more for us | grayson dolan (book two)

thirteen

My head is pounding as I stumble out of the taxi. The Juilliard campus is crowded as I navigate through the campus. I desperately need sleep and an aspirin - two things that I can't have in this current moment.

A yawn escapes my mouth as I head to my lecture hall. After my new popularity in the Koch family, I can't wait to watch Violet's salty expression unfold when she sees me.

As I approach the classroom, the door is closed and a large note is hanging on it. I furrow my eyebrows and read the words carefully.

Piano History lecture will be held in the auditorium. Please report there - Professor Koch

I let out a sigh and turn away from the door. The auditorium is toward the front of campus... I think? I still have no idea where I'm walking half of the time.

When I see a few students from my class walking ahead of me, I casually follow their lead without them noticing I'm there.

Once I enter the large area, I'm met with my entire class. Laura is standing on the stage, where a grand piano is sitting perfectly. She's talking to another man and they're looking down at a paper. Seven students are standing near them. I think they're the seniors.

Violet is sitting in the front row, talking to a few girls in the class. They're fixing their makeup and gossiping. I roll my eyes and take a seat toward the back, away from the rest of the crowd of people.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean back in the comfortable seat and relax my body. There's so much commotion going on.

"The mid-semester showcase always gets everyone riled up." An unexpected voice startles me.

I slightly jump up as I watch a boy sit down in the seat right next to me. I nod my head before looking back at the stage. "Appears so."

He lets out a breath while leaning back in the seat, he moves his left leg to sit comfortably on his right knee. I quickly glance at him again, only to find him looking right at me.

His brown orbs burn through me as a smirk sits on his face. He's wearing a jean jacket with a white long sleeve shirt that has black stripes on it. His tan skin is smooth, and his brown hair is a mop of curls. I take notice that his nose ring is glowing from the light reflecting it.

"They just want the seniors to pick good people. It's a lot of pressure." He crosses his arms over his chest.

"I'm sure they will." I casually shrug while looking back at the seven people scattered around the large piano.

"I like your shoes." The mysterious boy states.

I look down at my regular old converse. I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not. "Uh, thanks."

"You'll never see anyone at this school wearing those, so kudos to you. They're cool." His tone is a little lighter as he keeps his eyes on me.

"People at this school dress like everyday is New York fashion week." I scoff.

"Right? It gets annoying. We go to a music school, not a fashion school."

"That's the power of money." I know I should probably shut my mouth, but I can't help it. The concept still irks me.

"Rich people and their cash." He shakes his head back and forth, agreeing with my statement.

"I hate how money suddenly became a label. People are assholes just because they have it." I continue my rant.

"Yeah, especially these privileged seniors. They walk around like they own the fucking place." He motions toward the stage.

"They're the advanced vocal class, I'm sure they all expect Grammys in the future." I can't help but point out.