right? They wouldn’t personally contact each losing entry, would they?
With shaking hands, I tapped to open the email.
Congratulations!
You have been chosen as one of the winners of the Feral Silence VIP Fan Meeting. Your winning video was personally selected by the members themselves for showcasing your love of Feral Silence.
Even with the adrenaline flowing through my veins, I couldn’t hold back a snort. This was clearly a form email sent to all the winners. I certainly hadn’t professed my love for anyone in the video.
The rest of the email contained details about the when and where of the meeting, including information on what we were allowed to bring and what was prohibited—No to home-baked goods of any kind, yes to giving non-food gifts, no to filming, yes to photos.
I had to wonder how many mishaps they’d had at previous fan meetings to necessitate those rules. Did someone get food poisoning from bad cookies?
By the time I read through the instructions half a dozen times, it finally sunk in.
After five years, I would finally get to see Ren again. On the other hand, after five years I would be seeing Ren again. I was torn between joy and terror.
How much had he changed? How much had I? Would we even have anything in common anymore? Anything to say to each other?
Besides, he was a celebrity now and I was still just some music geek. He had thousands and thousands of fans, most of them girls, some of them no doubt very pretty, probably throwing themselves at him on a daily basis. There was nothing particularly special or unique about me aside from my higher-than-average cello skills. That would hardly be impressive to someone as talented as Ren.
The more I thought about it, the more depressed I became. By the time I reached my apartment, I was considering just forgetting about the whole thing.
