Chapter Text
Jihyo winces at her shift - it was slightly flat. She ends up having an unsteady vibrato on the high G.
Taking a deep breath, she refocuses and breezes through the rest of the allegro introduction, adding in some tasteful rubato. She then arrives at the sixteenth note run in the allegro molto moderato.
This was quite a nice orchestra room, she thinks. On the side to the left of Jihyo were dozens of rows of shelves for violin and viola storage. Most were empty due to it being Thanksgiving break.
To the right, the first story had a large section of cellos, while the second story was reserved for double basses. Behind her were quite a few generously furnished practice rooms.
This was a stark contrast from her last school, a dusty rural ranch in Montana. The orchestra room there was basically just an old shed.
And right in front of her was JYP. A stout, older man, he was the conductor of the Santa Monica High School orchestra.
Jihyo glances at him, then back to the music on her stand. Her double stops aren’t quite in tune; the accidentals cause her center of pitch to fluctuate.
However, to be honest, the differences were so subtle she doubted that JYP would even notice. A few more minutes pass, with Jihyo minding her bow control and dynamics, and she’s finally done with her audition.
If the man in front of her is impressed - Jihyo is sure he’s absolutely floored by her virtuosity - he doesn’t show it.
“We have new seats every month. At the beginning of each semester, we have an in-person audition like what you just did. That determines your chair and if you’re a first or second. In addition, each month after there will be a virtual test, and seating will be based on that as well as your performance in class.”
Jihyo nods, eager to show her understanding and capability. Obviously she was going to be concertmaster every month, but it never hurt to pretend to be humble. She packs up her violin and bow.
Grabbing her case, she walks outside and waits on a park bench for her mom to pick her up. She tries to angle the case to where the autumn sunlight reflects on her honor orchestra stickers especially brightly.
She wonders if the seagulls are impressed by her Montana All State sticker. Most likely, she concludes.
To outsiders and her classmates, Jihyo is seen as a ruthless musical machine. She never struggles with sight reading, or pitch, or performance anxiety.
She was practically born holding a violin in her hand, as her parents were both music professors. They had drilled into her from a young age that technique and discipline were the fundamentals of music.
Following their teachings, Jihyo became somewhat of a violin superstar.
Every orchestra - her school orchestra, the regional honor orchestra, the Montana All-State Orchestra, the state youth orchestra, or whatever else she was auditioning for - she always placed first chair.
Winning was just a given for her at this point, which is why she wasn’t particularly concerned with this new school’s violinists.
The next day, Monday, is both the first day after Thanksgiving break, as well Jihyo’s first day at her new school. Other people might have been anxious or nervous in her situation, but not Park Jihyo. She struts into her new orchestra room like she owns it.
Admiring the high ceiling, cozy wooden structures on the walls, and padded chairs, she is beyond satisfied. A dignified room for a dignified violinist.
A few people catch her eye. It’s half an hour before class, so there’s almost no one inside besides two girls close to the violin storage cabinets.
One of them is slightly taller than her, with long brown hair styled neatly. She seems like a popular girl. Her bright pink lipstick and glittery eye makeup, along with her flowery crop top and sports shorts further that image.
Jihyo gauges her talent - she’s definitely good, though not as good as her. The Mozart concerto that she’s playing isn’t that impressive, but she’s got solid technique.
The one beside her is much taller than Jihyo. She’s naturally pretty, with caramel colored hair that flows past her shoulders, but she seems more of a nerd than anything.
Sporting a black hoodie and baggy jeans, she nonchalantly goes through some three octave scales, then stops to listen to the girl beside her.
Jihyo walks up to them, smiling coldly. “Hey, I’m Park Jihyo. Just transferred here.”
The Mozart stops, and the first girl gives her a once-over. She breaks into a warm grin. “Another violinist? Nice! I’m Nayeon, and this is Tzuyu. I’m a junior, and Tzuyu’s a freshman. You?”
Jihyo’s mildly surprised that Nayeon’s so welcoming - it must be that she doesn’t view Jihyo as a threat yet. Well, that can easily change.
“I’m a sophomore.” Before they have a chance to talk more, a blonde, ditzy-eyed girl skips over to them. “Hey Nayeonnie! Tzumong! Who’s this?” A cheery smile rests upon her lips.
