Chapter 3

Gideon stood at the front of the classroom, his tortoiseshell glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he scribbled a final note on the whiteboard. He'd taught Introduction to Audio Engineering every semester for the past four years, which meant he was mostly on autopilot. This semester, he'd added 'Learning DAWs' and 'Recording Techniques' to his class load, and he already felt like a drained battery.

It was the second week of classes.

"Alright," he announced, turning to face the fifteen students lined up in haphazard rows before him. "That wraps up today's class. Remember, your assignments are due this weekend. Don't wait until the last minute, and because I know you will, make sure you have access to good wifi on Sunday night."

A chorus of groans, chuckles, and laptops snapping closed echoed through the room, but Gideon's mind was already wandering to his ultimate frisbee game over the lunch hour. Thank the gods for Friday. He was itching to get outside and throw a disc.

Two students chattered excitedly at the back table, and as one of them passed over an earbud to share their recording, Gideon couldn’t help but smile. Those moments were what made teaching worth it. When his students were so proud of a track they’d created, they couldn’t wait to share.

It was exactly what he'd done at their age before he'd realized killer tracks didn't pay the bills. In high school, he’d spent hours on the weekend with his friends, brainstorming and writing songs. Then, in college, he’d spent hours mixing and producing samples. Inspiration had flowed like water from a tap.

Gideon gazed at his half-empty coffee cup, the fading foam swirling into a murky abyss mirroring his own bleak creative existence. Wow. He needed to get out more. That or start taking a stab at writing lyrics again. That was always Matt’s job but with morose prose like that running through his head . . . He rubbed a hand over his face and gathered his things.

"Professor?"

He looked up to see one of his students lingering by the door. A pretty brunette with long legs. She leaned against the frame as if striking a pose for a selfie.

Gideon dropped his eyes. "Hey, Jennifer." She’d been the first one to class and the last to leave for the past two lectures. Her eyes brightened at the sound of her name, and he cleared his throat. "What can I help you with?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you could show me some of your personal work sometime?" Her voice dripped with honey. "I learn better by doing." She pressed her cherry-glossed lips together, and Gideon couldn't help but notice Jennifer's friends waiting for her in the hall, giggling and whispering to each other.

Gideon shoved a hand in his pocket and exhaled. It had only taken until the fourth class this time. A new record. "I don't share my personal work with students unless I use an example in class."

"I found one of your samples!" A blond called from the hall. "It was used on Kameleon's single ‘Need You’—you're in the credits!"

Gideon nodded. His samples had been purchased regularly once, but it wasn't often they showed up in projects his students would recognize. He didn’t know how to feel about them finding his work out in the wild.

"Totally get it, Professor!" Jennifer somehow drew her mouth simultaneously into a smile and a pout. She waved goodbye and sauntered out to join her friends, leaving Gideon gripping the strap of his messenger bag.

Gideon waited a moment, then exhaled and walked to the back of the classroom to shut off the lights. If only he got this much attention from women his own age. Or women whom he wouldn't get fired for flirting with. Apparently, he tracked well with eighteen-year-old girls and eighty-five-year-old women. If his grandmother's friends' insistence on kissing his cheek and running their hands up and down his arms each time he visited her in the nursing home was any indication.

He shuddered and closed the door, then strode down the hall toward the staff lounge. He hadn’t gone far when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Gideon pulled it out to find a text message from his friend Matt.

Hey G! Heard about my audiobook narrator competition? Might be right up your alley…

??????

Gideon shook his head at the string of smiley face emojis. If people could see Matt the way he did, they wouldn't be as obsessed with him and his steamy romance novels. Well, that might not be true. They'd probably find him down-to-earth and only fall more in love with him.

Matt had adopted 'Oscar Calloway' years ago, and his public persona lived up to the suave pen name. He was smooth. Charming. Wavy blond hair, cornflower blue eyes, and a purposeful five o'clock shadow left more than high school graduates and octogenarians swooning. But to Gideon, he was still that goofy high school bandmate who stuffed whole burritos in his mouth and wrote his best lyrics when he had an insatiable crush on Melinda Stapely.

Thanks for the heads-up, but you know acting has never been my thing.

