High Note (Pitch Perfect Book 2) Read online

  HIGH NOTE

  PITCH PERFECT BOOK 2

  H. L. LOGAN

  Copyright © 2017 by H. L. Logan.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  CONTENTS

  Newsletter

  1. Brianne

  2. Margie

  3. Brianne

  4. Margie

  5. Brianne

  6. Margie

  7. Brianne

  8. Margie

  9. Brianne

  10. Margie

  11. Brianne

  12. Margie

  13. Brianne

  14. Margie

  15. Brianne

  16. Margie

  17. Brianne

  18. Margie

  19. Brianne

  Epilogue

  Also by H. L. Logan

  Chapter 1 - Kaitlyn

  Chapter 2 - Emily

  Chapter 3 - Kaitlyn

  NEWSLETTER

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  BRIANNE

  I checked the time on my phone and a current of anxiety flitted up my spine, now that I was aware I only had four more hours left in the day to complete everything I had to do.

  It was funny, people in my social circle generally thought I was pretty carefree and relaxed, probably because I tended to be quiet and bitingly sarcastic. They didn’t know it was all a façade for the pressure I felt every single day.

  Why? It was all because of my parents. My parents were the main reason my sister and I had turned out the way we had. It was so hard for me to imagine life any other way.

  They’d made me double major in music and marketing. I’d originally just wanted to do music, but they’d said that wouldn’t be enough for me to find a job. Music wasn’t “useful” on its own, they’d said. And when I’d suggested minoring in music—as much as the thought pained me—they’d said I couldn’t do that, either, because what if I had the opportunity to become a renowned violinist one day?

  It almost made me hate playing the violin. Almost.

  But no, music was my sanctuary. The world of the sheet music and notes and brilliant auburn color of my violin was a world I could spend hours in. I entered what they called a “flow” state and just lost myself.

  But there wasn’t much time for me to practice. I could only do the bare minimum because my marketing homework and group projects took up too much of my time. It was a good thing I was decent at time management, otherwise, I’d be screwed.

  My phone pinged at me, and I picked it up to see that I’d received a text, reminding me that we were supposed to be meeting for someone’s birthday in an hour at the King’s Tooth. I couldn’t even remember who, and the text didn’t say.

  Shit. I knew I’d promised them all I’d be there, and when I checked my planner, of course, I found that I’d already written it in. So I had no excuse. Except that I really, really needed to finish up my part of this marketing project and send it in to my group members by midnight.

  That was one thing I hated about being in the business program. Way too many group projects. And the problem wasn’t even that there were slackers—it was that no one was a slacker. In fact, it seemed like people used group projects to show off, so I had to put extra effort in. It was exhausting, but I supposed they were getting us prepared for corporate life.

  I wasn’t sure I was cut out for corporate life, but it didn’t seem like I had many options, unless I magically became a professional violin player after all. You couldn’t do that unless you were excellent, and I doubted I was good enough. I mean, I knew I was talented, but I wasn’t next level. Certainly not the next Lindsey Stirling.

  I sighed and opened up Powerpoint so I could finish my slides. We were supposed to come up with an advertising campaign for a fictional company, and as I diligently filled out my slides and added notes, I found my enthusiasm for the project waning.

  I’d thought I’d enjoy the advertising course because I loved graphic design and video and the concept of putting together a whole plan that used all these elements. But the problem was that we were never advertising anything particularly interesting. This fictional company produced toothpaste. Again, they were trying to make the business school experience mimic the real corporate experience, where you wouldn’t necessarily get to work with things that were interesting.

  I thought they could have cut us a little slack here, though. At least let us advertise a fake winery or pet store or something.

  I got it done with some time to spare, though I was painfully aware that I hadn’t done my études, and I couldn’t do them after I came back from Kings Tooth (if I even did come back) because I didn’t want to wake up my roommate with my music. So I’d have to do a double round of études tomorrow, before studying for the quiz on Friday…

  Life was difficult for me right now. I closed my laptop and checked myself in the mirror, deciding to change into a nicer dress. I had a bit of an image to uphold, after all.

  As I walked to the bar, or pub, rather, I thought about Kaitlyn’s street performance group. I’d been kinda rude to her when I’d met her, which honestly wasn’t unusual for me. I didn’t necessarily like being such a prickly person, but it was just the way I interacted with the world. Kaitlyn had seemed too cool and carefree, and in a way, I guess I found that threatening. And I had to admit, I’d been jealous of the fact that she was so… free.

  I still was. Kaitlyn was a bit of a nomad, and she didn’t have a college degree. She could literally move anywhere and do whatever she wanted to do, and I simply couldn’t imagine life ever being like that for me. On the other hand, she didn’t seem to have financial security, which was a priority for me—drilled into my head by my parents.

  I supposed people had different life paths with pros and cons. It didn’t stop me from yearning for something different, though.

  Even though it was a Wednesday—or maybe because it was hump day—it seemed like half the population of Beasley was at the bar. I made my way to the back and found my friends, who were all gathered around a large booth table.