‘I’m your new concertmaster,’ Jihyo wants to say. However, she’s trying to remain humble, so instead she says, “I’m Park Jihyo, I just transferred here from Montana.”
“Oh nice! I’m Sana, but everyone calls me Satang,” the blonde winks.
The four violinists chat, talking about the school and All-State auditions coming up. “I’m so screwed,” Nayeon complains. “Out of the eight excerpts to prepare, I’ve only mastered a few. The sixth and eighth excerpts are brutal.”
Mentally, Jihyo agrees, but she’d never admit any such weakness aloud. She finds that the three of them actually aren’t too awful to talk to. Their chatter is aggressively interrupted by a loud crash.
“I’m so sorry!” A sweet, panicked voice exclaims a few yards behind them.
Jihyo turns around, and her stern scowl lifts into an amused smile. A young, pale girl had just tripped over somebody’s cello on the floor. What an absolute wreck of a musician, Jihyo thinks half fondly. How did she manage to fall over a cello? Those things were pretty difficult to miss.
The girl was still apologizing, and Jihyo took the opportunity to stare at her. She was cute, Jihyo admitted to herself. She liked the girl’s flushed face and sunshine-emitting little grin.
The pink t shirt and miniskirt that she was wearing was too pretty on her; Jihyo might have been an uptight musician, but she was also extremely lesbian. She was capable of recognizing a sapphic daydream, and this girl definitely fit the description.
Around her, her new acquaintances burst into laughter.
“Ah, first day back and Dahyunnie is still our orchestra’s prime entertainment,” Sana chuckles.
So her name was Dahyun? That was a pretty adorable name, Jihyo allowed herself to think. The girl, who was clearly the spirit of the orchestra, started walking over to them. Her face was still pink when Nayeon and Tzuyu began making fun of her.
Jihyo watches the short girl pointedly ignore the other two and face her. She is woefully unprepared for the lovely smile Dahyun offers her.
“Hey, you’re new, right? I’m Kim Dahyun, I play violin too. It’s nice to meet you,” she says.
Jihyo knows she should be responding, but she’s wrecked in a ditch of gay panic.
Dahyun was even more adorable up close.
Fuck.
“I hope Nayeon and Tzuyu aren’t scaring you off,” she adds, teasing.
Jihyo genuinely smiles for the first time that day, even if the smile is wobbly. (This was definitely not how the future leader of their orchestra should be acting.)
“I’m Jihyo,” she replies softly, hoping that she doesn’t sound pathetic.
“So, where’d you transfer from?” Dahyun blinks, innocent curiosity shining through her eyes.
Jihyo analyzes her. She doesn’t think that Dahyun would be an issue. Sure, the girl was sweet, but she was also clumsy and too fragile to pose a threat to her imminent rule of the violins. So she lets her guard down.
“A small town in Montana. I’m quite excited to move here, actually, since it’s such a bigger city and all.”
Dahyun’s bright eyes widen. “Wait, from Montana… are you Park Jihyo?”
Jihyo nods, half confused.
“No way! You were concertmaster for their All State last year, right? I loved your guys’ Pines of Rome, it was so awesome. Your solo was literally insane!” Dahyun gushes enthusiastically.
“Dahyun’s a bit of a nerd when it comes to the top violinists in every state,” Sana explains.
Oh my god. Not only was this girl cute as all hell, she was also a fangirl?
The hundreds of hours packing, the learning last minute auditioning music, the twenty hour road trip: Kim Dahyun had just made it all worth it.
Jihyo tries to not look too pleased. “Thanks.”
Dahyun squeals, “Oh, this is so exciting!” and Jihyo has to bite back a laugh. Things were already looking great for her at this new school.
JYP sneaks out of his office and posts a paper to the door. “I hate to interrupt you all, but seating charts are up,” Tzuyu announces.
Immediately, a flurry of movement happens. Their group, as well as the other musicians in the room, quickly scramble over to the door. Sounds of surprise and disappointment weaved through the place.
Jihyo took her time grabbing her case and music. Unlike everyone else, she knew exactly where she would be sitting. Concertmaster.
Besides her, Dahyun was unbothered as well. Her relaxed stance could only lead to one interpretation. Dahyun must be absolutely awful and already knew she was last chair. Jihyo honestly felt bad for her. Poor girl.
