That's Not My Name

I unexpectedly had to pick up a science class I hadn't originally enrolled in, in order to get a science credit I didn't realize I was missing from last year. Science has never been my thing. I've always struggled with it throughout school. I tried taking chemistry as a junior in high school and there may have been a couple of explosions I swore weren't my fault. But they were.

I've always excelled at the more right-brained subjects. Music, Art, English. Left-brained subjects have always been a struggle point for me.

Growing up in the kind of household I grew up in, I knew my only chance to break the cycle was going to be to get a scholarship. I kept my head down and forced my way through high school with a single-minded focus. I filled my free time with extracurriculars based not on what I was interested in, but on what I thought would look good on a college application. Music never stopped being a passion, though. I always found time for that.

When I enrolled here, it was the first time I thought about what I want. I knew that going into a major in music isn't exactly the most sure-fire way to guarantee a worry-free future, but it's a future I could see myself happy in. I've left my options open, however.

I took most of my core classes last year, and this year I'm taking the more music-based classes that can help me get where I want to go. I can see a future in music management, but any musician wants to create, wants to perform. I'm no different. That's the goal, but I'm realistic.

So, I was surprised when I found out I needed another science class this year. There were only two options available to me, Chemistry - which I've already explained why this is a bad idea - or Biology. Guess which one I chose?

I'm squeezing it into what was once a beautifully empty space around lunch hour, so I don't want to be here right now. My mind is with the cheeseburger I intended to fill this hour with. I know it reads all over my face - that my mind is anywhere but here. Imagine my surprise when a body falls into the empty seat beside me pulling me from my fast-food fantasy.

"Hey, Val."

A smile came unbidden to my face. The kind of smile you see when someone cannot believe what just came out of your mouth. I turn to face him, narrowing my eyes. Kaden's grey eyes are bright and playful, and he looks no less delicious today, even in a shirt made at some point in the last decade.

"That's not my name."

He lifts his brows in poorly feigned surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry. It was…" he snaps next to his head as though he's trying to jog his own memory, making a show of the performance. "Don't Bother, that's right. My mistake."

I try to push the smile on my lips into a purse but fail. "It's Vale, but you already know that, Kade."

"Don't like Val? We'll have to find a new nickname then."

"Or don't. I'm ok with not. We don't even have to be friends. We can be some sort of non-talking buddies. I like that."

He's setting up his laptop, and the white Dell logo lights up the screen when he turns his attention back to me. I was here relatively early, so I'm already reading over my course notes from the music theory class I'd been to earlier today.

"No can do, Vale. I'm more of that talking-buddy type." He accents the statement with a noncommittal shrug. "What brings you to biology a week into the course?"

That's a normal question. Unexpected. "I guess what brings everyone to biology. I need the science credit. You?"

"I'm a Micro-Biology major."

What? Mr no-good, drug-dealing, rockstar-rebellion poster child is going into micro-biology? He smiles at the look that plays on my face. "Don't look so surprised."

I realize then that my mouth was hanging open, and my brows were tightly knitted together. I blink the shock from my eyes forcefully. "Not surprised."

"No?"

"Nope."

"Funny, cuz you looked really surprised." He makes a face that I'm assuming is his impression of how I looked just a moment ago.

"Close, but it was more like this." I reach across the aisle that separates us to place my finger below his chin and close his mouth a fraction of an inch. The five o'clock shadow he's sporting at eleven in the morning is rough against my fingertips and I warm at the contact. That was a mistake.

I look back up to his eyes which are holding heat within them as well. What was a teasing interaction is at the precipice of possibly becoming something far more nefarious when we can't seem to break eye contact.

"Alright, class, sorry I was late." The professor says, running in with a laptop under one arm and a coffee in the other hand. It's obviously a different coffee than the one that is all down the front of his white oxford shirt. I'm guessing that's why he was late. Regardless I'm grateful for the distraction which causes me to jump, pulling my hand back from Kaden's face and bashing my knee on my desk which in turn drives my laptop to clatter to the floor.

