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Post by mimi riter on Sept 28, 2010 21:02:11 GMT -5
 I watched, with feigned disinterest, as the teenagers before me projected their voices and danced accordingly. The lyrics to La Vie Boheme, despite their appropriateness (or lack thereof), filled the auditorium and the group of fifteen finished with a bang. I took a step back, hands placed on my hips as the kids eyed me nervously for a response. They had obviously fallen into a routine with the duo of Shelby Corcoran and Dakota Stanley, and I waltzed in to shake everything up. I knew what they expected. Practice from three to midnight, learn a new arrangement (with Jesse as lead), be choreographed by Stanley, and blow off school work because their teachers gave them special treatment. It was a system that worked - they were, after all, National Champions. But I enjoyed a little hell.
So, they were frightened. Today was the first rehearsal of the season and their first question was, “Where’s Dakota?” They squirmed as I explained that he and I had gotten into a little (or a large) disagreement (fight) concerning how things would be run and who, exactly, would be in charge. I fired him. They were going to have to learn to trust me, and they were going to learn it quickly. I informed them that practices would end at ten and at seven-thirty, there would be a break where they would have one hour to eat and do homework, because I’d told every teacher to grade them harshly, and anything below a C plus average would get them removed from the team.
Just when they thought the worst was over, I threw another curveball.
I split them off into six groups of fifteen, gave them sheet music, and told them they had one hour to complete a performance for me. La Vie Boheme was an eight and a half minute song and I figured they would do fine. So far, however, everything was so… Mediocre. I sighed, and simply nodded for the group to exit the stage. Just as I prepared to call up the next group, someone behind me whispered, “She’s going to cost us Nationals.” Loudly, I laughed.
This seemed to startle them, and I rose to my feet, hands on my hips. “Apparently,” I began, an amused look on my face, “You all are so terrible that Shelby Corcoran went deaf enough that she couldn’t hear your snide whispers, because this kid, whose gender I can’t exactly tell, is under the impression that I can’t hear you. Let me remind you all that I’m perfectly functional. If you don’t win nationals, that’s your fault. I’ll be honest. You won’t even make it past Regionals if you don’t shut the bloody fuck up and listen to me. You’re not used to me. I got that. But you better trust me, because I’m not going to do you wrong. Now, can anyone tell me why I’m doing this?”
“Because you’re trying to kill us and you’re psychotic and you like to watch minors suffer?”
“Yes. Now, what do you get out of this?”
Silence.
I cleared my throat and began to pace, preparing a mental list of any beneficial bull shit I could pull out of my ass. “You are performers. You have to learn to make yourselves great. I can’t do that for you. You need to learn team work because I guarantee, before this, most of you have never conversed. I’m guessing that you were just told how to do things and did them. That’s going to change. I want you all to feel what it’s like to be in the spot light. I want all of you to get a chance to stand out to me, so maybe you’ll have a fair shot at getting a solo. But moreover, I wanted you to be scared.”
“Obviously.”
I smirked. “Great. Now.” I paused, then looked around before my gaze settled on Jesse. I doubted he liked me much; I did, after all, hold him back from graduating for the sake of the team. As much as I wanted to get everyone to suck it up, something told me that he was still the only person who could handle the pressure. “Jesse, you and your group are up. Impress me, St. James. If you can’t do it, I’ve lost all hope for society.” I pushed a curl behind my ear and sank down into an auditorium seat in the front row, watching the stage intently, a smirk playing along my lips.
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Post by Jesse St. James on Sept 29, 2010 1:14:24 GMT -5
"A dream is something that fills up the emptiness inside. The one thing that, you know if it came true, all of the hurt would go away." [/color] "Who am I to break this young girl's heart?/How the mighty rise and fall/I will not be beaten/You have yet to see me shining, shining/I wont take this lying down/I will not be beaten
You have yet to see me shining, shining."
- - -
The enchantment of Vocal Adrenaline had worn out on Jesse St. James. And who could blame him? Despite the fact that Ms. Corcoran was gone, the group was not any less competitive or any less driven as usual. He still had no friends. He was a tool to them. He was the only reason they had a claim to fame. They needed him, but that didn't mean they had to like him. They were only friendly when he nailed the high note or when he helped them win. Still, it was a completely empty friendliness. They were peers, nothing more. Still, as he sang, he knew that he was good. He didn't want to be prideful, but he knew that he was good at what he did. He was masterful with choreography, able to remember lyrics and lead the group with much gusto and charisma. As the onstage group finished the final note of La Vie Boheme, he sat back in his chair.
If it measured up to Ms. Riter's standards, however, was a completely different question entirely.
So far, he wasn't too phased. She was putting on an act. It was something most teachers did when they first began, a way of asserting their dominance; making sure that they were slightly feared and not messed with. The firing of Dakota was shocking and the fact that they would have to actually work at school now was something that all the glee members seemed nervous about. But Jesse wasn't concerned. He was pretty faithful with homework, anyways. And he had never been a fan of Dakota. The man was pretentious and full of himself. The two had never gotten along, considering the fact that Dakota was always ten times harder on Jesse. It was jealousy, perhaps. Or maybe it was the simple fact that it seemed as though Jesse was given his fame- which couldn't be farther from the truth.
