“Jenny, girl, you’re killing me here,” Sarah criticized. She was leaning into the music major’s practice room, impatiently tapping the doorframe. “Just get out of there and come get lunch with me.”

“I love you, I hear you, but no,” Jenny said defiantly.

“Ugh, you’ve literally been here all day on the first day back. Put down your metal doot cone and just come get Salsarita’s with me.”

Sarah and Jenny had been best friends since high school and stuck together into their first couple years of college too. Sarah was a lot better with the whole “going out” and “making friends” thing. She had the short shorts and crop top style with a long hair bun in the back. Sarah practically lived outside, and her geology track suited her. Jenny, however, liked to wear jeans and sweaters in the sweltering summer and stay inside.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Jenny yawned, sipping a coffee cup. She put it down on the upright piano with the other 2 empty 12oz cups.

“Have you even eaten today?”

“I’ve had like seven bags of chips.”

“What about something that wasn’t from a vending machine?” Sarah frowned, crossing her arms.

“Listen, music majors don’t get breaks,” she sighed, sweeping messy black hair out of the corners of her eyes. “We’ve got to work around the clock from day one, and I gotta eat dry foods so I can wash it down real quick and get back to playing.”

“I’ll snap one of those pieces of wood on your saxophone,” Sarah threatened.

“Better fucking not. It’s $35 for a pack of 10 reeds.”

“Wait- Are you serious?! Girl, you’re getting scammed.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jenny groaned.

“So are we going to Salsaritas or not?”

“Well…”

“I’ll let you talk jazz to me.”

“Alright, fine,” Jenny smiled, rolling her eyes and packing up her instrument and books. “But just so we’re clear, it’s not just because I want to explain jazz. I’m just hungry and need a break from my practice binge.”

“Oh, but you know I love it when you talk jazz to me,” Sarah teased. “Don’t get your hopes up though. I’m not paying for us both.”

“Ah well… maybe I’ll just… Just kidding,” she giggled, clicking her case closed and slinging it over her shoulder. She put some etude and song books in her messenger bag too before putting that on. “I’m itching for a quesarito on my plate.”

“Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”

“Eh, not yet. Native American genetics say I will be at some point, but I’m soaking it up while I can.”

“But like, you’re in the bathroom for half an hour when you drink a milkshake.”

“Oh, good idea,” Jenny nodded, grabbing her coffee cups and turning the practice room lights off. “Let’s find a milkshake while we’re out too. I’m itching for one.”

“Jenny, you’re going to kill yourself with all that dairy.”

“Then let me die in peace.”

“Shut up,” Sarah giggled, giving her friend a shove. “The musician's life won’t let you die peacefully.”

“Do geologists die peacefully?”

“They become the very thing they study.”

“Do me a favor and make sure my bones become a bunch of flutes or something.”

“God, that’s so morbid,” her friend gagged. “Who’s going to play that?”

“Nobody, but it’ll look cool as hell.”

“You’ve got a weird sense of humor.”

*   *   *   *   *

Jenny and Sarah sat in a booth together at the cafeteria building, digging into their lunches. Sarah chewed her slightly overcooked and rubbery quesadilla while Jenny stared deep into the pit of her quesarito, which in reality was a burrito in a container that was filled to the brim with liquidy queso. So much so that it completely submerged the burrito. Definitely not what they advertised, but she assumed it was just the product of an extremely lazy employee.

“You want some burrito with that cheese?” Sarah offered with a smirk.

“Hold on a second, actually.”

Jenny got up, and after a couple minutes she came back with a bag of tortilla chips. She took a chip out and dipped it in the queso.

“Feel free to do the same,” she offered, tilting the bag of chips towards her friend.

“Well, don’t mind if I do,” Sarah giggled, scooping some cheese onto a chip. “Alright, you don’t have to hold yourself back anymore. You can talk music to me.”

“But you don’t care about it,” Jenny pointed out.

“I do care about what you’re doing though. What’s your plan for the rest of the week?”

“Well… I’ll be practicing for the big band and jazz combo auditions today. We only get the big band audition piece a week before the audition. And we only get to see the combo audition piece the day of the audition.”

“God, I could never do that,” Sarah groaned, nearly burning her mouth on the quesadilla. “I barely got into our high school band when we had a month to prepare.”

“Ah, well, I’ve gotta do this final performance thing too, you know,” Jenny added, finally cutting into her burrito. “It’s called a jury. You get up in front of like 3-5 people and play some music, and that’s your final exam.”