To not look too conceited, Jihyo didn’t plop her violin down in the first chair seat yet. Instead, she floated over to the door with all the elegance of a swan, ready to jot down another huge win in her resume.
She freezes.
Looks at the sheet of paper.
Blinks hard, once, twice.
Looks at it again.
She knew she had eye issues, but she had no idea it was this severe.
First violins
Kim Dahyun
Park Jihyo
Im Nayeon
Minatozaki Sana
Her blood turns cold. It wasn’t her eyes. She was actually second. Every fiber of her soul is screaming. She turns around, face darkened, and fixes her glare on Dahyun.
She’s never hated anyone more than in that moment. The floor feels like it’s collapsing from below her feet. The pure rage, humiliation, and jealousy flowing through her veins rushes to her head. Second? She’s never been second, ever, in anything, and certainly not orchestra.
She hates this orchestra, hates this school, hates her classmates, and absolutely detests Kim Dahyun.
Jihyo can barely keep herself level-headed. Her fingers are digging into her palms. She almost faints from stress as Dahyun starts walking towards the door.
“Wow, you’re second chair! Congrats,” Dahyun exclaims. “That’s pretty impressive.”
Jihyo barely resists the urge to slap her. Impressive? It’s the most embarrassing she’s ever endured. She levelly glares at Dahyun, who doesn’t look put out at all. That only serves to fuel the fire in her eyes.
They unpack and tune in moderate silence - Dahyun is sitting on her right, and Tzuyu is on her right as first chair of the seconds. Dahyun tries to start a few conversations, but Jihyo gives her clipped answers and dirty looks.
As soon as Dahyun’s bow makes contact with her A string, Jihyo knows she’s screwed. Any thoughts of favoritism or unfairness is wiped away - Dahyun is just that good, Jihyo concedes grudgingly. It doesn’t make her any less enraged, though.
While watching Dahyun stand up and tune the orchestra, Jihyo tries to burn a hole through the back of Dahyun’s talented head. Needless to say, she needs a better plan.
JYP barges out of his office and spews information about auditioning for All State, the school’s musical that they could sign up to play for, and their concert in a month. After a few minutes of that, they start rehearsal.
Jihyo barely knows what notes she played that hour; she was too focused on listening to Dahyun. By 9:05, her soul is crushed like a sandcastle by a tsunami. This was devastating. Dahyun sounded incredibly good.
They were playing Tchaikovsky’s second symphony, a rather advanced piece for a high school orchestra.
Dahyun’s thirty-second notes were so in tune that Jihyo wanted to know if the first chair snuck a tuner up her nose or something.
She absolutely nails the melodic lines - her interpretation is so musical that Jihyo wants to punch something.
And Jihyo might have been mildly okay with Dahyun being just that, but somehow she was a natural leader as well. Dahyun cued everything perfectly on time without fail.
Like a lighthouse in stormy waters, she led the section several times out of disaster. She even gave brilliant fingering suggestions that Jihyo hadn’t even considered.
God, she hated Dahyun so much!
Class ends after what seems like days. Jihyo is pent up with rage. She’s given up on life. Honestly, she would rather play the triangle than sit next to Kim Dahyun.
This hour had managed to destroy her in every way possible.
“Wait, you have pre-calc with Ms. Kang next? Me too!”
Jihyo’s nostrils flare. She is going to sock Dahyun in the face.
“That’s crazy,” she all but growls. Where was the office of the scheduling counselor, so that Jihyo could burn it down? Dahyun isn’t deterred, skipping to catch up with the taller girl.
Jihyo agrees to walk together in the hallway. She mentally assures herself that she’s only doing this so she doesn’t get lost. She ignores Dahyun’s sunny grin.
At least she does better at Dahyun in math, Jihyo thinks, looking over at Dahyun’s worksheet. The girl was still as clumsy and naive as she was two hours ago.
Apparently, she was a god at violin and just a regular teenager in every other aspect. During Ms. Kang’s lecture, Dahyun is scrawling flowers on her paper. Jihyo watches, full of pity.
But even the fact that she was able to answer all of Ms. Kang’s questions about determinants can’t get rid of Jihyo’s bitter hatred against Dahyun.
— — —
That day after getting home from school, she slams the front door closed and lets out what can only be described as an ear-splitting banshee shriek of frustration.
