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Chapter Two

"Welcome back, everyone," trilled Dan, my performance studies tutor, flourishing an arm around with his usual flamboyant demeanour as the remainder of the class trickled in.

"I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas. I assume everyone's feeling refreshed and raring to get going on your next piece?"

His question was met with a slight groan from half the reluctant attendees, disinterested silence from the other.

A cold hand reached around my face to cover my eyes, causing my whole body to tense as the image of the green eyes from the bus flashed into my mind. I instantly relaxed once I heard the familiar voice of Kris, one of the closest friends I'd made since starting at TAMM just three months ago, wishing me a Happy New Year.

Smiling, I turned to face him. With a small gasp, my mouth dropped open at his new, brightly bleached crop of hair, shining like a beacon against his caramel-coloured skin.

"New Year, new me," he laughed. Leaning over, he placed a quick kiss on my cheek before removing his vintage sheepskin coat and pulling a beaten-up manuscript book from his faded leather bag.

It couldn't be easy for Kris, being one of only two guys on a singing degree. But the fact he was one of the most outrageously confident people I'd ever met meant he was always firmly at the top of the tutors' favourites list.

"I can't believe they're throwing us straight into theory after this," Kris whispered, as Dan began the lesson. "Although, at least it means we'll get to be back with the boys..."

"Ugh, I can't think of anything worse," I hissed back. "A bunch of horny, unwashed guys? You're welcome to them."

"They're not unwashed, Abs, they're artistic," he smirked.

Rolling my eyes, I let out a quiet snort of laughter. Music theory had always been one of my strongest subjects, but - as one of the few mixed discipline classes on our course – it was normally crammed with guys from the guitar, bass and drums classes. Rather than try to learn anything, most of them seemed more interested in mingling with the singers.

Boys were the last thing on my mind, anyway. Going home over the Christmas break was supposed to be a chance for me and George to iron over the cracks that had started to deepen when I moved to London. The truth is, I think I'd already known for some time that they were too far gone to be filled in.

Leaning over to whisper to Kris, I had barely opened my mouth when Dan's voice caused me to jump in my seat.

"Abi, seeing as you have a lot to say this morning, perhaps you'd be so kind as to start us off?"

My stomach flipped at receiving a public put-down from the most notoriously firm but fair tutor on our course. Grabbing my sheet music from the floor, I rushed up to the stage as I shook thoughts of George from my mind.

"This is an original I've been working on, but it's not quite finished yet."

I mumbled into the microphone then, with a deep breath, I let my hands drift over the keys of the piano and allowed my voice to do what it knows how to do best.

Singing had always been the only time I felt truly free; completely at ease, as though there was no one else in the room. Dan seemed to spend the whole first semester telling me to open my eyes when I performed. But, the truth is, if I did that then it would all become too real. The words I wrote would no longer feel like private thoughts but raw and exposed. Opening my eyes would allow everyone to stare in and see what a mess I was deep down.

Shit, I'm in Dan's class right now, better look alive.

I blinked my eyelids open just as I reached the final line of what I had written so far and stared towards the back of the room, trying to avoid eye contact with the front row as Dan delivered his blunt yet positive feedback.