The professor stops mid-stride, looking my way as my fellow students begin to snicker quietly. One jock-type in the back begins slow clapping. I stand from my seat, crouching to grab my fallen laptop which has thankfully survived the fall, before standing with a wave to the rest of the class. "Thanks, I'll be here all week. Tip your waitresses."

I'm sure I'm an embarrassing shade of red as I can feel the blush heating my cheeks. When I sit down I try to avoid looking at Kaden, but I can't seem to help myself. He has his lips pressed between his teeth to contain his mirth, but his shoulders bounce in silent laughter.

God, I hate that guy.

***

The scholarship coordinator and I are locked in a heated stare-off across his ornate desk in an office large enough to indicate to me that my twelve grand costs for next semester would be a drop in the bucket.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Clarke, but the rules were abundantly clear. You can take a stipend to cover the housing you are currently in, or you can use the funds from the scholarship for dorm housing, or rent from any of the list of approved renters." He leans forward, dropping an obscenely expensive pen into a decorative cup full of obscenely expensive pens before leaning back into his high-back leather executive chair.

I let out a deep sigh of exasperation. "And I can't just backpedal and take a stipend now? I didn't intentionally violate the contract. I misunderstood. I don't have money. My family doesn't have money. This scholarship is the only way I can go to school here."

The smug fuck steeples his hands in front of him like some sort of Mr. Burns-type villain. I'm half expecting over-pronounced maniacal laughter to spill from his lips at any moment, but he just shrugs. Somehow I hate that even more. The indifference to my plight. The fact that he doesn't even care enough to pretend to be the villain I'm writing him to be inside my own personal monologue.

I'm getting nowhere. I'm wasting my time. "Fine," I say, standing in a swirl of self-important rage. I throw my laptop bag over my shoulder and stalk toward the closed oak door before my anger gets the better of me.

I spin on my heel, storm back toward his desk and knock over his pen holder, lift my eyebrow, and moonwalk out of there managing to hold onto the barest shred of dignity after the exchange.

When I make it into the campus radio station about ten minutes later, which is five minutes late for my shift, I see the station manager looking at me over the mic in the DJ booth tapping his watch expectantly.

Brock's a cool guy. He's a college guy, for sure. He manages not to fall into any of the specific stereotypes that one would generally find at a college. He lies somewhere on the better-looking side of the scale, but he's otherwise completely average in any other measure. He's a senior this year, though, and hasn't decided if he's going to continue his degree or not.

"Late is not great, Vale."

"Sorry, I got into a thing." I wave my hand dismissively. "Whatever. It's done. What's up?"

"I've already laid out the next half hour of songs before you need to chime in again, so you're good there. But there's a new Black Canvas album we just got today, so make sure to give it a listen and play whatever you think is the best."

I lift my hand, itching the back of my head in a nervous gesture. "Yeah, sure."

Brock eyes me suspiciously. "What's with you? You're weird."

Although it's clearly not working, I can't stop making a big show of my nonchalance, doing an over-pronounced shrug. "I don't know what you're talking about, bro. I'm good."

"Bro?"

"Just, whatever. Did you wanna bail or are you going to hang out all night irritating me?"

A smile plays on his lips at catching me flustered. It doesn't happen often, but first I had that thing in Bio, and then the stupid ordeal with the scholarship office, then he has to drop the stupid Black Canvas thing on me. Can I not escape Kaden West? Must he be everywhere I go? I spent my entire freshman year more or less blissfully unaware of him and his stupid band, and his stupid eyes, and his stupid sexy smile. Ugh.

"Yeah, I've got a paper due at the end of the week. No one told my sociology professor that it's a dick move to assign a paper this size at the beginning of the year." He rolls his eyes, grabbing his backpack off the floor. "We've got a new intern coming in this afternoon, too. He should be here in about an hour. Just have him stack CDs or something."

"Sure."

For the most part, we're completely digital, but it doesn't stop every band on campus from stopping by with CDs. We also get them sent out by record labels and even some donations come in. It's like people haven't heard of Spotify or something. Not my problem, though.

I sit down and pull out my phone, finding the digital copy of Black Canvas' new album in the station's inbox. I put my headphones on and hit play.