“Girl, I just take a test and they pass me.”

“If only,” the young musician chuckled. “I’ve got my auditions later, so I should go practice for those…”

“Jen, you just started eating,” frowned Sarah. “Can you at least finish lunch before you run off?”

“Hey, can’t you just save it for me? Take it back to the apartment and-”

“Jen, just eat it. You’ve got the time. None of those other saxophone lunatics can match how dedicated you are to making as many sounds on that piece of brass for better or worse.”

“Fine, fine, whatever,” she groaned, shoving a mouthful in. “Can I explain Giant Steps to you for the dozenth time then?”

“I’ll tell you what I do every time,” Sarah smirked, laughing and rolling her eyes. “You sure can try.”

*   *   *   *   *

“Please let there be a practice room open…” Jenny mumbled, running down the music hall. “I knew I should’ve just left when I had the chance…”

She dashed down the hall of practice rooms, trying to find one that was open. Since auditions for everything were all in the first week, those rooms were usually packed around the clock. At least during that first week. When results are already in, people start to get an actually healthy practice schedule. Normal people do, anyway. Jenny wasn’t normal.

“You lookin’ for a room?”

Jenny turned around and saw another friend: Noah. His bright smile and kind voice could put anyone at ease, and Jenny had met him day one when they had to share a practice room. Lightly tattooed onto his dark skinned leg was a music staff with some bars of his first composition printed about halfway down his calf. Funnily enough, Jenny had never asked him to play it before, but always wondered what it sounded like.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Jenny sighed, holding up her hands in a prayer. “I’m on a crunch to practice for auditions today.”

“Yeah, ain’t we all on a crunch today?” Noah chuckled, adjusting the straps on his soprano saxophone case across his shoulder. “If I were you, I wouldn’t worry. You’ll definitely get into whatever you audition for.”

“I appreciate it, but I just need some peace of mind.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep lyin’ to yourself, saying you’ll feel confident after one more practice session. You don’t gotta compensate for nothing.”

“Let’s compare results later then,” she frowned, walking in the room. “See you around.”

“See ya!” Noah smirked, turning off to walk to piano class.

Meanwhile, Jenny threw her backpack in the corner and took out three thick notebooks and a few pencils. She had a college-rule book for a practice log, a leather-bound staff paper notebook, and a spiral bound book of transparent page protectors to slide sheet music and notes onto and out of. Jenny unlatched her instrument case, and even busted out a fresh reed for the occasion of an audition. Two, actually. For jazz band and jazz combo.

“I’m not compensating,” she muttered to herself. “I just give a damn.”

*   *   *   *   *

Jenny stood against the wall outside Dr. Thatcher’s office in anticipation. A long list of names hung on the professor’s door to spell the audition order, and Jenny assumed she had to be up soon. Everyone told her that she was more than talented enough to get through the audition no problem every time, but it never made her any less nervous. She actually hated that word. Talented. People used it like it could just be a substitute for hard work. To her, talent didn’t exist. Some people could catch on fast, but nobody was born being able to do the things she and so many others can. You have to work hard to be superb at someone no matter who you are or what your upbringing was. She didn’t call that talent. Jenny called that skill. If she was ever called talented, she’d have to hold back with every fiber of her being to not rant why the person was wrong. Sometimes she even succeeded in restraining herself too.

“Hey. what’s your piece?”

Jenny snapped out of her trance to see another young woman sitting beside her, holding a pair of drumsticks. Her appearance was rather… striking to Jenny. Worn out shorts that looked like they were made from just ripping the legs of jeans, and a horribly faded and big shirt for some rock band that had been torn around the middle and tied together to make a sort of homemade crop top. The young girl also had a couple of upside-down cross earrings which hung below short-cut black hair that was almost certainly dyed. Jenny was surprised that the only thing she seemed to be missing was some makeup.

“C’mon, your piece,” she repeated, snapping her fingers. “What’re you playing?”

“Oh, um…” Jenny shook her head. “On Green Dolphin Street and Honeysuckle Rose for combo, and Just Friends for big band.”

“Ah, so you’re one of them real jazz nerds, aren’t you?”

“Uh, I guess so?” she shrugged, trying to get her mind in line. “I mean, yeah, I’m enrolled in jazz studies here.”

“How’s that goin’ for you?”

“Oh, well, I mean I like music, and I like jazz, so-”

“Come in, Jennifer.”