  The birthday girl was Miriam, who I suddenly felt guilty for forgetting about. She and I were usually pretty close, but I’d been so busy lately that I’d forgotten. It was a weird and unpleasant feeling to realize I’d completely forgotten about it. I really did have too much on my plate.

  “Happy birthday, Miriam!” I said, bending down so I could hug her awkwardly. She was already pretty drunk and kissed me on the cheek, which was cute—she was often affectionate like that.

  “Thanks for coming out,” she said, beaming at me, and I was suddenly glad I’d decided to leave my house after all. Maintaining social connections was important.

  Of course, my parents never failed to remind me of that, either. They were very aware of how important networking was, especially at such a prestigious place like Beasley.

  But no—I wanted friends, real friends. People you could count on emotionally, not people you could count on for a corporate job years down the line.

  I took a seat at the already crowded table and someone handed me a glass of beer poured from a pitcher. I knew as soon as I arrived here that I wouldn’t be getting any more work done today, and I’d already sent in the group project stuff, so I tipped the glass to my lips and took a deep swig.

  There was something very liberating about deciding you were don
e with work for the day. As I kept drinking, the alcohol buzz started to permeate me and I felt more relaxed.

  This had definitely been the right decision.

  Kaitlyn was now an established part of the group since she and Emily were together, so I saw her frequently. We’d done some practice for the street performance group, though I hadn’t performed on the street much since I was so busy recently. She smiled at me in a friendly manner, and I smiled back, glad that we were actually friends now. I was glad she’d forgiven me for my earlier rudeness.

  “Have you had a chance to work on those songs yet?” she asked.

  Despite the increasing warmth of my buzz, another bolt of anxiety hit me. Had I really agreed to work on some songs with her? What had I been thinking? There was no way I had the free time to do all this.

  I felt bad because I’d originally told Kaitlyn that I wanted to perform with her every day. The thought was ludicrous. I’d been so free last semester, but this semester, my classes made my schedule so hectic. I could barely practice with her during the twice weekly sessions. I only made it for a performance maybe once a week, if that.

  “I took a look,” I said diplomatically, “and I should have some changes to them for our next session.”

  She patted my shoulder. “Awesome, thanks.”

  I smiled tightly. I guessed she couldn’t tell that I was actually anxious. Kaitlyn and I had actually become close, but we weren’t best friends yet. No one could really read my moods when I put on my public face.

  I was graduating at the end of the semester, so I just had to push through and get it over with. I had no idea what I wanted to do after I graduated, except stay in Rosebridge. My parents wouldn’t like that idea, but thankfully, it wasn’t up to them. I’d only acquiesced on the majors because they were paying for my education.

  But once I graduated, I’d be free. Not as free as Kaitlyn, maybe, but more able to decide what I wanted to do. There were several marketing firms in downtown Rosebridge, and I’d done an internship with one last summer, so I felt good about my career prospects.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten to play with you as much as we’d discussed,” I told Kaitlyn, the alcohol putting me in the mood for feeling apologetic, apparently.

  “It’s not a problem,” said Kaitlyn. “I mean, your education comes first, right? And you’ll be graduating so soon.”

  “I guess,” I said, sighing. I’d only recently realized I couldn’t do much street performance at all if I had a 9-5 job. Maybe only on the weekends, or evenings during the week when the weather was nicer.

  “I’m sure there’ll be more time at the end of May, and then June,” said Kaitlyn. “We can make bank if we go down to the Riverwalk, especially. I’ve been meaning to check it out.”

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “There are sometimes people playing music there. We’d fit right in.”

  Kaitlyn beamed at me. How was she always so cheerful? Maybe that was why we were friends. She balanced out my dourness.

  “Good things are on the horizon for us,” she said, looking out toward the rest of the group once more.

  I agreed, but I wasn’t sure I did, really. I would graduate and get a good job, and do my best to keep up with my music, and then what? It was hard to imagine how life would change.

  Maybe I was lonely. I had good friends but I hadn’t been in a relationship for so long. When I’d moved here for college, I’d met a girl, freshman year. I’d known I was a lesbian but I hadn’t dated a girl before, and she’d been my first. She’d been awesome, but we went on different paths.

  It was for the best. The person she was now was someone I wouldn’t want to date, anyway. But who was the kind of person I’d want to date? I didn’t know.

  I was a little jealous when Kaitlyn and Emily got together… It all happened kind of fast, or at least, it seemed that way in retrospect. It seemed like love randomly dropped in on peoples’ lives when they least expected it.

  I couldn’t help but wonder when it would drop into mine.

  MARGIE

  I hated sunny days.

  I mean, the weather was pleasant. It was nice to be outside, instead of holed up in my room. But the problem was that everyone else was outside, too. And when that happened, I couldn’t help but notice how no one was outside alone.

  No, that wasn’t true. There were a few people laying on the grass with earbuds in or reading a book. But they looked happy, and they probably had friends they could do stuff with.