The surprise performance was nothing more than that- surprising. Jesse was not as nervous as the others. The people in his group would listen to him. He was pretty good at what he did and was very good at delegating. And, since most of them were already pretty scared of Ms. Riter already, they would be practically begging him to take control. They would expect him to carry them all to glory as usual. And then forget about it the moment Ms. Riter told them how good it was. Or, if she didn't like the performance, they would hold it above his head and use it as a reason to be cruel to him for the next week, at least.
He sat back and listened to her speech. She was good, he had to admit. She was bitching, for sure. But, she wasn't Ms. Corcoran. There was more of warmth to Ms. Riter. She did truly care about their futures. Or at least, she pretended to and was trying to make them like her, if even a little. It was an inspiring speech. But, Jesse didn't know how to feel. Inspiring or not, she was no Will Schuester. And they were no New Directions. They were not a family. There was no love or community. And he was growing very tired of it.
She met his gaze. “Jesse, you and your group are up. Impress me, St. James. If you can’t do it, I’ve lost all hope for society.”
He took the stage, his group trailing behind him. As he began the song, he watched her. They had an odd sort of agreement between them. She knew he was the best she had. And, for that reason, he was almost something better than just another student, but not a peer. It was almost as though she knew he understood things better than most of the other group members. He was well versed in what sounded good, what worked and what didn't. He knew how to excite an audience and how to toy with their emotions. An eight minute long song was a difficult feat, but Jesse knew how to play it. The choreography was simple, but bold and they used the stage thoroughly to their advantage. He led them vocally, considering most of them were scared out of their wits.
As the last note sounded, Jesse knew he had done well. He met Ms. Riter's gaze with a sort of gentle confidence- as if to say, you need me and you know it.
Tag: Mimi
Song: Supermassive Black Hole- Muse
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Post by mimi riter on Oct 3, 2010 8:02:04 GMT -5
Jesse and I already understood each other enough for the sake of our purposes. He knew his place, and that was obvious as he took the stage and watched me intently for any reactions, but I merely nodded. He knew he was going to get special treatment. I wasn’t about to hide that, but it wasn’t going to be the same treatment that he received from Shelby. No, he was going to be more of a co-director, and I wasn’t going to put him in a position where he needed to carry the group. He might enjoy that. I wouldn’t allow it. After all, as it currently stood, they might as well just rename the group “Jesse St. James and the other guys”, which frankly didn’t roll off the tongue, but nevertheless that was what I was watching up on that stage. There was an obvious change in atmosphere when that group was up as opposed to when the others were, and that was not because Jesse was a superb leader. He was, certainly, but he was carrying the weight and he knew he was good. Therefore, everyone else was confident. But it still wasn’t going to fly.
As they concluded, I met Jesse’s gaze and understood precisely what he was trying to convey. Subtly, I nodded to him then stood, eying them all. “If your name isn’t Jesse St. James, you suck.” They didn’t, not really, but they needed to work. “Stop relying on the boy for everything. I want you to go home, and every single one of you is going to pick a song. I don’t care what song, but it has to be at least three minutes long. You’re going to come back in two days and, one by one, you’re going to perform it in front of me and everyone else here. Then you’re going to sit up there while I critique it, and anyone who doesn’t do this is off the team. I don’t want any choreographing. I’ll have a stool up there, I want you to sit in it, and sing. Got it? Great. Everyone out, except St. James.”
They scrambled, and once the last one was out the door, I let out a light chuckle and softened considerably. “I love putting the fear of God in people,” I grinned, moving over to the piano to gather all of the sheet music for today’s number. “Mm, okay, so, Jesse,” I began, turning to look at him, “I know that you really don’t want to be here, so I’m going to make this as worthwhile for you as I possibly can. You’ve already taken all of your required classes so I’ve spoken to the school board and, after some persuading -- the methods of which you shall not know -- they’ve agreed to only require you to take my classes. I’ve got a drama class at the end of the day and choir the second to last class block. Meaning you’ll have until roughly one o’clock to be at home, doing… Whatever. You just have to come in for those two classes and then you’ll be here for practice.” I put a hand on my hip, then nodded.
“I’m only going to keep you here for one year, Jesse, and then you can graduate. These kids need a bridge and, honestly, I need you to help me buffer. It’s going to be a pretty drastic difference, but I’m going to make it worth your while. These kids, they don’t know how to win without you. They’re your back up vocals and everyone here knows that. I’ve gotta change that, but I’ve gotta do it slowly. We’re going to win, I promise you that. You’re not going to be in every number, and you’re not going to be the lead in every number you’re in. I’ll put the best numbers in our competitions regardless of who’s in them, but I’ve gotta get these guys comfortable with carrying the weight. So, Jesse, you’re going to be more of a director this year. Performing, but more being my right hand man, if you’re cool with that.” I watched him for a second, then curiously continued, “What do you think? Do you hate me yet? Am I doing alright?” I had to know.
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