Disclaimer: I do not own the Newsies. I do not even own most of OCs in this fic, seeing how the majority of them are based off of real people.

A/N: I've been toying with the idea for this story for a while now. There will be seven chapters, plus an epilogue. I am still writing my other fic, "Jigsaw" – don't worry, I'm just taking a short break from it. Please review OTAMC and I hope you enjoy.

qpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpq

"What would you like to take for Elective A?"

I studied the sheet of paper in front of me, running my finger down the list of classes I could take. The electives offered were: Beginning Music Theory, Beginning Piano Lab, Didgeridoo Choir, and Conducting. Not much of a selection, seeing how I had already taken Advanced Music Theory at my school, played the piano adequately, and had absolutely no interest in learning the didgeridoo.

"I'll take Conducting, I guess."

The lady behind the first computer nodded and typed a few things into the keyboard before sliding my name card to the next elective booth.

"What would you like for Elective B?" asks the balding man assigned to that spot.

I checked the paper again. My options: Beginning Music Theory, Beginning Piano Lab, and Yoga. God, what was wrong with these people?

"Put me down for the Piano Lab," I said, reasoning that I could at least tinker around on the piano instead of playing stupid scales.

Type. Type. Click. The man passed my card down to the last station.

"What do you want for Elective C?"

"Is there anything open other than Music Theory and Yoga?"

The young man behind the desk smiled, "Yeah, we have crappy electives, sorry about that." He looked at his computer screen before adding, "There's Beginning Music History and Jazz Improvisation available during Elective C. Are you interested in one of those?"

"I'll go with the Music History."

"Not a Jazz person?"

I shook my head. "I love Jazz, but there's not much out there for jazz bassoonists."

"Ah, a low double-reedist. That's cool." He entered something into the computer and handed me back my id card along with a couple pieces of paper. "Here's a map to the dorm, the final schedules for the next week, and a list of all the electives, their instructors, and their locations. We have an all-camp meeting here in the concert hall at 12:10pm. Bring your instrument. Following that meeting are seating auditions. You're free till the meeting to unpack, get lunch – though we're not providing lunch, but you can buy it at the dining hall – practice, and just relax. Good luck."

qpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpq

12:00 Noon

The concert hall was nearly empty as I strolled through the aisles and picked a seat up toward the front in the middle. True, the meeting didn't start for another ten minutes, but I had run out of things to do. I had checked into my dorm room, hauled my entire luggage up three flights of stairs, unpacked, and finally left to go eat -- never meeting my roommate, who was obviously running late. After wandering around campus doing nothing, I finally headed over to the meeting, early.

More people were arriving now, all grouped in their little cliques. No one sat by me, or even looked at me. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I resigned myself to a week of camp with no friends. I had told my parents that would happen. I had told them that I didn't want to come. But no, they said camp wasn't about friends, it was about the amazing musical experience I would be getting. Well, maybe that's what it was to them, and for me to an extent, but I didn't relish being the camp loner, either.

Two Asian kids plopped down in the seats to my right and started chattering in another language, never sparing me a single glance. I fumbled in my pocket for some gum and tried to ignore that fact that everyone was ignoring me. Eventually a man with graying hair climbed onto the stage and took the mic.

"Welcome to Coughren Music Camp 2007 - Senior Band and Choir Week. I am Joe Pulitzer, director of the camp, and I'm going to fill you in on some rules, go over today's schedule with you, and introduce the faculty of CMC. This is CMC's 12th year, and we actually have some original staff still with us. I'd like to introduce Mayer and Esther Jacobs, who have been with CMC since the beginning. Mayer is the director of our Jazz Ensembles and is head male counselor; his wife, Esther, is director of the Jazz Choir and is head female counselor. A big hand for them, please, twelve years of dedicated service. Next we have the directors of our concert and symphonic bands, Mr. Weasel and Mr. Denton, who have been with us for several years, as well. Then we have Ms. Larkson, director of our chamber choir and camp chorus. Directing our orchestra, we have a new faculty member, Mr. Snyder. Next up, we have …"

I zoned out as the list continued and Pulitzer moved on to a list of rules and then the schedule for the rest of the day. Finally I heard the word "auditions" and perked up.

