ready the bow | stella & presley

On this exact day one year ago, Presley Douglas sat in this exact place with a new friend, and they talked about their lives and their dreams and their fears. He told her that his parents had always been unreasonably okay with his interests changing with the tides, that they'd supported him through his phases as if they were all normal and, more importantly, like they had any sort of longevity or realistic career opportunities. When he showed an interest in magic, his mother bought him a deck of cards and a cape and Presley had practiced a routine for a week straight, even dragging in his younger brother to act as an assistant. His father had come home during his lunch break just to watch the performance, which Presley was sure now was abhorrent. But even still, his parents clapped and cheered when he was finished.

Scarlet hadn't had the same upbringing, but Presley supposed growing up in a house that could afford to bank on such lofty ambitions had its perks. She told him her mother had two jobs, but not good jobs. The kind where you make more money in tips than you do on the clock. And her dad was a teacher in a normal high school who'd been denied tenure despite his years of time spent in the same position with no pay raises or promotions. She said her younger sister had planned on coming to Salvatore too, some day, but that it likely wouldn't happen because they'd already sacrificed so much to get Scarlet in. Presley's brother would've gotten in no problem, if he had any interest in doing so. Of course, he didn't, but still.

The time they spent together hadn't been all that long, but Presley knew the moment they parted ways that he'd just found his new best friend.

Thinking of her now, of that day, it felt light years away.

The fog had lifted at around noon, and though the sky itself was still overcast and the wind was just a few degrees south of comfortable, he still found himself sitting cross-legged at a picnic table, watching water ripple across the lake through the wrought-iron fence that surrounded it.

The sky being gray felt sufficient: of course it was. How could the sun ever shine again in a place like this?

"Hey, Presley!"

He recognized the voice, but it wasn't one he wanted to hear. Still, it didn't keep her from coming over to him. Stella Provence was, decidedly, very pretty, and very smart. She was the type of person who easily could've done well without Salvatore, in fact, so why she was so insistent upon ruining the experience for everyone else was beyond him. He got that there was nothing some people wouldn't do to be on top, but still. Understanding something and accepting it were two very different and dangerous animals.

"I thought I'd find you here. I brought cookies. They're still warm. Promise."

Sure enough, she produced a bag of chocolate chip goodness. Just because he didn't trust her motives didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy the incentive. He patted the seat next to him without speaking.

"Let's not waste time, though. I'm sure you're so busy with your music lessons."

The cello case sitting on the table behind him suddenly became more obvious, as if it were saying, me? you think he's paying me any sort of attention right now?

"Speaking of, that's why I'm here. Your musical talent. Would you please be willing to help me practice for my audition? For the spring recital later this year? I'm still guaranteed for the lead, but you can never be too cocky."

It took a great deal of effort not to point out the irony in that last bit of what she said.

"And the way you play the cello is all anyone can talk about. Well, the people that attend your shows. Not to imply that people don't come to watch you! I just know the dance performances usually draw in a bigger crowd. Which totally isn't fair. Seems like a even trade, yeah?"

He waited a long moment, half-convinced she would find something else to say before he could speak, but for the first time since he'd known her, Stella Provence was silent. And even more, she was looking at him as if she genuinely wanted to hear his response. He realized suddenly that she was faking it. The confidence. She was scared of the audition.

He didn't know why, but finding a chink in her armor was deeply, deeply satisfying.

He bit into one of the cookies, contemplating.

"I mean, isn't the spring recital usually in... I dunno... spring?" He had the winter concert, all-district tryouts, and his own spring performance to be thinking about. He wondered if Stella had already considered this and deemed it a nonissue, or if she genuinely just forgot that everyone else in the world didn't somehow exist to serve her.

"Are you nervous or something?"