Brooks Performing Arts

Before jumping on the charter bus at the designated spot and being shipped off to the Brooks Performing Arts campus, Hara had spent five days in a London bed and breakfast. She felt lonely in the hotel room all by herself just within the first few hours of settling in, so she decided to do a little exploration and discover all of London’s little wonders.

Hara found a park full of bustling schoolchildren. Most had sticks, and they were beating slides and the poles of the swing set with it, trying to make some kind of beat that came out in great discord. Hara had slowed her walking then, watching with her hands folded behind her back as the tiny students clanged and banged and tried to find anything that’d give them the results they were searching for.

Within five minutes of walking up and asking them what they were doing, Hara ended up forming her own five-year old chorus. With a stick as a baton, she taught them nursery rhymes her grandmother had taught her as a child and had them ‘perform it for their audience’. Which was, really, anybody passing by in the park. Even their supervising teacher had joined in on their makeshift chorus, belting note after note out with carefree and high-spirited vigor.

Turned out Hara was the only one on key, but they managed to get an entire ten person audience before the end of their show, and Hara was so proud of the kids that she had only just met. The teacher thanked Hara for getting them ‘to do something as a team for once’, and Hara shrugged it off modestly, had the chorus bow for their cheering audience, and continued on her way.

Hara knows she’ll never see them again. In a year or few she’ll be flying back to Michigan hopefully with her dreams fulfilled, and she’d never think of that park-chorus again. But what it has done for her is make her a little more hopeful about the future of the music and performance industry. Who knows: maybe in ten years or so one of the schoolchildren will be the next big solo singer. Or maybe they’d settle on being a band or chorus teacher. Either way, Hara is looking forward to it all — and it’s nice to know that maybe her park-chorus sparked something creative deep in a few of their hearts. It’s nice to know that Hara can shape the future.

There are so many doors opening; Hara’s is most certainly one of them.

♫♫

Hara’s first block is only called ‘Performance’. Hara looks curiously down at her schedule as she brushes her hair, having just straightened it down to her breasts. She assumes it’s all about performance theory and how you present yourself with performing, but she can’t be too sure, considering how vague the name is.

It’s seven a.m. and both her and Eleanor are up and bustling. Hara’s only got a lacy bra and a pencil skirt on, everything else bare and exposed, while Eleanor’s in a baby pink blouse and wide-legged trousers. Her hair is in this purposely messy bun today, and Hara can’t help but think that Eleanor’s a really gorgeous girl. She wonders how long Eleanor’s been in the school, but recently discovered that that question could be a soft spot for some people, so she keeps quiet.

“Performance?” Hara says aloud, blindly grabbing her blazer while examining the schedule paper. “Have you taken Performance class before, El?”

“Yeah,” Eleanor calls out from behind her, a little sleepily. “It’s mandatory every year.”

Hara pulls on her blazer, buttons it, pulling her hair out from underneath it and draping it over her shoulders. The blinds are closed, but just so to give way to strings of warm, lazy sunlight. Streaks pour across Hara’s mattress, some into her hair, making it glow. She snatches up the schedule, turns on the heels of her bare feet, asks, “Dumb question, probably, but what exactly do we do in Performance class?”

Eleanor looks absently at Hara, then goes to her closet, pulling the doors open with a loud clatter. She produces some kitten heels and lets them fall to the cold, dusty flooring. “Ms. Smith teaches you image and behavior when performing on stage. It’s usually about six students in the class, and the room is studio-like, except there’s these huge windows and a grand piano instead of mirrors. Be prepared to be shoved out of your comfort zone with her; she’s hell, but she’s brilliant.”

Hara nods at the back of Eleanor’s head, watches her get her heels on with an annoyed grunt. “God,” Eleanor says. “I think my feet got bigger, or something. These things are impossible now.”

Out of her comfort zone, huh? Well, Hara’s been the shy type of girl since middle school, so this class may be good for her. If she wants to succeed in the industry, she understands shyness will not be acceptable. Okay. Hara can definitely do this. “Thanks, El,” Hara says. “Got any tips?”

Eleanor gathers her folders and side bag before turning to give her attention to a hopeful Hara. Eleanor grins. “Don’t show weakness. She’ll eat you up, love.”

No problem. Hara nods. “I can do that.”

Eleanor just raises an eyebrow at her before she’s heading to the door, calling back, “I’m off!” before slipping out of the dorm and closing the door behind her.

Hara looks down at her schedule again, scrutinizing the building name and room number for her first class of the day. She’ll have to leave a little early so she can find it; any time wasted and she may just get there late.

“I’m doing it, halmeoni,” Hara whispers to herself. “I’m achieving.”

And that’s all the encouragement she needs.

♫♫

Good thing Hara left thirty minutes early, because it took twenty minutes of maneuvering campus for the designated building (even after asking for instructions from the other students), and five minutes and counting to even find the stupid room. She’s been roaming the wide, tiled hallways for a good bit now, biting her lips and slowly but surely eating off all her lip gloss from worry. But, holy crap, she’s gonna be late. Hara can’t believe her luck right now. First told off by four-year Harry Styles, and now about to be late for her first class of her entire school career.