  I didn’t have any friends. As I walked past the field, I enviously watched the people playing frisbee, the people slacklining, the people playing hacky sack, the people sitting in circles, all suspiciously carrying water bottles that I was sure didn’t have water in them.

  It was such a typical picture of college life, and I wasn’t a part of it. I had never been.

  I’d had high hopes when I’d transferred to Beasley from Amherst. It’d been an amazing opportunity, considering how much more prestigious Beasley was, and I thought that with a clean slate, I could make friends.

  How wrong I’d been.

  It was clear to me now that there was a fundamental problem with me, not with the people around me. I’d thought that Amherst was too much of a party school and that I’d get along better with the people somewhere else. But no, I should have known. If I wanted friends, I had to change something about myself. But what?

  I didn’t want to keep looking at all the people on the grass, laughing and smiling in the sun. For one thing, I felt like a bit of an idiot for overheating under my jacket. The sun had been a bit of a surprise and I’d been preparing myself for continued New England coolness. For some reason, the contrast between myself, in my jacket, and all the girls tanning in bikinis or guys with their tank tops, made me feel even more isolated.

  It was stupid, but that was just how my brain worked.

  My phone pinged and I checked it—it was my mom. She didn’t bug me as much as she had at the beginning of the year, wanting to make sure I was settling in nicely to my new school. I hated to do this, but I lied to her all the time. I told her I was making friends and going to parties and doing great in all my classes. Only one of those things was true, which was fortunate. It would have sucked if my social and academic lives were both going to shit.

  How did people just make friends so easily? I’d always wondered. I’d had a few friends in high school, simply because they were people I saw every day, but I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be friends with me. How could they? What did I have to offer?

  I didn’t know.

  I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t see the person in front of me, and I bumped right into them.

  The sweet scent of a latte entered my nose, and I felt some hot liquid spill on my sleeve. Fuck.

  “What the hell!” said the girl, who was clutching the now empty paper cup her latte had been in. She bent down to gingerly pick up the lid, then glared at me when she stood up.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, immediately feeling myself withdraw. God, this was so embarrassing. I never did stuff like this usually. I must have really not been paying attention.

  “God damn it, now I’m going to have to get changed before practice,” said the girl, who was now looking at her dress and surveying the damage. Several large, brownish wet spots were all over her front.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated, unsure of what else to say. I wanted to make the situation better somehow, but there was no way I could. What was I going to do, offer her the shirt off my back?

  The other girl huffed and rolled her eyes, her brown hair bouncing a little as she did so. She had sparkling gray eyes and a sharp, vulpine face. There was something expensive about her look, and I wondered how much the dress cost. I certainly couldn’t afford to replace it, especially if it’d been stained by the coffee.

  There was an awkward silence while we both stared at each other.

  “Well, I guess I’d better run back to my house,” said the girl, and she turned to
throw the coffee cup in a nearby trash can.

  “Wait,” I said, following behind her and wondering what the hell my brain was up to. “Wait a minute. Let me uh, let me buy you lunch or something.”

  What in the world had I just suggested? Why should I buy her lunch for ruining her dress? That would just mean I had to see her again. And the thought of that sent another wave of anxiety through me.

  “Um… what?” said the girl, turning around with a glare in her eyes. “Lunch?”

  “Yeah, lunch,” I said, realizing I couldn’t pretend I’d said something different now. “I mean, I feel bad. Maybe I could make it up to you by buying you lunch. I know, it’s a stupid idea. Maybe pretend I didn’t—”

  “No, it’s fine,” said the girl, a little more softly. Her anger seemed to pass through her and now she’d gotten over the shock. I could still smell the latte; she was drenched in it. “Let’s do lunch.”

  “R-really?” I asked. “I mean, it’s… you don’t have to…”

  “No, we’ll do it. We’ll get lunch,” she said. “I’m Brianne. I’m free tomorrow at 12. I could meet you at the strip.”

  “O-okay,” I said, amazed at how this had completely gotten out of hand. I was going to have lunch with this random girl, all because I’d opened my stupid mouth. Amazing.

  “Cool. See you tomorrow then,” said Brianne. “And what’s your name?”

  “Margie.”

  “Good name,” said Brianne. “See you, then.”

  “Bye,” I said, completely dumbfounded as Brianne walked away.

  I watched her as she did. She was dressed so well. Her thick black tights offset the gray chambray of the dress, and she had these cool boots and a trendy backpack… God, what in the world was I going to do during this lunch? What were we even going to talk about?

  And why had I even asked her to go to lunch? Maybe it was the first thing that had popped into my mind because it was the only thing I could offer. The strip was what we called a row of restaurants right next to campus, and I could buy her a meal there. In fact, I’d often daydreamed about offering to take a new friend to lunch there, because there were so many cool restaurants and I didn’t want to eat alone like I did at the dining hall every day. That was probably the reason it had popped up in my head.