Play!

I

The background noise consisting of whispers and banter of his classmates around him was annoying to say the least. Brett sighed deeply and sank down his chair until he had more resemblance to a bag of old potatoes than to a first year university student majoring in violin performance. 
"You alright, mate?", his friend, Cole, asked. 
"Just noisy", Brett shrugged and sank down even further. 
"You'll get back pain by thirty if you continue sitting like this."
"See if I care."
"Why are you in such a bad mood? It's orchestra camp! We'll meet lots of new people. You love new people."
It was a good question, really, why he was behaving like this. Brett shrugged again. 
"Dunno."
"And we get to play all the time without having to sit through boring theory or history lessons", Cole added, tightening his bow in the process.
"I guess..."
Cole looked at him, his blond eyebrows raised. Brett couldn't blame him. He was normally the upbeat type, the one who threw jokes left and right in midst of a big crowd with everyone hanging at every movement of his lips.

Cole pursed his, his gaze changing from confused to knowing all of a sudden.
"Is it maybe because of the soloist auditioning round?"
Brett's heartbeat quickened. Luckily, he had a super power. His deadpan expression, hiding emotions from the outside world whenever he didn't want to show them. 
"Dunno", he just so managed, his voice more pressed than he liked.
Cole sniggered. "Ahhh, so it's that. Figures."
Brett's good friend knew better than to comment anything more to that ordeal. The ordeal that Brett Yang had been chosen as the one to compete for the soloist position in the joint orchestra project the Queensland Conservatorium, their university, had been waiting for two years. It had been a tradition for ages, in which the student orchestras of the Queensland con and the Sydney Conservatorium of Music would come together for three weeks to rehearse for a big concert, which took place at the end of this very camp. It just so happened that Brett, curious and ambitious as he was, had sent in an audition tape for the jury, not really expecting to get into the final round. He was first year after all. Normally, a third or, if very lucky and talented, a second year student would get the position. 

Not this year, apparently. 

This year, in December, a month before the camp, he'd gotten a letter, telling him he'd been chosen and he was going to compete for the soloist spot during the first week of the camp with the candidate from the Sydney con.
And this news had hit him right in the guts just hours before the Yang Christmas family dinner had started.

It wasn't that Brett hated performing in general. In fact, it was the one thing he was passionate about. Playing the violin for people to share the beauty of classical music. But having to play in front of his classmates for a soloist spot during a camp, where the results would be announced DURING the fucking thing for his friends, foes, mentors and bystanders to talk and gossip about for another two weeks was just something else. On top of that, he was representing his Goddamn university and being a first year just somehow added to the pressure. If he was going to lose, his university would lose. The teachers could come and tell him it was an amicable competition to strengthen the synergy of these two institutions all they wanted, it would still suck.
It would suck big time.
Because if he despised one thing, it was letting people down. And disappointing a whole conservatorium along with his friends and family, who were going to travel to Sydney just to hear him play, was just the thing to give him life-long trauma and expensive therapy sessions guaranteed.

That's why despite everyone around him being happy for him and he'd already gotten so many congratulations his hand had started to hurt due to too much hand shaking, Brett had been, to put it mildly, miserable for the past month. And that annoying background noise consisting of chatter the orchestra was producing was increasing the persistent pain in his head to a degree which slowly but surely drove him crazy, and thus, didn't help one bit.

So yeah. Sue him for being in a bad mood. And for not even having taken his violin out yet!

"When are the others arriving again?", the principle flautist Brett had forgotten the name of asked Cole, "They should be here. We're at THEIR university after all!" 
Something in the way her annoyed, high pitched voice accentuated the pronoun made Brett groan, unsuspiciously, he hoped.
"Traffic, apparently. Some of them are here, but the conductor's not, so the students are in practice rooms or in the cafeteria", Cole replied, not without throwing a concerned side eye at Brett.
"Unbelievable!", she hissed to that and vanished as fast as she'd appeared, her long, blond, wavy hair flapping behind her.
"Brett", Cole whispered when she was out of earshot, "You sure you're okay? You wanna call in sick? Should I speak to the Mr. Thames?"
His buddy having to ask their conductor for a leave of absence for Brett? Yeah, no. This was the last thing he needed. Admitting defeat when it hadn't even started yet.
"Nah. Fine. Don't worry."
"I am though. You look terrible!"
"I always do. Just leave me alone! I'll be fine."
It looked like Cole wanted to say more. Instead, he pressed his mouth shut, shook his head slightly and leaned into the chair himself. 

Brett closed his eyes, hoping it could help him fade out his surroundings.
It was his own fault, really, how he had gotten into this mess. So the least he could do was to man up and try his best, right? Only if he wouldn't be so fucking scared he'd fuck this up...