It HAS been your thing. I saw you in My Fair Lady, remember?

I was forced into that. You would've made a better Higgins.

But then you wouldn't have had the chance to kiss Stacey Miller.

Gideon laughed and turned the corner.

That was Grease, and her lips tasted like watermelon Sour Patch Kids. Isn't that something you'd write?

If I wrote that, I'd lose my publishing contract.

Seriously, G. Think about it. Auditions due Sunday the 16th. Details on my site.

Gideon gave the message a thumbs-up and slid the phone back into his pocket. He couldn't help but smile even as a familiar twinge of envy nestled against his ribs. Details on my site.

It was impossible not to compare himself to Matt. They’d grown up together. Dreamed together. Made music together.

Matt Stevens was approachable, but Calloway? That guy had sold over a million copies of his most recent romantic suspense novel and had just purchased a refurbished ranch house thirty minutes south of here in Sugar Creek. Did he have horses now? Probably.

Gideon walked into the lounge and grabbed a protein bar, then headed for the bathroom to change into shorts and a t-shirt.

Megs gripped the steering wheel of her Honda Civic and pulled onto the highway. She still smelled like freshly ground coffee beans and old whipping cream after her six-hour shift, but at least she was going to be on time. Plus she’d submitted the dog food audition, so already winning at life for the week.

The first autumn leaves danced across the road like burnt orange confetti. Fall in Vermont was stunning, there was no way around it. It was only September, but the weather had already shifted, and the trees had gotten the memo. She sighed as she passed rustic wooden signs along the road advertising fall events in Sugar Creek. Apple Cider Donuts at the Farm. The Sugar Creek Fall Festival and Pumpkin Patch.

What was it that article had said? This competition promises to be as dreamy as the novels. That, right there, was the reason she didn't read Calloway's books, or any other romance novels for that matter. As a kid, she'd loved hayrides and bobbing for apples, but now?

It was because of romance stories that she couldn’t show up at a fall festival and do those things alone. Why did holiday fun have to be stuffed into the romance category? Why couldn't having allergic reactions to dried grass and shoving your face in dirty water be for single girls instead of ten-year-olds and couples looking for an excuse to touch each other?

Megs pulled her lead foot off the gas until her speed dropped back to the limit just in time for a red traffic light to force her to slam on her brakes. Glancing down, she noticed her dirty apron still wrapped around her waist, streaked with coffee stains and crumbs. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as she stripped off the apron and shoved it under the passenger seat.

She flicked on the AC and refocused on the road.

A half-hour later, a noticeably less sweaty Megs turned into the main parking lot at Champlain Community. She parked and jogged toward the front door just as her phone dinged to let her know it was five o'clock.

"Made it just in time." A woman with gray hair and oversized glasses smiled as she held the door open. Just under the buzzer. Megs' stomach flipped as she thought of the hot guy in the coffee shop Wednesday. "I assume you're here for the certification, that's the only class in this building after four-thirty."

"Yes, thanks." Megs pushed her curls behind her ears.

"Your name?" The woman shuffled behind the welcome desk and picked up a clipboard.

"Megs. Megs DeBosse."

"I've got you, honey. Right in there." The woman pointed to the classroom down the hall on her left.

Megs strode toward the door and paused. There were six other students there, all of them seated at tables with their laptops and notebooks ready. She drew a deep breath and reminded herself that this was her choice. Sure, Sylvia had played dirty, but nobody was forcing her to be here. It was only three weekends of her life for a month’s rent and a security deposit. And a job she’d hate waking up for.

Who could pass that up?

"Welcome, everyone. Please find a seat, and we'll begin." The instructor's belly pushed over his belt, stretching the pattern of his plaid shirt. He greeted the class with a warm smile and waved for Megs to find a seat.

Her pulse sounded in her ears as she took a spot at the back, pulling her tablet from her bag. The same bag she'd used when she'd attended here last year. Triggering. She should've used one of her mom's theater satchels.

Thankfully, they didn't have to go around and introduce themselves or talk about their life goals. The instructor dug straight into the material, and Megs lost herself in note-taking.

The instructor projected a course map on the screen. “As you can see, in module one, we’ll cover Anatomy and Medical Terminology. In module two, next week, we’ll introduce medical coding systems . . .”