Dr. Thatcher stood in her doorway, impatiently tapping the door frame with a pen. She was a rather older woman with a set of baggy eyes, wide hips, grayed streaks of hair, and snappy attitude. Just looking at her gave off a heavy tired mother vibe. Dr. Thatcher was the director of jazz studies, and coincidentally also one of the two saxophone professors. She was normally nice and kind, but when she’s had enough of the day, Dr. Thatcher could get rather snarky and grumpy.

“Cool, cool…” Jenny whispered to herself.

“Good luck,” the drummer smiled, sticking her tongue out giving a thumbs up. “Go knock her dead, horn girl.”

“Uh, thanks.”

Jenny walked herself and set her folder down on the music stand in the middle of the room while Dr. Thatcher closed the door behind her. There was a small stack of four chairs in the corner of the room, right next to the record and cassette players. Shelves mounted on the wall held rows of CDs and cassettes while below it was a couple stacks of vinyl covers. There were framed festival and concert posters and photos of various music legends mounted up across her walls, very noticeably gathered around her desk in the corner of the room.

“How’re you today, Jennifer?”

“I’m doing good, ma’am,” Jenny responded sharply, stiffening up.

“Are you sure?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You look, um, look a bit tense.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” the girl insisted. “You know auditions just make me super nervous and stuff. I’ll be just fine though!”

“Just don’t throw up on my floor and we won’t have any issues,” she joked. “Are you ready to start?”

“I’m auditioning for-”

“Honey, I know what you’re auditioning for,” Dr. Thatcher interrupted with a tired sigh. “This is your fourth semester here. You’re auditioning for the big band and combo, right?”

“Yep!”

“Then play,” the teacher said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs.

Jenny took a deep breath and put her mouth on her instrument. It was too late. She was already over-analyzing everything. She could taste the slightly metallic sensation that her mouthpiece was giving off. Jenny’s newly-opened reed was sweet and sensual to her now. A nice Rico orange box 2.5. Though, she would’ve preferred a La Voz medium soft, they didn’t-

“Jennifer, just play, please,” Dr. Thatcher asked, adjusting her glasses. “I’ve got a lot more auditions to go through today.”

“Alright, I’ve got this,” Jenny whispered to herself. 

The young woman took another deep breath, put her lips to the mouthpiece, and blew with everything inside her.

*   *   *   *   *

“Jen, you’re making me anxious,” Sarah sighed, staring from behind her chicken sandwich. They were eating lunch together again, but Jenny had her computer out and was compulsively hitting the refresh button every few seconds. She had hardly even touched her sandwich. “Seriously, you auditioned yesterday. Give the woman time to think about it.”

“But I wanna know now,” Jenny whined.

“You know, I wanna eat lunch with my friend now,” Sarah mumbled.

“Sorry, sorry,” she apologized. “I just want to know my results already…”

“Trust me, you’ll be fine. Just eat your lunch with me like a normal person.”

“You know neither of us are normal,” Jenny defended, picking up her own sandwich and taking a bite out of it. She chewed for a moment before looking down suspiciously. “I think they put mayo on my sandwich.”

“Hm? Really?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“Open it up,” Sarah beckoned. Jenny opened the sandwich to reveal a bit of white spread on the top of the bun. “I think that’s aioli, not mayo.”

“Isn’t aioli just another name for mayo?”

“No, no, I’m pretty sure aioli doesn’t have eggs.”

“Hmm… are you sure about that?” Jenny asked suspiciously, squinting her eyes.

“I am one eighth mediterranean. I think I have the supreme say on this.”

“Imma look it up.”

Jenny glanced at her computer, and her breath was taken away as heart skipped a beat. Maybe even two or three beats. She had finally gotten an email from Dr. Thatcher. She dropped her sandwich in its wrapper and glued her eyes to the screen, scanning the email while Sarah sighed and leaned against her arm.

“Let me guess, you got in?”

“Yessss,” Jenny smirked, shooting up out of the small booth they were in. “I’ll talk to you later, girl. I’ve got to go get my sheet music from her ASAP.”

“Just make sure-”

Before Sarah could finish her sentence, Jenny had grabbed her saxophone case and backpack and bolted right out the doors. From her window seat, Sarah watched her friend run all the way to the music building. She eyed the sandwich that Jenny had left behind.

“Well, if Jen’s not going to eat it, I’m not going to be left a starving college student,” Sarah decided, grabbing the abandoned sandwich and taking a bite out of it. “At least a good old chicken sandwich won’t run off.”