Over the few days after Christmas through the start of the new semester, my encounter with Professor Sebastian has played repeatedly in my mind. His handsome features, infectious laugh, and charming nature all lingered with me long after our little time together ended. Surely, every Whitlock female student would do anything for a chance to dance with him.
Coincidentally, Lora and I were able to have a long conversation with him. My best friend also had a brief dance with him at the party. As I suspected, she mentioned wanting to one day lead an orchestra. Lora thinks he’s fascinating.
Right now, Professor Sebastian is looking quite dazzling in his semi-formal attire, albeit he still isn’t a fan of ties, yet he’s even more handsome now that he’s wearing eyeglasses.
“This term, I will be your professor for music composition and songwriting. I come from a long line of musicians and artists, which may be new to some of you. As the former Executive Producer and COO, I was in charge of the business operations for Sebastian Records. Why I’m here and not there is a private matter that I don’t address in class, so please refrain from asking. I do, however, hope that we all get along.”
The reverberation from his rich baritone fills the classroom. His commanding presence has everyone in rapt silence.
“Now.” A devilish grin crosses his face as he clasps his hands. “I’d like to get to know all eighteen of you, but instead of listening to you give a verbal introduction, I’d rather see you perform.”
Everyone begins whispering to each other.
“On the first day of school?” Lora remarks.
Kristoff gives out a sly grin. “As I expected from Julian. He did this with me too.”
“I’m confident with my play,” my best friend explains, her gaze fixated on the professor, “but if the professor is too gorgeous, it’ll make me nervous.”
“What do you think we should do?” I ask.
“Well, guys...” He moves closer to the undergraduates. “We don’t have all day, so I’ll give you ten minutes to prepare. Pick original music or lyrics, an instrument you’d like to play or sing an Acapella. It’s all good with me. It doesn’t have to be flawless. I won’t criticize your performance, but to know your talents and weaknesses.”
Harold raises his hand. He has been in my class since the first year. “Professor, how are we going to be evaluated?”
“I’ll speak with each of you for my initial assessment in my office afterward. How about that?”
Sighs of relief fill the studio.
“But,” the professor continues, “in actual, graded performances, I give remarks freely for everyone to hear so that you could benefit from each other. We will resume in ten minutes, so act quickly and get whatever you need. Any questions?”
Brittany, who sits in the middle, raises her hand. “What if we can’t perform?”
“Why aren’t you able to perform, Miss...?”
“Homer, sir.”
“Miss Homer.”
“I play the oboe, but my throat is really sore today.” There’s a slight scratchiness in her voice.
“Alright. If you have health concerns that prevent you from playing, you won’t have to. You can just send me the music score for any piece you have in mind. Anyone else having trouble functioning today?”
No one responds.
“Good.” He glances at his wristwatch. “Your ten minutes start now.”
Professor Sebastian looks around the room, then stops when his gaze falls on me. He flashes a half-smile. My heartbeat ramps up.
The noise grows louder. The students rush out of the classroom, but the others, including Lora, Kristoff, and myself, remain. We already have our scores and can simply play them on the piano.
I can only play the piano, violin, and acoustic guitar. However, because the piano is the most commonly used instrument in the class, everyone knows at least the fundamentals. It’s just that some of us prefer different instruments. In any case, it doesn’t matter what instrument we choose. The professor is probably more interested in our compositions than in how well we can perform.
Professor Sebastian sits on the piano bench. He crosses his legs and reads from the score.
“His look is destructing, don’t you think?” Lora hushes. “Sitting in front of the class, looking like that.”
“Like what?” Kristoff asks.
She makes a squinting motion with her eyes. “Like a man seen on TV and magazine covers.”
Kristoff scoffs. “Are you crushing on him?”
She cracks up. “Hey, I’m not alone.”
She is, after all, right. The professor has no idea how captivating he is. The rest of the ladies in the class agree as they can’t seem to take their gaze off of him either.
“All right, so stop staring at him now. It’s rude.” I shake my head as I move my gaze away. “Let’s just concentrate on our music and self-actualize. It’s extremely helpful.” I shut my eyes. Before a performance, I often imagine my fingers touching the piano keys and playing the notes in my head.
