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Sebastian Laurent is our center forward. Lane might be the team captain and locker room leader, but Sebastian is the strategic captain on the ice, coordinating plays. The guy’s brilliant, no doubt about it.
Not just when he’s got on a pair of skates, either; I often see him around the house with his nose poked in a book. With his scruffy black hair and glasses, you might mistake him for a literature grad student at first, even though he’s a sophomore while the rest of us are juniors.
Rhys has his mouth full of the empty calories when he answers Lane. “We’ve got weeks before we need to clean up our diets.”
Lane just shakes his head in disappointment.
“Hey, Hudson,” Sebastian leans over the backrest of the couch. “Wanna play some NHL 24?”
“Maybe next time,” I answer, walking up the stairs to my room.
Maybe next time is what I said the last time the guys asked me if I wanted to play. And the time before that.
It strikes me that for the second time today, I’m being a jerk to someone who’s just trying to be friendly.
When my door closes behind me, thoughts of Summer pop back into my mind. Her blonde hair, her richly green eyes, her golden skin, her voice that was as sweet and melodic as the music she makes with her violin.
I can’t fucking believe I’m sitting next to the girl whose performances I’ve been watching for twelve months.
With nothing to do until my next class, I open my computer and let myself get lost in another one of them.
3
SUMMER
My heart swells as I step outside after my last class of the day. Is there anything that can make you appreciate life more than a beautiful, late-summer Vermont afternoon?
The temperature is in the mid-seventies, warm and balmy. The sky is clear and blue, the breeze gentle and fragrant. The sunshine dapples the campus walkways with the silhouettes of leaf-laden tree branches.
My chest hitches with excitement as the perfect idea pops into my mind. When I get home, I’m going to sunbath on the roof of my new house.
This is my first year living in off-campus housing with my best friend, Olivia. I enjoyed my time in the dorms, but this year I’m so ready to have a real place of my own. The tiny rowhome I rent with Olivia isn’t fancy, but it’s cute, conveniently close to campus, and we both get our own rooms, don’t have to share a bathroom and shower with an entire floor of other girls, and have an actual kitchen.
What more can you ask for?
I let my gaze sweep around as I walk across campus, appreciating the sights on this gorgeous day. Brumehill’s campus is amazing, with beautiful old buildings, twisting stone walkways, and lots of trees, flowers, and green space.
Cedar Shade, the small town it sits at the edge of, is the most picturesque New England town you can imagine, brimming with small, local shops, Victorian-style homes, and brick sidewalks.
The college and town are nestled in the woods of Vermont. Outside of downtown Cedar Shade, it’s mostly thick forest. Driving down the roads, every now and then you’ll come across a clearing giving you a view of the rolling hills that takes your breath away.
On autumn days, when the foliage becomes a kaleidoscope of color and the chill in the air makes it perfect for a thick sweater, it can be beautiful enough to bring tears to your eyes.
I love it so much here, I wish I could stay after graduation. Sadly, rural Vermont isn’t the best base for someone hoping to make a career out of performing classical music.
It’s odd enough that rural Vermont is even a good place to study classical music. Most top music programs are in major cities like New York, Boston, or San Francisco. But Brumehill is unique in boasting a top-ranked music program way off the beaten path.
In the early 1900s, a businessman named Theodore Buckley made a fortune manufacturing musical instruments and left a huge sum of money in his will to Brumehill College, his alma mater, to create a great music program.
I pass a stand where the student newspaper is stocked for free and pick up a copy. In a world of getting your news online, whether from websites or Twitter or TikTok, I like that the Brumehill student paper is still released in classic physical form on that rough, grey paper. It’s fun to page through every now and then. I think I’ll peruse it while I lay out in the sun on our roof with Olivia.
I yelp when two hands suddenly cover my eyes from behind.
“Guess who?” the voice behind me is low and gruff in the phoniest way possible, the result of its owner doing a very bad job of trying to disguise it.
“If it’s not Timothee Chalamet, I’m going to be very disappointed …”
“Sorry, babe. Just Olivia, this time,” my roommate and best friend says.
