Today is the day.

 Amber Wright woke up on October thirteenth, the day of the All Sing Festival. She’d pestered Lionel for the past two weeks about which song he’d sing. He refused to reveal it. She asked her mother about him yesterday: She said, “Make it known to him, and he’ll make his intentions known,” a perfectly reasonable response. Amber has been making it known. She has been giving him all the signs. Now it was his turn to show his love. She knew he was an introvert, but even introverts need someone to love, right? She’s spent over a month courting him. This was her right. 

    And yet, Amber’s confessions, her ‘teasing,’ her rashness has been the only real factor. Lionel’s eyes widened and his focus narrowed at every psychology lecture. The only way he’d talk was if Amber talked of psychology theories and their homework. As a student, he was their T.A.’s pet, supplementing the discussion with his own thoughts and answering questions with confidence. She saw a side of him no one knew: a wild interest in learning the inner workings of human thoughts and feelings. This never showed much on his face. His expressions were muted. His mouth forever a straight line, refusing to bend, curve, or reveal fangs. He tried hiding it, but Amber found the shine of interest in his eyes. No one could hide their eyes from her. 

Somehow, he even controlled his laughter. He once grunted at a cognitive theory pun when Professor Franz used the song Mind Games. “It’s a scholar’s way of manipulation.” Professor Franz said while playing the song. It seemed like no one had even heard the song before. Confused, Amber had done what she normally does in the class; she watched Lionel. He seemed to be bobbing (if you can call that millimeter of movement that may have just been breathing) to the beat. 

    Lacking laughter would normally be a turnoff for most of the girls on campus. Sure, the first-day infatuation could perhaps carry for a week or so, but for Amber, she found Leo intriguing and attractive, and in need of her. Yet she has yet to hear him sing.   

The All Sing Festival happened once every semester: near the beginning of the fall semester and near the end of the spring semester. It took place in the modern atrocity that was the campus humanities building. The building was riddled with good intention. The central square was outside and accessible from the first floor classrooms and from the outside. Acoustically, it was a wonder of engineering, with curves and support pillars that helped amplify and spread sound out. Without any sort of electronic amplification, the sound could be heard four or five blocks down, all the way to the campus main drive. An inner chamber on the south side held one large orchestral hall. The eight  other music halls dominated the four corners of the south side, with practice rooms and small studios throughout the four student floors. The north end was just one floor of discussion rooms and a few smaller studio rooms that could be rented for short periods of times by groups or individual students.

Good intentions only go so far. As modern as it was, the design was grotesquely created. It turns out, in order to make a structure perfect for the ears, a slight to the eyes is necessary. The outside is a monstrous mix of shapes and materials. The top floors that held the TA and professor offices loomed over the lower levels. There was only one elevator to those upper levels, but two different floors for the staff that weren’t connected to each other via staircase. The central square had so many different building materials used for acoustics and for the support of the structure that a chameleon would have trouble hiding itself. Worse, there was a passage from the east to west side crossable by bicycles, scooters and the like. The traffic made it so there was no room to enjoy a concert unless there was space on the same floor as the performers.

The largest affront to the entire student body was inside both the north and south buildings. The room numbering was.... Inconsistent to say the least. The 5000 and 6000 numbered classes are mostly in the north building, but they are on the same floor. The studio rooms are numbered 300s. However, the south building had four floors to it. The ‘first’ that students walk in on is the third floor and has the rest of the 300s rooms. The room ordering switched between floors, working like a snake through the levels. On top of that, the eight larger studios were numbered as Studios 1-8, with Studio 1 and 2 on the bottom level, and 7 and 8 on the 4th level. Finally, because of the abundance of discussion sized rooms, nearly every student had to deal with the humanities building at some point. Definitely every student in choir or band classes had to deal with it.

She stood on the west side of the building waiting for Lionel. No other building blocked its ugliness from the street level. At least it was a nice day. Sixty-five and a light breeze was perfect for her dress. Leo never eyed her like the other boys did; hours of lecture and discussion sections in her best and most revealing taught her that. So the dress she wore was comfortable, fitting, and simply had a geometric patterning with bright colors. 