"We'll call your instrument and I'd like you to please follow the counselor assigned to the group to the audition area. Please leave your cases here in the concert hall! After your seating audition is over, you may go back to your dorm or hang out at the arcade. Dinner is provided, as will all your meals be from now till lunch on Saturday. After dinner the seating lists will be posted. Please check those so you can know which band you are in because we do have a rehearsal tonight! Alright, let's start with violins. All violins come to the front and follow Whitney to your audition area."

Someone got up behind me, jolting my chair horribly. I turned to see a rather short guy with dirty blonde hair pushing his way down the row holding a violin case above his head.

"Watch it, Spot!" hissed the girl on the end as he stepped on her toes.

"Shut up, Erika," was his answer.

All the rest of the strings were called as I grew exceedingly more nervous. Then the brass were called. Piano students, vocal students, and finally the woodwinds.

"Oboes and bassoons are with Sam. All oboes and bassoons please come down to the front."

I hoisted my giant case over my head and headed for the stage. Sam said hello and led us down into the basement to a room where we could warm up while others were auditioning. I opened my case and began putting my bassoon together.

"I'll hear the oboes first, so agree on an order and I'll be ready to get started in about five minutes."

As the oboes began arguing amongst each other as to who should play first, a young man approached me, a large bassoon reed protruding from between his lips like a fat cigar.

"Hey there, what's your name?"

I finished attaching my bocal into my bassoon before answering. "Julia. What's yours."

"Tony, though all my friends call me Race."

"How long have you been playing the bassoon?"

"Seven years."

I whistle. "Wow. I've been playing for a grand total of two."

"It's your first time here at CMC." It wasn't a question, rather a sure statement.

"That's right."

"I've been here for five years. This place is awesome. What's your audition piece?"

"Uh, Berceuse from Stravinsky's Firebird."

"Yeah, that solo's real nice."

"What's yours?"

"Stravinsky's Rite of Spring."

"Impressive."

"I know."

Tony wandered off to warm up, and I got out my music to run over it one more time. I was so nervous.

qpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpq

5:30 PM

So, I survived my audition with out passing out or absolutely botching it, though I still don't know how. Sam was nice, but kept looking over my shoulder at my music the whole time, which really freaked me out.

Anyway, there was no use dwelling on what already happened, so I went to dinner. That was, in one word, uneventful. Everyone else seemed to already know people, having met them during previous summers or come with them from home. I sat by myself in a corner trying to be patient about finding out how I place in the audition. I kept telling myself that it didn't matter, not that it helped.

After I had successfully mutilated and killed my salad and pasta, I returned my tray and set out in a run to the IRH (Instrument Rehearsal Hall) where the results would be posted.

"Oh my god! There's no way that bitch placed higher than me!"

A short girl with fake blonde hair was standing, hands on hips, violin case swinging over her shoulder, glaring furiously at the lists on the wall. "She can't play!"

I edged my way past her and found the bassoon list.

Symphonic Band

Tony Higgins

Julia Michaels

Alex Parker

Richard Albin

Concert Band

Joe Severance

Drew Vanorden

Noah Steirli

Kevin Bray

Chris Youngling

Orchestra

Tony Higgins

Julia Michaels

"Oh my god, I did it."

"Congrats."

I turned around to see a girl with reddy-auburn hair smiling at me.

"You must be Julia."

I frowned, "How'd you know?"

"There's only one girl on that list. I wasn't sure whether to feel sorry for you or not. I mean, one girl and nine guys."

Grinning, I crossed my arms on my chest. "So what are you?"

"Trombone. Rachel. Nice to meet you."

"So Rachel, what seat did you get?"

"2nd in Symphonic and Orchestra."

"Congrats to you too, then."

"Yes, well, I'd be a lot happier if Oscar Delancey wasn't 1st chair Trombone, making him my standmate."

"What's his problem?"

"He's a jerkface."

"I see."

"What floor are you on, Julia?"

"Third."

"Same here."

"Really? What room?"

"318."

"Oh, I'm 323."

"Have you met your roommate yet?"

"No, you?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I don't want to go starting my week on a sour note, but she's crazy."

"What's she?"

"Percussion."

"Ah, well that explains it."

"I try not to use instrumental stereotypes, but this one seems to fit."

