Just One Voice

•Turning Tables•

~11~

I'm pretty much completely out of breath once more by the time that I swipe my keycard to get into my own dorm.

I'm greeted by a girl about my height, with dark hair pulled loosely into a braid that falls over her left shoulder.

"Hey, um, did you just sprint here or something?" she asks right away.

"No." I softly gasp, "I came all the way from the boys' boarding house with my bags and guitar case and they're heavy and the elevator had people in it so I took the stairs because I'm socially awkward and are we roommates?" I sloppily run all of my dizzy sentences together.

She doesn't seem to find anything that I had said humorous, because her smooth complexion continues to cradle a blankly confused look. She quickly takes my guitar from me and we shuffle into the room.

"If you're looking for room nineteen, you've got it," she says as we set all my stuff down, "I'm Rylie James."

"Brooklynn Hope," I say, now having enough mental capacity to actually take note of the girl's features.

Rylie's darkly stained strands and eyes seem to be quite striking against her pale skin tone. Her face is sharp but pretty, and her frame is very athletic and toned.

"So, Brooklynn Hope. Music is what brings you to MACC, huh?"

"How'd you know that?" I question.

"I literally took your guitar case from you, remember?"

"Oh, right. Duh." I offer an embarrassed smile before turning to unzip my suitcase, "What's your thing then?"

"My thing? More like my life," Rylie says, "I dance."

Intense.

Though the title fits her well and definitely explains how she's in such incredible shape. I mean seriously, her calves look like they could slice through her leggings just as she walks the few steps over to her own side of the room.

"That's so cool," I reply.

"It sucks actually, but I couldn't breathe without it. Speaking of breathing, judging by yours about two minutes ago, I might guess that wind instruments aren't really your forte." She suggests, cracking a smile for the fist time.

I grin back at her joke, "I dabble in the flute and saxophone. Mostly though I just play piano, and guitar, bass, violin, cello, harp, drums, xylophone—"

"I get it," Rylie interrupts, throwing a hand into the air, "you play a lot of instruments. Lucky me, I probably get to listen to you practice every night."

"Well I mean—"

"Don't sweat it," she cuts in again, "It'll be worse for you watching me take care of some ratchet pointe shoe blisters."

"Ew." I try and fail to suppress a disgusted face and we both just end up chuckling to ourselves.

"You seem chill, Brooklynn Hope. Tomorrow's a big day, but don't expect me to ask you if you're ready for it because no one ever is," she pauses, wheels turning behind her eyes as she probably thinks about her year prior, "It's going to be one hell of a year."