Unfortunately, her mother was in the house.
“Jihyo! What’s going on, are you alright?”
Jihyo quickly turns maroon in embarrassment. This day kept getting worse and worse.
— — —
“Wait, but that’s so funny! Your mom was actually home for once?”
Jihyo sighs, flopping around her bed. She barely had half of her things unpacked, so large boxes littered her lavender colored room. Looking up at the ceiling, she responds to her best friend, Sejeong, over the phone.
“Yes! But that’s not important. The most essential part of my day is that Miss Clumsy-Ass-Cello-Destroying Loser Kim Dahyun is absolutely ruining my life!”
As soon as she had come home and apologized to her mom about screaming like a deranged patient in a mental hospital, she had sprinted upstairs to her computer to look Dahyun up.
Pissed off, she recounts her discoveries to Sejeong. “I’m so pissed off! I found a video of her playing the Kreisler Praeludium and Allegro, you know, the one that goes like: duhh dum buh dum…”
Jihyo hums the melody (as classical musicians tend to do) to demonstrate which piece she was talking about.
“Right, and at first I felt better because I’m learning that right now too, but get this!”
She leaves a dramatic pause, in which Sejeong appropriately makes curious noises.
“It turns out that video was uploaded three years ago!!”
As Sejeong gasps in shock, Jihyo has to pause her storytelling. She’s too overwhelmed with the hatred washing through her that she aggressively sits up.
“And even worse, she sounded so fucking good. Her tone is insane. I would die if I had half the tone quality she has. And the double stops?!? If I was able to, I would replace my soap with her double stops, that’s how freaking clean they are.” Jihyo grits her teeth.
“I kid you not, I wouldn’t be surprised if Dahyun goes professional. She could be a soloist for the Pope, the New York Philharmonic, the Chicago Symphony,”
“I get it,” Sejeong replies dryly.
“The London Symphony, the National Orchestra of Brazil - and she’s not even Brazilian! - the Vienna Phil-”
“OKAY, JIHYO, I GET IT. Your concertmaster is a international hotshot.”
Jihyo flinches. Maybe she was talking too much. “Sorry…” She then frowns. “She’s not my concertmaster. She’s just some girl.”
Sejeong snorts. “I don’t think you should say sorry to me. I think Miss Kim deserves an apology for the way you’ve been bullying her in class.”
Jihyo fumes like a 1900s steam locomotive. “If she doesn’t want me to hate her, she shouldn’t have done better than me!” It’s a stupid, illogical train of thought, and yet Jihyo hops aboard anyways.
“Ughh! She’s so talented! And good at sightreading! And cute!”
“Wait! Cute???”
“I didn’t mean that last part!” Jihyo groans, knowing that Sejeong won’t let this go for the next two years.
“Oh my gosh. I can see it now. The great Park Jihyo, always first in everything, gives up her stupidly big ego for the sweet, beautiful prodigy who is the only one in the country that’s better than her.”
Jihyo rolls her eyes so violently her head actually starts getting sore. She rubs it, then sighs in defeat.
“Together, they sit front row in countless orchestras, always relying on each other until they realize they want something more. IT’S PERFECT, HYO! YOU’RE MEANT TO BE!”
Sejeong squeals, exponentially more excited about this new development in Jihyo’s life than she is.
Jihyo facepalms. “You’re being ridiculous. I loathe her guts. I’m going to spend every hour of every waking day thinking about-”
“-how cute she is?”
“-about how I can win back my rightful chair.”
A lot easier said than done. She had watched many videos of Dahyun’s performances. She could list all the awards Dahyun had won in the past five years by memory.
Deep down, she had arrived at the conclusion that Dahyun was in a completely different league than her.
The two talk about Sejeong’s life in Montana for a while, and then they hang up.
Jihyo immediately springs up to rush to the study, where the computer was.
She narrows her eyes and grabs her sheet music.
She listens and analyzes everything about Dahyun’s Praeludium and Allegro.
To her utmost horror, she finds that Dahyun does not make a single mistake in the whole six minutes.
Almost on the verge of tears, slumped over the computer desk with a handful of her music in her hands and a video of Dahyun playing violin on her screen is how Jihyo falls asleep that night.
The next morning, she forces herself to ignore the fact that she dreams of Dahyun.