She saw Leo walking down the hill towards humanities. His eyes were set forward, and he stared down that monstrosity of a building with a scowl on his face. It was the most emotion he’d ever shown. Everyone hated this place.

When he spotted her, his scowl turned into his empty, neutral expression.. I did that. The thought glued itself to her mind. I made him... The word ‘smile’ displayed like a movie title in her eyes, but she knew better. She had made him not frown. She was not hated. That was enough for her. She felt warmth in her stomach and waved with a smile on her face.

Leo stopped at the bottom of the hill. He glanced at his watch. Amber stopped waving. The street was clear, he could cross at any time. She tapped her foot a few times. A horn honked. Across the way at a stoplight, a boy dashed through like a pale flash. Despite the fall chill, he still wore a basic T and cargo shorts. He ran straight towards Leo. Amber was sure he was about to tackle him, but he clumsily slowed himself and turned that tackle into an awkward one-armed hug. The look of disgust returned to Leo’s face, but he didn’t stop the boy. Maybe he’s gay. The thought crossed her mind for a fleeting moment, but only just. 

Only now with the contrast between this crude boy and Leo, did Amber notice, really notice that Leo was dressed better than your typical freshman festival cruiser looking for free snacks. He looked nice. Nice in the way only one who has dressed themselves for their life, looked in the mirror and finally decided ‘If I’m going to do this, I might as well do it right,’ could ever really achieve. He wore a black double breasted blazer crosshatched with dark grey stripes. Under that, she could make out a straight white dress shirt. A cute diamond cut black and orange bow tie, matched by his cufflinks (she could not tell if the brilliant orange gem was fake or not) finished off the look that, somehow, stayed true to their school’s colors. Despite that, his hair still went every which way but that gave him a sort of charm.

There was no way in five different hells that she was about to lose out to this barbarian of a boy. In an instant (after checking both ways, and making dominating eye contact with any driver, just as her mother taught her), she joined them across the street. After a careful deliberation time of a half second that was partly influenced by his retained scowl, she decided not to hug him at all and settled on an excited greeting.

    “Didn’t know you had a lady friend,” the crude boy said.

Leo addressed Amber. “He insisted on coming after he heard that I would be singing.” His voice made Amber shiver. “His name is Richter.”

She gave Richter as intimidating a glare as her face would allow with a plastered fake smile. “I’m Amber, nice to meet you,” she said, hoping her new rival would fall under the pressure of her stare.

    “Don’t worry lassy, I’m straight as an arrow.”

Amber reeled back, happy her brown skin covered any sort of blush. “That is,” she glanced at Leo. Somehow his blank expression made it worse. “That’s not what I...” Something more important dawned on her. “Leo, does he know what song you’re singing?” 

“Yes.”

Why would he tell him and not her. Why? Why? Why? “Well, what are you singing?” Her hands clapped together. She leaned forward, elated. She felt sweat behind her ears, where she sweats when she’s nervous. His song choice meant everything. Oh. He made a sideways glance. Was he uncomfortable?

“An arrangement of Just The Two of Us. I couldn’t tell you any earlier.”

She knew it. The song was for her and for them. He failed at expressing in words, so a song was to fill the gap in their social skills. That’s why he couldn’t tell her. It’s so obvious, she could hug him. She felt the need to hold him. The sweating behind her ears intensified, and she could not help but stare at the sky in a queer ecstasy.

    “Careful or you might-

   start dripping,” Richter said with an evil grin.

Her mouth agape in utter disgust at him was worth it. Richter already read her like a child’s picture book. She wasn’t worth him. She didn’t deserve that force. She had no signs of it affecting her. She was too cheery, too happy to see Leo. Good.

Amber was not pleased. “Why are you even here? I’ve never seen you around humanities before.”

