I offered a hesitant smile, not wanting to overdo it even though it felt like I was in the presence of a renowned celebrity. “Hi. I’m Emma Fox.”
He checked his watch before his hawklike eyes took my measure through horn-rimmed glasses. “And how can I help you, Miss Fox?”
I leaned against a desk in the front row, hoping it looked nonchalant. “I was curious about that quiz we took. Just wondering when we’ll get them back? I’m not feeling too confident about mine.”
Slade cleared his throat and held a hand out to his side. “Miss Rousseau, if you would?”
Blaise stepped closer, brushing back her auburn curls and shuffling through a pile of papers before handing one to the professor. “Here you go, sir.”
Slade ducked his head and pushed up his glasses as he skimmed the page. I shifted my weight, feeling my palm get clammy against the desk’s wooden surface. My heart dropped with each millimeter his frown deepened as he read.
He flipped through the pages for a torturous minute, putting me at risk of an ulcer, before sighing and fixing me with a hard stare. “Forgive me for being blunt, but your answers on the first page indicate that youhaveindeed played piano before. Is that correct, Miss Fox?”
My cheeks warmed at his patronizing tone, and I wanted to die from mortification. “Yes, I’ve played.”
He flipped the pages closed and set the quiz down atop his stack of papers. “The other sections show a severe lack of understanding. Didn’t your high school program include Music Theory?”
“I wasn’t involved in any school music programs. I only took one required class—choir. My piano lessons were outside of school.”
“And none involved learning these terms?”
I bit my lip, vaguely recalling my old piano teacher droning on about things I didn’t care about. “Not exactly.”
Slade sighed and traced one of his thick eyebrows with a finger. “These include fundamentals you’ll need in order to follow my curriculum.”
“I realize that, but I know I’ll get it,” I said, not needing to fake my confidence as I held his gaze. “I just don’t have much practice with composing, so I’ve never really needed to learn this stuff. I was unprepared. It won’t happen again.”
“Well, I hope that’s true, because the knowledge shown here barely qualifies as anF.”
Ice filled my veins, combating the fire burning my cheeks. AnF? I’d never gotten anFbefore in my life. And what did he mean bybarely qualifies—was there something below anF?
I let loose a long breath as my stomach sank. “Oh, okay. That’s… not so great. I was definitely hoping for a different letter there; preferably higher on the alphabet.”
Professor Slade simply raised a thick brow.
“I can play, Professor. Just put me behind a piano, and you’ll hear what I can do—”
He waved a hand. “That’s the last thing I’m concerned with. Theory is about the study of music and the fundamentals of building it. Understanding the composition methods, not just running in and pressing keys. When you perform your duet, I won’t be grading even a single point on howwellyou play. This isn’t the class for that. You’ll be evaluated on the techniques you utilize to compose the piece and how well you show your understanding of the material.”
I was at a loss for words and bit my cheek as he sighed and pointed at the papers. “This quiz showed me you aren’t prepared for my curriculum, Miss Fox. I strongly recommend postponing this class until next year and using the time to take a course we offer on fundamentals.”
Postpone the class? My teeth dug into my cheek a bit too far as panic set in, and I winced at the sharp sting. “But I need this class for the music program. If I push it back… I just can’t do that. It’s against the rules of my scholarship.”
Slade nodded, straightening his brown tweed suit jacket. “I can’t force you to drop the class, but it would be a disservice to my other students to spend valuable time getting you up to speed when they’re already there. Miss Rousseau holds tutoring sessions twice a week, but I’m afraid it’ll take too long for her to catch you up this semester.”
“Then I’ll learn it myself and put in extra time. I know this looks pretty bad, but I’m a fast learner.” I waved at the papers in his hand. “Thatis not an accurate indication of my skill.”
Slade leaned back and looked me over. I stood straighter on instinct, as if that would help.
“Let’s see how fast of a learner you are, then,” he said. “You can retake the quiz on Friday.”
My lips parted. “This Friday?”
“The day after Thursday,” he said absently before walking from the podium to his desk and sliding some folders into a briefcase.
I swallowed back a protest for more time and forced myself to nod. If holing myself up in the library for forty-eight hours was what needed to happen, then that was what would happen. “Thank you, Professor.”
“It won’t be the same questions, so don’t try looking up the answers and memorizing them.” Slade gave me a pointed look. “AnotherF, and it’ll be extremely difficult to salvage your grade.”
