Teri nods, still awash with sulkiness, and I give up.

I move along the wall, leaning and waiting for my turn to sing. There are penalties for not paying attention in class. If I’d listened the last two months I would have known I’d be required to have something prepared for today. And if I’d paid attention earlier, I could have gotten in line first and been out the door like the other students already finished performing. Now I have to listen to all of my classmates sing.

At the front of the line I smile at Jared, Professor Lambert’s graduate teaching assistant, waiting on the piano bench for the next victim. Jared has been sort of nice to me this semester and probably would be much nicer if Lambert’s dislike of me wasn’t so obvious.

Jared looks at the sheet Teri holds out, opens the music book and then hits the metronome, allowing Teri a few ticks before he begins to play. I listen patiently, chiding myself to smile at her, even though her singing is only average and not very good. She’s a nice girl though, she did try to befriend me, and I’m sure I came off snotty and weird.

She waits looking very nervous now that the performance has ended.  I nod to assure Teri it went well as we wait for Professor Lambert’s critique.

Lambert looks over his glasses at her, pauses, and then announces, “Well done.”

Teri beams and rushes off toward her chair as I approach the piano. Jared looks at me expectantly, raising a brow. “Did you forget your music?” he asks a hint of dread in his voice as if he’s already anticipating how badly this will go for me.

I nod.

“Is there a problem, Miss Parker? Why does that not surprise me?” Professor Lambert asks heavily exasperated.

The classroom is nearly empty, there’s just Lambert, Jared, and Teri in the large hall, but my cheeks color hotly with the same burning intensity they would if it were a full class here.

Jared starts to rummage through loose sheets. “I’m assuming you can read music.”

I nod. Of course, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to enter a music program and not be able to read music. I’m a complete failure at the college thing, but I’m not stupid.

I take the sheet to the music stand, and I’m relieved to discover Jared picked a simple choral piece not from the book. Jared hits the metronome, but there’s something in that tick, tick, tick that just isn’t working for me. I look out at Lambert. “Must I have the metronome? It’s distracting.”

Lambert makes an exaggerated wave of his arm. “Stop the metronome, Jared. We don’t want Miss Parker distracted here!”

He says that with just the right amount of criticism and, as I wait for Jared to stop the ticking and prepare to play, I admit that at least that one was fair. I have been, if nothing else, distracted my first semester here. It’s not easy to carry on with your life in focus when you’re trying to recover from a broken heart.

I shake my head, trying to push Alan from my thoughts. He didn’t mean to break my heart. I broke it for him. I’m the one who walked away. It doesn’t matter that a part of me didn’t believe that we would really be over, even though he said we would be. It doesn’t matter that a part of me never expected him to marry someone else so quickly. None of that matters now. Alan is married, and I’m at Berkeley.

I struggle through the selection, not from a lack of ability to wing it, but because the rising emotion inside of me caused by the thought of Alan just won’t calm.

When I finish I’m grateful it’s over and I lean clutching the music stand. At least it wasn’t awful. It was in tune, the pitch was good, and the timing was perfect. It definitely wasn’t glaringly more terrible than any of the other performances I’ve heard today.

I wait in the silent hall as Lambert jots down more notes on his paperwork. “You need to sing more from your diaphragm,” he says finally. “Make sure you do breathing exercises during your lab with Jared.”

That’s it? Not bad, not good, just something I already know. When I’m tense I never sing well from my diaphragm.

I hurry back to my seat and start to collect my belongings. Teri rushes across the room to my chair. “Crap, you were really good,” she exclaims enthusiastically. “Where did you study voice?”

That question confirms she doesn’t know anything about my personal history. I continue to collect my things, pulling out my midterm paper from my backpack. “I’ve never studied voice. I’m a cellist. I wouldn’t be in this class if I didn’t need it to fill out my graduation requirements.”

Teri’s eyes round. “But you’re good. Really good. You have an awesome voice. Do you want to go grab something to eat?”

“I can’t,” I say, a little more friendly. “I want to talk to Professor Lambert.”

“I can wait,” she assures, eager and hopeful.

“I’m meeting someone after class, but maybe tomorrow. OK?” I take out a pen and hold out my hand for her notebook. “I can give you my number. Maybe we can have coffee, study, or something?”

Teri smiles. “OK. Tomorrow. Cool.”

I wait until Teri and Jared are gone from the hall. I approach Professor Lambert’s desk. He doesn’t look up and I wait quietly, patiently for him to acknowledge me.

With irritatingly slow movements of pen, he finishes whatever it is he’s writing, and then leans back in his chair, causing it to squeak as he stares up at me. “Is there something you wanted, Miss Parker?”

I swallow hard, hugging my books more closely to me as I meet his cold stare. I lay my midterm on his desk. “Yes. I want to know why you failed my paper.”

He lifts the paper. He gives it a short scan. “Were my comments not specific enough?”

I flush. “Yes, they were very clear. I followed the prompt. Why did you give me an F?”

“Did you understand the assignment?”

I feel a rush of cold across my skin followed by heat. “I think so. You wanted a paper on contemporary music influences that will have lasting impact on music theory and composition. Ten thousand words. Provide two examples. Explain how their influence will change music. The examples you provided were Bach and Bob Dylan.”

I watch the smile slowly claim his lips. Its affect is the opposite.

“Yes. You did understand,” he says in a tired, exasperated way. “You provided me ten thousand words on a little known band from Seattle and the British hard rock band Blackpoll.” A long pause. The silence in the room is suddenly smothering. At last, “Interesting choice. You would have at least gotten a C if you had taken the predictable way out and written about your father.”

That was said just plain mean and insulting. I fight back tears. “I thought the purpose of this assignment was to defend my premise. Not to have you like it.”

Lambert looks down. “It would have been encouraging if you had taken this assignment seriously.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I thought I did. “Can I submit another paper?”

“There are no do-overs, Miss Parker. You’re in college now.”

I stare at him. Finally he looks up. I fight to meet his gaze. “Why do you dislike me so much?” I say in an embarrassingly thin voice.

His gaze falls away; he slouches over his desk and starts writing again. “It’s not you. It’s the idea of you,” he says with harsh indifference.

My cheeks burn. “What does that mean?”

He leans back in his chair again. “Every year I see a dozen incoming freshman exactly like you. Rich, privileged, taking up seats they don’t really want that could go to students who have worked hard and want to be here. You’re at University California, Berkeley and you act like it is an inconvenience to be here! You take up space and by the end of the year…” his eyes round harshly beneath his thick brows. “…you will be gone.”

The emotion shoots through my veins all at once. My insides are shaking. “I’m here to get a degree in music. I want to teach music to children in the inner cities.”