"I'll probably end up with a dedicated string player who practices till insane hours of the morning."

"I'll trade you."

"Yeah, sure thing."

"They normally put you with another of your instrument, but seeing how you're the only female bassoon, you've got a problem."

"Speaking of bassoons, I need to fetch mine from my room."

"I'll come with you and pick up my bone at the same time."

"Sure thing."

qpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpq

7:00 PM

"Alright, that's enough. Now horns, that lovely counter-melody you have, four after ninety-three; could you play it more warm and – think honey and peanut butter: ta ta dee da dum. Alright? Let's begin again at fifty-four, measure fifty-four everyone."

I had decided within the first five minutes of rehearsal that I liked Dr. Bryan Denton much better than my own band director. He was fun and really knew his stuff.

"Remember, 'you come to rehearsal to learn the other peoples' parts.' Write these down, by the way, and maybe you can compile a book someday and make lots of money off me."

Tony snorted in the chair next to me, a smirk flickering on his lips. "My first year I wrote them all down. He'll come up with a huge long list of them by the end of the week, believe me."

I smiled briefly and rearranged my music. Even though Tony was extremely friendly, I was feeling rather uncomfortable talking to him because he was such a good bassoonist. The gap between our levels was enormous, and there were several times during a piece where I'd want to stop playing just so I could hear his tone and phrasing. It made things awkward afterwards when a conversation was attempted, to say the least.

"Hands to yourselves, bones. And tenors, a little sharper at section L – da da da dee da!"

"Dr. Denton, third measure of L, second sixteenth note – is that supposed to be an e-natural or an e-flat?"

I peered back over my shoulder, recognizing the voice. It was the younger guy from the elective tables. It surprised me that he was a high school student, but then again, a lot of the kids here looked older than they were.

"Hold on a moment, let me check my score. Um, that should be an e-natural, David. Thanks for pointing that out."

Pencils scratched in the tenor sax section for a moment before Dr. Denton raised his arms.

"Twelve before L, twelve before L."

qpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpq

9:30 PM

"My lips are completely numb. I haven't exactly been keeping up on my practicing this summer," Rachel said as she massaged her mouth as we sat together waiting for our female dorm meeting to begin.

"Same here, I hadn't touched my bassoon since school ended, and gosh my embouchure is dead!"

The sound of someone clapping caught our attention and we looked to the front of the room where one of the counselors stood on the makeshift stage in the female dorm lounge.

"Excuse me for ending your chatter time, ladies, but we need to get down to business. I am Esther Jacobs, Mr. Pulitzer introduced my husband, Mayer, and me earlier today. I am the head female counselor, I teach the Jazz Choir, and I'm usually a pretty nice person, however if you break rules or interrupt my sleep by showering before six in the morning, I am a very scary person, just ask my kids."

"Do her kids go here?" I whispered to Rachel.

"You bet," she answered back softly.

"I'd like to introduce our first counselor – this is her first year counseling here though she attended this camp all throughout high school – she also happens to be my daughter, Sarah Jacobs."

I nudged Rachel with my shoulder, "I see now."

"And next we have…"

I zoned out for the second time that day and focused on my growing dread of going back to my room in fear of meeting my roommate. I just knew she and I wouldn't get along. I just knew it.

qpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpq

10:15 PM

"See you tomorrow, Julia. Breakfast at seven?"

"Sure thing. G'night!"

Rachel disappeared into her room and I fiddled around my neck for my key as I walked the few feet down the hall to my room. With a prayer, I unlocked the door and walked in. No one was there, though a large green suitcase now occupied the second side of the room. I stared at it, as if it would tell me what type of person this mysterious roommate of mine was. Needless to say, it didn't.

With a sigh, I changed into my pajamas and crawled into my bed. Lights out wasn't till eleven, but I was exhausted. I rolled over and set my alarm for six-thirty in the morning so I would have time to shower, and then I pulled my covers over my head. My roommate was still not back, and I wasn't waiting any longer. She could turn the light off when she finally got in, whenever that would be.

My first day of camp was over, and I had lived. Tomorrow, of course, would be a different story entirely.

qpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpqpq

A/N: This fic is quite a bit different from what I usually write, so feedback is greatly appreciated. So, REVIEW!

-- pj