Hara’s staring hard at the number on her schedule, turning onto the same third hallway for the millionth time now, when someone calls out to her, “hey — are you lost?” and she instantly looks upwards, coming face to face with large, worried baby blue eyes. Maybe she showed her shock on her face, because the blue-eyed lad falters, smiles nervously, and clarifies, “I’m just wondering, ‘cause I’ve seen you pass by here maybe five times already.”

Hara sighs. “Is it that obvious?” She looks into his face well now, catching sight of a pale face and browning blonde hair surrounding those blue eyes. The bloke is just an inch taller than her, jeans sagging slightly and red polo shirt loose on his thin frame. He looks friendly enough.

“What class are you looking for?” he asks, taking a peek upside down at her schedule. “I think I can help.”

“Thanks so much,” Hara sighs, handing him the paper. She watches as his eyes trail downward, tucks some hair behind her perky ear. “I don’t have much time left; it’s just that — I’m new here, so I don’t —”

“I’m new, too,” the guy says, looking hard at the room number. Once done, he looks up into her startled face, smiling to reveal straight, white teeth. “I was in the auditorium with you. Niall Horan.”

“Really?” Hara looks instantly embarrassed. “I’m sorry — I just didn’t look too well at everybody and. Yeah.”

Niall laughs. “Yeah. You’re ... Hara, right?”

Hara looks stunned again. “... Yeah. How’d you know?”

Niall hands her back her schedule and she takes it. When he starts walking, she speeds up in her baby heels to catch up with him, shoes clacking on the sparkling flooring. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, telling her, “I’m in the same class as you. I came early to find my way, and turns out you were the only one not there yet. Ms. Smith got a bit worried there.”

Hara nods, flustered. She just now noticed that this Niall guy has quite the Irish accent. It’s cute, in a way. “This place is just so confusing. So many rooms and numbers and ... I get confused easily, maybe.”

Niall laughs again, all fluttery. Grinning lopsided at her, he shrugs and says, “I was pretty confused at first, too. Maybe it just clicks for some people.” When Hara makes a face, Niall bursts out laughing again. “I’m joking! Joking! I’m still a little confused.”

“I see you’re trouble, mister,” Hara teases, pointing an accusing finger at him as they turn into a classroom with its door open and inviting.

“Trouble?” Niall asks. He clutches at his chest where his heart should be, says, “You wound me.”

“I’m keeping an eye on you.” Hara sticks a tongue out at him. “Even if you helped me out back there.”

Niall does a sheepish shrug, lopsided grin planted across his lips. “I don’t think I’d mind that much.”

What looks like Ms. Smith, with short, greying hair and an ankle-low floral dress on her round body, slips from her four-person group and approaches Hara and Niall. “Found the stray?” she asks Niall, smiling softly at a suddenly nervous Hara to show that she didn’t mean any harm.

“Wandering like a lost puppy out in the hallways, ma’am,” Niall confirms, doing a goofy salute. “Good thing I picked her up, yeah?”

Hara pulls a face at Niall, then turns to look at Ms. Smith, shy again.

“I hope it wasn’t too difficult to find my room, Ms. Bae?” Ms. Smith asks carefully. “I know this campus is big, but my room’s on the first floor, dear.”

Hara’s face gets a little red. “I’m bad with directions, I think. Ma’am.” She ducks her head, hair cascading down. “Sorry if I was late.” She can feel the other four, unfamiliar pairs of eyes on her, judging and observing their competition fiercely. Just then the fleeting memory of Eleanor telling her that Ms. Smith smells weakness returns to her, and Hara has to wonder if it’s not only Ms. Smith, but her peers as well.

“No problem, love,” Ms. Smith assures her. “You were just on time, thanks to Mr. Horan.”

Niall salutes Ms. Smith again.

“Enough of that,” Ms. Smith tells him, then gets situated by the piano, turning to face her students. “Welcome to my Performance class, ladies and gentlemen. As I’m sure you already know, I’m Ms. Smith, and I’m one of the five Performance teachers here at Brooks Performing Arts. The difference between me and the other teachers, though, is that I cater specifically to piano and vocals.”

Hara shifts slowly to where everyone else is, snagging a spot at safe distance next to Niall — now that she’s more comfortable with him and all. The other students look too serious and mean for her liking; she’ll stick with jokester Niall for now.

“Tell me,” Ms. Smith says. “Who’s interested in vocals?”

Everyone but one mousy girl with bleach blonde hair raises their hand. Ms. Smith inspects each eager face carefully, running over each eye before stopping right at Niall, who’s arm is waving around excitedly. “You seem very eager, Mr. Horan.”

“Well,” Niall says. “I love singing.”

Ms. Smith nods. “Commendable excitement, then.” She places the palm of a hand over the smooth, obsidian surface of the piano hood. “Why don’t you sing us something, Mr. Horan? Give us a taste of your passion. Of what makes you burn.”

“With pleasure,” Niall chirps, arm lowering back to his side. All eyes turn on him, curious, as he straightens his back, squares off his shoulders, and places one hand to his belly, pressing down very gently. Then: “There’s magic in your eyes, stars against your lips, longing in that pretty soul of yours; girl, you’re my galaxy, my galaxy.”