“I’m here to see my friend, the lion, roar.” He shrugged. “Can’t a guy watch his friend sing? You’re doing it too, aren’t you, unless you’re-”

“Shut. Up. I can’t even-” Richter tuned her out. He watched Leo cross the street. Amber hadn’t noticed yet. Stupid girl. Maybe that was why she couldn’t feel it. She only really thought of herself and what she could do. Richter compartmentalized her along with most of humanity in his no- reason-to-care’ mental folder.

“Oh, there our star goes,” Richter said, interrupting Amber.

“Straight as an arrow, huh?” Amber said, arms crossed as they crossed the street together.

“Cupid’s arrows always fly straight, my dear, and those arrows don’t discriminate.”

They failed to catch up to Leo. After thirty minutes of trying, Richter had to finally admit that he had no idea where they were going. The place was a labyrinth. He had never been inside humanities yet, and the entire place made no sense. All he heard were muffled siren songs from every which corner and Amber’s heels clicking behind him. He looked back at her. She flashed a cruelly pleasant smile. 

“I’ll wait. You’ll ask eventually. I’ll have you know, based on the flyer, we only have five more minutes until Lionel performs.” Amber said. She had a huff and a puff to her that Richter didn’t like. She’s like my sister. I bet she’d let me miss the show. I bet she’d let me be lost. I bet she’d leave us and she’d....

“God, I can only watch you be tormented so long. Look, this hall has flipped numbering from the hall above it.” Richter nodded. “But you’re looking for studio room 4, room 301. That’s actually on the first floor. We’re on the second.’

“Why the hell is it like that?”

“Now you’re thinking like a real person and not a walking ass.” She crossed her arms. “Follow me. Or are you gonna let your macho miss this.”

Richter twitched. Amber flexed unconsciously in response, but it wasn’t the kind of retaliatory twitch that would make a young girl flinch away from a man, skinny and weak as he was. His pupils dilated. His fingers began to shake.

Dammit they’re wearing off. He dug into his pockets looking for his vial and two rustling bags of fruit snacks. “What are you staring at? Let’s go,” he said as he saw a brief glimpse of sympathy in the way Amber’s eyebrows crinkled.

It’s not real. She doesn’t care.

Amber walked fast. She knew exactly where to go. They went down a flight of stairs down the hallway two corners and were approaching studio room 4. There were surprisingly few people in the hallways. Richter supposed that was because most people were in the main chamber with the group singers putting on performances. Only friends or professors should really be watching the solo performances. Perhaps a few passersby would watch. When they entered, the only people under forty in the room were Lionel’s accompanist (who was a very pretty, but nervous looking brunette girl), Amber and Richter. There were three oldies sitting near the front with notepads.

“Well, someone’s popular.” Richter said in a hushed tone. Still, those three oldies turned their heads, expressionless. He clicked his teeth. The room was dark, but he could feel Amber roll her eyes.

“They’re probably all instructors. He said he was in a choir class,” Amber said. “Just sit down, he’s going to start soon.”

Indeed, the backdoor opened. Lionel, expressionless, stepped onto the cured wood floor of the studio. His dress shoes clapped the floor in a consistent rhythm. They echoed. Each heavy thump of his heel was followed by the light tap of his toes. His clothes ruffled. By the time Leo reached the center of the performance floor, tears streamed down his face.

Amber tapped his shoulder, delicately. Nervous. A chill ran down his spine. “Have you-

-

ever seen Leo cry?”

“No. Never.” Richter said without a hint of his playful, snide sarcasm. In fact he appeared terrified in the dim light of the studio. The accompanist played a tuning note. Leo hummed to it. Something is off. Not about the piano or Leo, but something as a whole. Amber couldn’t put her finger on it yet. She and Richter seemed to merge in thought.

Richter looked as if he was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, but Amber was drawn into Leo. She wanted to figure this out. She wanted to figure him out. She wanted him to sing a song for them.

And then the first note on the piano was struck, and her illusion fell apart.