“Nah. He probably knows,” Lora insists. “It’s impossible for him not to notice how handsome he is whenever he looks in the mirror.”
“You’re starting to sound odd,” I observe.
“But don’t you agree?”
I do. “I’m concentrating here.”
She looks at my score with a frown. “As if you still need it. You won the composition competition last year with your unusually accurate sense of hearing.”
“And Julian will eventually see that,” Kristoff brings up. “He’ll think you’re fantastic. The other professors acknowledged your talent.”
“My fingers are sweaty right now.” I wipe them on my jeans. “I’m worried that I’ll mess it up. That man, I mean professor, is a genius composer.”
“Who just happens to have the same talent as you.” Kristoff cracks a smile.
“And what kind of talent is that?” I’m skeptical. “Do you mean...?”
“Excuse me?” Anne, a violin prodigy, suddenly walks up to us and then turns to look at Lora. “Hello. I was hoping you could help me with something.”
Lora shrugs. “Sure, what is it?”
“I’ve got this new song here. It’s quite long, and I’d like some of it to sound like a rhapsody, but I’m having trouble keeping up with the time signature. I saw how good you are with beats and rhythms,” Anne says.
“Definitely,” Lora agrees. “There’s still time.”
“Um.” She glances at Kristoff and me. “Can we...”
“Of course.” Lora gets to her feet. “Let’s go to that corner and show me.”
Anne gives us a friendly smile before heading with Lora to the back.
“Wow, that’s our future conductor,” I say.
“She must be pretty good for Anne to ask her,” Kristoff remarks.
“Lora is an expert on tempos. I rely on her sometimes.”
“But Anne is already great with the violin—”
I smacked his arm. “Oh, you shut up! Have you had little faith in our friend?”
He smirks. “Whenever she shuts her mouth.”
“Please stop!” I giggle. “She’s going to rock that piano later.”
I set my gaze to the front to check on the others. We have three minutes left, and the guys who came out are now bringing their instruments and scores.
I suddenly catch sight of our professor, who is staring at me, calculating me with his ocean-blue eyes. His expression is stoic.
I look away. My cheeks are beginning to warm up again. Why does he have to have such an effect on me?
“Hey, are you okay?” Kristoff wonders aloud. “You’re blushing.”
I rub my face. “I’m just a little... nervous.”
“You’ll be fine.” Kristoff tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, but I can’t help but catch another glimpse of Professor Sebastian. He’s still staring at me. Oh, God.
“Hey, are you ready?” I ask Kristoff only to divert my attention.
“Yeah. Are you?”
“Me too.” I flash a faint smile.
After a few more moments, the professor speaks again, making me shudder. He gets up from the bench and claps his hands once more. “Alright! Ready or not, I’m going to call names. Come forward and play your music for us.” He takes out a class card and starts the roll call. “Hector Lewis...”
Hector has proven exceptional talent in both singing and composing. He walks up to the stage and sits in front of the piano. He takes a deep breath before serenading us with his incredible voice and piano skills.
It’s a song dedicated to his mother... His melody is measured and slow. His voice is a first tenor, but a touch of husk makes it unique. He’s good with octaves and has a nice B4.
Cheers and applause erupt after he finishes playing. He’s very emotional and dedicated, making me want to meet his mother in person. Everyone is moved, but the professor doesn’t provide immediate feedback, just as he said earlier.
“Thank you, Mr. Lewis. The next is Andrea Green...”
Andrea takes the stage with a clarinet in hand.
After listening to eight more of my classmates, the professor seemed satisfied with the performances. Lora has also finished her turn and performed a modern jazz solo with intricate note switches. Her performance makes me feel like I’m eating the most expensive steak in a five-star restaurant. I’m super proud of her.
Then Kristoff comes next. He starts playing his most recent composition, ‘Summer Cocktail.’ It’s blues with difficult right-hand jumps and an octave stretch. Someone with shaky hands could definitely skew the accuracy. I could tell how difficult it was just by looking at his scores. But he practiced his etude every day to improve his finger dexterity. Kristoff’s piece ends smoothly, as I expected.
Applause fills the room yet again.
Everyone has something unique to show. It’s making me anxious. After three more performances, it was finally my turn. My nerves are on the verge of snapping.