Hara’s never heard the song ever in her life before. Nor has she ever heard such a voice in close proximity, so eager, so able to be reached and touched. Niall’s voice carries out its own tune, works in a wavelength Hara’s only heard happen through auto tune and other computer programming. But this voice — this voice tells her a story.

She’s inspired.

When Niall’s finally finished singing, he opens his eyes (when have they ever been closed? Hara’s been so absorbed in the music that she didn’t realize when it happened), that signature lopsided smile coming back, and leaves the studio room in complete silence. Hara’s the one to break the silence when she says, without a filter or warning, “that was beautiful, Niall.”

Niall looks at her, comes off pleasantly surprised. “Wow,” he says. His face softens and softens until his smile is close-mouthed, gently curling upwards at the edges. “Thank you so much.”

“Have you taken vocal lessons before?” a guy with long, frizzy hair and a fedora asks him from three people down.

Niall breaks his stare with Hara to address the lad. “No, actually. I just practiced by myself, in my bedroom.” He shrugs casually, slips his hands into his jeans pockets.

“None? Really?” the mousy blonde asks next. Her eyebrow quirks in disbelief.

Niall nods. “I’m not lying.”

“I know you’re gonna make it, then,” Hara tells him exuberantly, still full of inspiration and the aftershocks of surprise. “It’s obvious, by now.” The guy in the fedora and the mousy blonde nod in agreement, but Niall can’t help but stare at Hara, blatantly stunned by all her encouragement and support.

“Thanks,” Niall breathes.

“I’ll admit,” comes Ms. Smith, snapping everyone’s attention back to her. “You have quite the voice, Mr. Horan.” She continues running the palm of her hand over the hood of the piano.

Niall beams.

“But you’re lacking something,” Ms. Smith finishes lowly. “You’re lacking confidence. Feel. With your body language and your attitude, you won’t be going anywhere with only your voice being your positive point.”

Niall deflates.

“But —” Hara starts.

“Would you like to show us your talent, then, Ms. Bae, since you have an objection?”

Hara falters. All eyes are on her again, except for Niall’s, which is pointed directly at the floor. She thinks of turning the offer down, but Eleanor’s advice rings in her head once more for the day, and she decides against that.

Hara realizes she has no choice. She’s going to have to pull herself out of her comfort zone and prove to Ms. Smith (and herself) that she can perform. And, if not, she has no qualms with taking advice and bettering herself for when she hits the real stage at the end of the year.

“Okay,” Hara finally says, voice soft, weak. Niall’s eyes are now on her.

Ms. Smith and the rest of the small class watches as Hara takes wobbly steps towards the grand piano, her eyes trained on the piano bench. “You play the piano as your talent, then?” Ms. Smith asks, voice tipping towards curiosity. “I thought you raised your hand for vocals just a moment ago?”

“I did,” Hara says, getting to the bench and fixing it. Then she turns to look at Ms. Smith and the class, says, “I do both.”

♫♫

Hara has to work on her body language. Of course. Hara expected that one. She leaves the class an hour and forty-five minutes later a little disappointed in herself, but determined nonetheless. Hara is halfway down the hallway when Niall calls out to her, “Hey, Hara!” as he speeds to catch up with her.

Hara slows down her walk, blinks at him. “Hey.”

Niall’s lopsided grin resurfaces. “I think you’re a brilliant performer.”

Hara smiles softly, tucks some hair behind her ear. “Thanks.”

Niall shrugs nervously. “It’s obvious, though, right? You have this ... charisma, I think.” He turns big blue eyes towards her. “Charismatic. That’s the word.”

She laughs, shyly ducks her head. “Stop making me blush.”

“Am I?” Niall tilts his head so he can see around her curtain of hair. “Am I now?”

Hara quickly looks the other direction, towards the opposite wall, laughing, and Niall joins in, giving up on his pursuit. They make it down the rest of the length of the hall, turn a corner, and get back outdoors. The sun is at its peak now, smoldering everything beneath it in heat. Other students are crossing campus by now, folders and backpacks in hand.

“You’re an amazing performer, too,” Hara suddenly says, stopping to look at Niall. She smiles big at him, all teeth and squinted eyes, crosses her middle finger over the index at him. “All things go well and you’ll get yourself a record deal by the end of the year.”

Niall mocks her middle finger over the index and grins stupidly at her, eyes glistening under the sunlight. “You too, Hara. See you later?”

Hara nods enthusiastically. “See you super, super later. Tomorrow later.”

Niall scratches at a spot on his arm that doesn’t itch, smile turns bashful. “Tomorrow later, then.” With one last wave, he turns and walks off, peeking little looks over his shoulder at her and making a new funny face whenever she catches him in the act.
Hara remains there, giggling like an idiot whenever he does look, until he turns and disappears around the corner of the building. While it may be stressful here already, people like Niall give her confidence that everything will turn out alright in the end. She eventually walks off with a spring in her step, magic in her eyes, stars against her lips, and longing in that pretty little soul.