Opening paragraphs

Today, camp started. It was very fun, teaching drama to 5-10 year olds. They have a boundless sense of creativity, a great appreciation for the absurd, and the ability to laugh at themselves. What a better world this would be if those great qualities were not stifled by adulthood.

The following are the opening few paragraphs of the book. Enjoy.

There was no Symphony rehearsal the first week of school at Ralston University due to auditions for seat placements. During the second week of classes, the Monday afternoon rehearsal time was reserved for principal chair auditions, and Wednesday afternoon was the first rehearsal. The oldest University in Los Angeles, Ralston was nestled in a hilly area, halfway up a thousand foot hill, overlooking the city. The school had always been known for its artistic departments, and many a Hollywood wannabe got their start here in their fine drama and filmmaking departments. But, the school’s strongest course of study was the music department. Made up of nearly five hundred internationally ranked students, the school graduated more successful film composers, arrangers, contractors and studio musicians than any other school in the nation. Amongst the music performance majors, the string players at Ralston were especially favored, and students from all over the world competed for coveted spots in its six orchestras, led by the 97-member Ralston University Symphony. This group was regularly featured on National Public Radio and released recordings once every three years which garnered enough money and attention to sustain a very generous endowment for the music department. This endowment provided scholarships, a very fine collection of nearly fifty world-class and often historically valued instruments, and a music student resident frat house on campus affiliated with the professional music fraternity of Mu Phi Epsilon. Together with the University Chorale, they’d provided hundreds of soundtracks for films from around the world. Because their members weren’t paid, they were accessible to low-budget production companies, and the funds raised from these projects contributed to the very healthy endowment fund. These students, many of whom were already world-class musicians, were called upon often to play or sing for special projects.
Elizabeth Hennessey soon learned that seat placement in the Ralston Symphony was quite a big deal to anyone who played in it. She went to the rehearsal room and ran into her good friend, Sophie Sachs, whom she held completely responsible for Elizabeth’s returning to cello playing after a three-year parentally-imposed absence. Sophie greeted Elizabeth with a bear hug, as her size made it impossible for her to give any other kind of embrace. She was nearly as wide as she was tall. She sported short, spiky dark hair and several tattoos; one of a bass clef on her right ankle, and another, a sun on the back of her left hand. Elizabeth suspected there were more tattoos hidden under her clothes.
She and Sophie met in a common area the previous spring when Elizabeth, who was sitting on a half-wall waiting for one of her writing classes to begin, noticed Sophie standing nearby with her cello, smoking a cigarette. “I used to play the cello. In fact I’d like to play again someday.”
“Cool,” Sophie replied. “What’s your name?”
Elizabeth extended her hand. “Elizabeth Hennessey. Everyone calls me Liz or Lizzie though.”
Sophie, who was occasionally attracted to girls, regarded her with interest. Elizabeth was striking; she had a classic, understated and very natural, ethereal beauty. Long, wavy dark hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail, pale skin, bright green eyes, no make-up, and sporting dark jeans and a plain white t-shirt above her cocoa brown flip-flops. She wore only amethyst stud earrings and no other jewelry, and none of her nails were painted. She wasn’t exactly Sophie’s type (when she was attracted to girls, it was the Pamela Anderson type), but she still found Elizabeth beautiful. “Sophie Sachs. I’m starting my second year on my master’s in performance.”
Elizabeth smiled in awe, wishing she were in Sophie’s shoes. “I wanted to major in music, but I couldn’t convince my parents to go for it.” She brushed it off modestly, but at the time, it was devastating. Since then, she’d just learned to live with it and hoped that someday she could play on a limited basis, at least. It had helped that for the past three years at Ralston, she’d forced herself to stay clear of the music building. She hadn’t been to any of the concerts on campus; she steered herself away from friendships with any music students, and she had even kept herself from attending any concerts off campus. The only music she had allowed in her life was tinkering with her roommate’s small keyboard in their apartment. Here, when she was stressed out, she allowed herself to get away from her life by dipping her feet back into the world she left behind and missed like a part of her soul had been stolen from her. This little piece-of-shit keyboard was her only link to that beautiful world.
“Are you any good?” Sophie asked, with a smirk.