“Anya Scott...”
I walk up to the stage, sit on the bench’s leather cushion, and place my hands on my lap. I rub my palms against my jeans once more.
I take a deep breath. I can do this.
I chose the song I wrote after my parents passed away, and memories of them flooded back to me. I lift my hand and position it on the first set of keys.
The opening melody reminds me of my mother. She sat beside me, listening whenever I played. My rendition of Bach’s Prelude in C Major was her favorite. She loved singing and was a mezzo-soprano. My song’s theme and melody were inspired by her favorite piece. I close my eyes and feel the beat under my fingertips as I transpose to the second theme before transposing into an expansive, harmonious passage based on the final section of melody one.
The second section is dedicated to my father. He was the one who taught me how to play. This part of my piece presents gleaming harmonic side-shifting, which Dad also taught me. My finger covers a wide range of the keys, completing the middle section.
The final theme was dedicated to Amy, my sister, who did not have the chance to see the world. She was in our mom’s tummy. I imagine her face innocent and happy—my redemption for this heartbreaking story. I proceed to A2. It’s lower but cheerful. At the climax, the bridge gives simmering colors on the right hand. The melody of the C3 and its family chord combination is more abstract and free.
Professor Sebastian’s low and muffled voice suddenly interrupts me, causing my lungs to lose air. My fingers stop.
I forcefully swallow. “Professor?”
“Sorry for interrupting, but will you please stand, Ms. Scott?”
“What?”
I look at the people in the audience, who are all confused and surprised. I’m probably the only one he has stopped. My heart is hammering against my ribcage. I eventually did as I was told.
“When did you write the score?” he inquires.
“Before I came here.”
“I see.”
“Is there a problem, sir?”
“No, there isn’t. Let me double-check something.” Professor Sebastian then turns around and approaches the piano. “Tell me what note this is without looking.”
Now I understand what’s going on. Professor Davis, our vocal teacher, did the same thing with me to see if I could identify a note without looking at the instrument. He said it’s a rare talent I had no idea I possessed. Professor Sebastian presses down a key.
“It’s a G major,” I say.
He presses it once more.
“F major.”
Again.
“B flat.”
And again, and again, and again.
“C sharp... a lower C sharp... B... F sharp minor... A... D... a higher F sharp minor...”
I close my eyes. I’m afraid to look anywhere right now. I thought he said he wouldn’t grade us in front of the class?
“Ms. Scott,” he says again, but his voice is barely audible. “You have an absolute pitch.”
“Um.” I lick my lower lip. “Professor Davis said so too.”
He nods. “When do your classes end today?”
“Six. But I thought you said—”
“Then please come to my office at six o’clock, Ms. Scott.”
“What about the others?” I respond rashly.
“They will also be evaluated today. Please return to your seat.”
I blink. It’s not like I can say no. But why later rather than now?
I quietly return to my seat, not bothering to look to my left or right. But I can feel Maria’s needling stare.
As I sit back, Professor Sebastian calls her name.
“You okay?” Kristoff inquires softly.
“I’m alright.”
“Wow. If it were me, I’d pass out on the spot. But that was cool,” Lora asserts.
Ben Eastwood, the best saxophonist in class and son of a Hollywood actor, looks over at me. “Hey, he found you have a perfect pitch. How does it feel to have it?”
“It’s absolute pitch,” Kristoff corrects.
“It’s the same thing, man,” Ben insists.
“How do I feel about it? I’m not sure. Is that normal? Isn’t that common among musicians?” I ask, looking back and forth between them.
“Definitely not. There are only one in ten thousand people who have it,” Kristoff says. “I already told you.”
“Fuck, man! I wish I had it, too,” Ben says. “Who else has it? Mariah Carey? Mozart?”
Lora’s chin rests on her palm. “But isn’t the professor amazing? He figured it out after only listening to you once. How does he do it?”
“Because he has it too,” Kristoff says proudly. A gleam in his eyes expresses his admiration for the professor.
“Really?” I say breathlessly.
He nods. “You can ask him about it later.”
Oh wow. I thought I performed poorly enough for the professor to stop me in the middle of my play. Now I just have to wait and see what he will say.