Carolina Wren

Chapter 13

Wren POV

Music Room B is silent when I walk in. Mr. Blackbourne is standing in all of his rigid perfection behind a table, steel gray eyes watching me with intense scrutiny as the door whispers shut behind me. His suit coat is still on this time, so he must not mean to play much himself, today.

Even with his startlingly good looks on full, pristine display, my attention is immediately drawn to the object on the table. My fingers itch to open the clasps of the hard plastic case and pull the contents of it into my grasp. At the same time, it makes me want to turn and run straight out of this room. I'd rather continue the conversation with Nathan than face the reality that I most likely don't play as well as I used to.

Losing even a week of practice can affect your ability to play well. A full summer can set you back in a monumental way. Years? I was mortified just thinking about putting my lips to the mouthpiece in front of Mr. Blackbourne. His entire demeanor demands excellence and he was, most certainly, going to find me lacking.

"Miss Nelson," he greeted and I gave him a halfhearted, nerve ridden smile. "Please, sit. We have some paperwork to go over." I edged toward the table like Mr. Blackbourne or the french horn would jump out and bite me. My money was on the hunk of metal; jumping was beneath him.

As I dropped my backpack and lowered myself into my chair, he continued, "This is merely an agreement that you understand that this is a loan, not a gift, and must be returned to Mr. Hudson at the end of this academic year. Also, an understanding that any damages beyond the typical wear and tear of the instrument are under your financial responsibility. Does that sound fair?"

I nodded and pulled the sheet over. The first item was the loan agreement, and I quickly initialed on the line next to it. I knew I could never afford something like this. The next was on financial responsibility, so I read through that better. Minor dings, broken thumb valve strings, and things of that nature would be taken care of by Mr. Hudson but anything major would be out of my pocket. It was reasonable, so I initialed next to it.

The next item on the list was a bit of an issue. "I have my own mouthpiece," I told Mr. Blackbourne quietly, reaching down into my backpack and fishing it out. It was the most basic one that came with the starter kit we were given in beginner band, but it's what I'm comfortable with. "I don't need to use the one provided by Mr. Hudson." Quite frankly, I found it gross. I don't care how much disinfectant you spray on a mouthpiece; I can't stand playing something that could very easily have been pressed against somebody else's mouth.

Mr. Blackbourne's lips pinched into a frown. "Mr. Hudson informed me that this mouthpiece is of a high quality that fits with this instrument."

Instrument snobs. "This is what I'm comfortable playing with."

He frowns at me for what feels like forever and I do my best not to squirm. He doesn't play a brass instrument; something tells me he won't completely understand where I'm coming from. Finally, he loses the battle of wills. "Very well, you may use your own mouthpiece for the time being. We will keep it in your case on the chance that you will wish to transition to it at a later time when you are more comfortable playing, again."

Not a chance, but I initial next to the section about the mouthpiece, anyway.

The fourth section is about horn upkeep, from greasing slides to oiling rotary valves, as well as cleaning it every few months and keeping up with the polishing cloth. I can't say I've bathed my horns in the past, but they've always been school owned and had honestly seen rougher days before they came into my hands. I'd take better care of this one, though.