With One Note (A Pitch Perfect fanfiction)

Chapter 2-6: Perfect Definition

A/N. (I don't own most of the characters and certain parts of the plot. Courtesy goes to the creative team behind Pitch Perfect.) Tell me what you think!

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Chapter 2-6: Perfect Definition

Mornings here at Casa Bella still felt different without Beca. The new cook was so lousy – all she could do was deep-fry what she could find in the fridge. Most of the time, she woke up later than half of the girls so she ended up not making anything at all for breakfast (which pissed Aubrey off so much). Everyone seemed to have gotten used to Beca’s healthy lifestyle, that most of us actually preferred the new cook waking up late so that we could make our own simple salad instead. At least, it would be yummier and healthier than deep-fry.

Today would be Aubrey’s third Saturday as new captain of the Bellas. Today would also be the third time this week that I would try to convince her to use Beca’s mix. The Bellas’ new dance studio was wonderful. The dreadful rehearsals became less dreadful with its nice ambiance and lighting. Two hours of rehearsing choreography had passed when Aubrey, by the intervention of the heavens above, decided to bless us with a fifteen minute break. So far, the routine was going okay. But then again, we wouldn't win with an “okay” performance. The Treblemakers satisfied themselves with having Gregory Haull in their team, while we just lost our own gem: Beca Mitchell.

“You haven’t even heard the mix, Bree,” I argued after Aubrey shook her head as if in reflex upon seeing Beca's CD in my hand.

“I have, Chlo. I listened to it on the first night you gave me that thing. The mix was nice. It was different.”

“But?”

“But it was different.”

“Different is… bad?”

“Yes. What the Bellas need, is Beca’s usual work. You know, the one with the consistent upbeat tempo and the punk-disco-rock kind of stuff? That’s what she used to let us perform. That’s what we’re going with at the final competition.” Aubrey grabbed Beca’s demo from my hand. “This mix? It’s a different track. There are soft tones, and a semi-remixed ballad, and the punk-disco-rock part only comes in at around thirty seconds to the end of the whole mix. It won’t be powerful enough.”

I was about to argue back when my phone rang from my purse. It was Beca. I was kind of expecting it’d be Mr. Mitchell at the end of the line, informing me that Beca is on a crazy visit to the hospital again. That was what the last two calls from Beca’s phone was all about: her pit stops at St. Martin de Porres Medical Center. Jesse suggested that I get used to it, and it had been a sloppy-working progress. My heart still hammered in my chest every time I hear such stuff from Jesse or Mr. Mitchell. And Beca’s nights at the hospital were my sleepless nights.

“Hey, Oh-Chlo!” Beca greeted as I picked up.

“You’re not with Doc Eaton again, are you?”

She giggled. “No.”

“Then, what’s up?”

She stuttered before having the focus to form words. “I-, I can’t go tonight, Oh-Chlo. I’m so sorry.”

I sighed. None of our planned hangouts these past few weeks came through. No, I didn’t count that quick coffee run as our ‘hangout’ time. “Psychology requirements?”