Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
He had just opened his mouth to speak when the door opened again and a tall, heavily tattooed frame walked through.
Cromwell.
If Professor Lewis’s entrance had inspired silence and awe, Cromwell Dean’s entrance brought hushed whispers and fifteen sets of curious eyes fixed on him as he walked, head down, toward the back seats.
He walked slowly up the stairs and sat near the back. I didn’t turn like everyone else. I looked at Professor Lewis, noting the lines of annoyance on his forehead.
Lewis cleared his throat. “Mr. Dean. Nice of you to join us.”
This time I did glance back at Cromwell. Just to see if he had any hint of remorse. He was slouching in his seat, staring blankly at Lewis. He looked the epitome of arrogance, rolling his tongue ring against his teeth. He was dressed in black jeans that had a chain hanging from the waist, and a simple white shirt with a low neck and tight short sleeves that gripped his muscled biceps. His tattoos climbed like vines up his arms and neck.
Some people would think them art. I thought they looked like they were strangling him.
His hair was messy and falling over his forehead. He wore silver rings in his ears and a single one through his left nostril.
Just as I was about to turn away, his eyes found mine. The color of his irises was strange. They were a turbulent kind of blue. Not like the blue of the sky but a deep navy like the dangerous depths of a violently thrashing sea. He sighed heavily. I was sure it was at my presence. I hadn’t told him I was majoring in music too.
“Mr. Dean? Can we start?” Lewis asked.
He nodded his head. “I wasn’t stopping you.” My eyes widened at his response.
Cromwell’s English accent was thick and obvious against Lewis’s South Carolinian. As if Cromwell needed one more reason to stand out. His sullenness and tattoos were enough to do that in this small town. I took my sweater from around my chair and put it on. The room suddenly felt chilly.
“Let’s not beat around the bush,” Lewis said as he addressed the class. “I run a tiring program, and I expect y’all to comply and give it your best.” He came to stand in front of his table. He sat back on the tabletop and said, “You should have all read the course syllabus by now. If you have, you’ll know that the largest percentage of the grade comes from a year-long composition project. This will be undertaken in pairs.” He smiled, an uncontained excitement in his brown eyes. I thought I saw him briefly flick his gaze to Cromwell, but I couldn’t be sure.
“I have already picked the pairs.” He reached into his briefcase and held up a piece of paper. “You will see who you’ve been paired with at the end of class. And before you ask, no, the pairings are non-negotiable. And yes, both of you must complete the assignment or risk getting an incomplete. No one wants that on their record.”
He moved back around the desk and clicked on the projector. The TA turned off the lights. “You will each get fifteen hours of one-on-one sessions with me per semester.” He looked over his shoulder, stern-faced. “Don’t waste these hours.”
I looked at Bryce, feeling the blood rushing through my veins. “One-on-one sessions,” I said excitedly, and Bryce smiled wide.
“We’ll have seminars every other week to discuss our compositions, both individual and the one done in pairs. Because the class is all about composition.” Lewis smiled and dropped his hard persona for a moment. “I intend to create artists in this room. You will all know of my personal demons.” I held my breath. Everybody knew about his issues, but I didn’t think he’d actually talk about them in class. “I tried my best to bring my music to the world, but it wasn’t my destiny.” He smiled again, an expression of peace washing over his face. “I’ve found happiness in helping others realize their talents. My fate, it seems, is teaching. Helping others find their meaning in this world. Their passion.”
A soft silence enveloped the room. I blinked, realizing my heart was full and so were my eyes.
“There’ll be a showcase at the end of the year. Your compositions will be performed then.” He stood and put his hands in his slacks pockets. “What I failed to learn in my time as a composer is to lean on others. Share ideas and push one another to make your art the very best it can be.” He pointed at the class. “Y’all are here because you are talented. But news flash: so are millions of other people. This project will help you learn from one another and improve your craft. It’s the assignment I’m most intrigued by.”