Megs logged into her course syllabus and followed along. Four modules. Three weekends. She could do this.

Megs pulled up the slides for tonight’s lecture and clicked on one of the links. So many words. Her eyes skimmed as she tried to force them to slow over one sentence at a time. She leaned back in her chair and drew a deep breath, waiting for the instructor to finish with his course introduction.

When he did, he launched into module one, and Megs buried herself, doing her best to follow and keep track of everything she’d need to study before tomorrow’s class. At least for now, memorization wasn’t required, only convenient to make her better and faster at her job. Her initial panic faded, and pretty soon, she was flowing along to the gentle rhythm of the instructor’s voice.

When he went on a tangent about the importance of accurate and precise communication, Megs’ thoughts wandered back to the article sitting on her mother's desk. Why hadn't she ever tried voice-over work before? Sure, there was competition, but at least she could've put herself out there. She'd never considered doing audiobooks, though she'd listened to plenty. Not romance, but thrillers. Mysteries. A couple of horrors Kiara had recommended. Those were abjectly awful, though the narrator had been decent.

How much would equipment be? Megs pulled out her phone and typed 'recording equipment' into her search bar. A map pulled up, and Megs frowned. Was she in her map app instead of her browser?

A red and white bubble with the title Audio Engineering Department appeared on the screen next to her blinking blue circle. They had an audio engineering department at Champlain?

Megs zoomed in and clicked on the website.

Welcome to the Audio Engineering Building, nestled within the vibrant campus of Champlain Community College. Our state-of-the-art facility is dedicated to providing aspiring audio engineers with the perfect environment to hone their skills and unleash their creative potential. Whether you're an aspiring sound technician, music producer, or audio enthusiast, our building offers a range of cutting-edge resources and educational opportunities to help you excel in the world of audio engineering.

Megs scanned the list of services and features and sucked in a breath.

Recording Studios: Immerse yourself in our professionally designed recording studios equipped with top-of-the-line sound equipment and acoustically treated spaces. From capturing live performances to producing studio-quality tracks, our studios offer the ideal setting for your audio projects.

She scrolled over 'Mixing and Mastering Suites' and 'Sound Design Labs' to land on the next bullet point.

Equipment Rental: Need access to professional-grade equipment? We offer equipment rental services, allowing you to experiment and perfect your craft using industry-standard tools.

Holy crap. There was professional recording equipment available a mere five-minute walk from where she was currently sitting. Both a studio and rentals.

"And with that, let's take a break. Ten minutes, and then we'll get back at it."

Megs looked up from her phone to see the professor guzzle from his water bottle. She’d zoned out. Hopefully, he hadn't said something too life-altering in the past five minutes.

She drew a breath and leaned back, continuing to scroll as her classmates stood to stretch and walk out into the hall to use the bathroom. At the bottom of the page, she found what she was looking for.

Admission information and bingo. For professional inquiries, please contact Professor Gideon Adams. His email was listed. Megs felt that glow in her chest as she clicked on it and started to type.

Dear Professor Adams, my name is Megs DeBosse . . .

Her thumbs flew over her phone's keyboard as her thoughts raced. What was she doing? This wasn’t a good idea, but she couldn’t stop herself. Was she going to try and submit for this audiobook competition?

No, this was simply informational. For future projects. For fun because she was sitting here in a classroom to form a solid life plan. If she was able to use these recording studios, she could tell Lake Talent to submit her for voiceover projects. In her spare time. After she spent eight hours a day for weeks on end submitting medical claims while locked in the back room of her childhood doctor's office.

A knot settled in her stomach. Worst-case scenario, this Professor doesn't reply, and you're back where you started. Totally fine. Nothing to lose.

Megs hesitated before closing her email and opted to add a personal note.

I have a passion for voice acting and narrating, and I truly believe that access to the right equipment could make all the difference in turning my dreams into reality.

Too much? She deleted the 'voice acting and narrating' section and replaced it with simply 'acting.' Then, at least she wasn't pretending to be something she wasn’t.

Thank you so much for your time, she concluded. Best, Megs.

Her finger hovered over the send button, her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and tapped.