Chapter 1: CTRL+ALT+Acappella
Notes:
I have had this idea for SO. LONG.!!!
I fell in love with the musical Be More Chill, and then I read the book, and the concept of the "Squip" has always intrigued me. Eventually, I got into Pitch Perfect, and I guess at some point down the line, these interests merged? And that's how this happened.
Oh, also, Beca and Benji are childhood friends in this AU. Because it's fun to write about.
Also!! I might change my mind and change this fanfic to "Explicit" later during the fic depending on how I feel — so don't like, don't read.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun cast elongated shadows across the verdant expanse of Barden University's main quad, its golden rays filtering through the meticulously manicured canopy of oak and maple trees that bordered the walkways.
Students meandered across the emerald lawn in clusters, their voices creating a symphony of overlapping conversations that ebbed and flowed like waves against the ivy-covered brick facades of the surrounding academic buildings. The air carried the crisp bite of early autumn, tinged with the earthy scent of fallen leaves and the distant aroma of coffee wafting from the campus café.
Beca Mitchell walked alongside her lifelong companion, Benjamin Applebaum—though everyone had called him Benji since they were seven years old and he'd insisted that "Benjamin" was far too formal for someone who could make quarters disappear behind people's ears. Her worn combat boots scuffed rhythmically against the concrete pathway, each step deliberate yet somehow reluctant, as if she were perpetually on the verge of changing direction entirely. Her dark hair fell in carefully tousled waves that she'd spent exactly three minutes arranging to look like she hadn't spent any time on it at all.
Her aim is to look as non-chalant as possible. She's pretty non-chalant, right?
Hopefully.
God, I should probably be studying right now, she mused internally, her steel-blue eyes scanning the quad with the detached observation of someone who'd rather be anywhere else. That music theory assignment isn't going to write itself, and Professor Hendricks already thinks I'm some kind of slacker just because I prefer actual music to his boring lectures about dead composers.
Though then again, she's been slacking off on everything recently — sleeping and skipping classes rather than actually trying. It got so bad that her dear old dad had to have a talk with her about it.
Benji, meanwhile, practically vibrated with nervous energy beside her, his hands gesticulating wildly as he spoke in rapid-fire bursts that occasionally dissolved into unintelligible mumbling. The vintage Star Wars t-shirt he wore beneath his open cardigan was wrinkled from where he'd been unconsciously tugging at the fabric, a nervous habit that Beca had witnessed through countless anxiety-inducing situations over the years.
"I mean, I know I probably didn't nail the audition," Benji was saying, his voice rising and falling in pitch as his words tumbled over each other. "Like, my voice cracked twice during some of the backing harmonies they told me to try for 'Since U Been Gone'—which, okay, maybe wasn't the most original song choice, but it's a classic, right? And classics are classic for a reason, which is that they're... well, they're classic. But then again, maybe I should have gone with something else like you did? Something more contemporary? Or something that showed off my range better? Do you think my range is too limited? I mean, I can hit a high C, but only on good days when I've had enough sleep and haven't been eating dairy, and—"
"Benji," Beca interrupted gently, her voice carrying that particular tone of patient affection that came from years of practice in navigating her best friend's anxious spirals. "Breathe. You're gonna hyperventilate and pass out right here on the quad, and it'll be way too awkward for me to explain why you passed out to the paramedics."
Benji took an exaggerated deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling dramatically. "Right. Breathing. That's... that's important for singers, actually. Proper diaphragmatic breathing is essential for maintaining pitch and—" He caught himself mid-ramble and shook his head vigorously. "Sorry. I'm just... I'm so nervous, Beca. This is the Treblemakers we're talking about. The Treblemakers! They're non-stop ICCA winners, and their arrangements are absolutely incredible. Did you know that their version of 'Uptown Funk' from two years ago incorporated elements of beatboxing that were so complex they actually—"
"I know, dude," Beca said, adjusting the strap of her worn leather messenger bag as it threatened to slip from her shoulder. The bag was one of her most prized possessions—a graduation gift from her mother that had traveled with her through countless late-night music production sessions. "You've only told me about seventeen thousand times since we got to Barden. I'm pretty sure I could recite their entire performance history from memory at this point."
Not that I particularly want to, she thought, though she kept that observation to herself. Benji's enthusiasm for a cappella music was something she'd learned to tolerate—and even appreciate, in small doses—over the years. His passion was infectious, even if she didn't entirely understand it. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about vocal arrangements and harmonies reminded her of how she felt when she discovered a particularly perfect bass line or stumbled across an obscure remix that somehow made a song completely new again.
"But seriously," she continued, her voice softening as she noticed the genuine worry creeping into his expression, "you're gonna be fine, okay? You've got a great voice, and you know more about music theory than half the professors in this place. Plus, you've been practicing for months."
Years, actually, she corrected mentally. Benji had been preparing for this moment since their junior year of high school, when he'd first discovered Barden's a cappella scene on YouTube and become completely obsessed. She'd sat through countless practice sessions in his bedroom, listening to him work through scales and vocal exercises while she pretended to do homework but was actually mixing tracks on her laptop.
Benji's face brightened slightly, though the nervous tension remained evident in the way his fingers drummed against his thigh. "You really think so? I mean, I know I can sing, but competition is probably going to be fierce. And you know how I get around... around groups of people who might judge me. What if I freeze up? What if my voice cracks again? What if they ask me to improvise and my brain just... stops working? Because that happens, I tend to black out a lot during scary social situations."
"Then you'll figure it out," Beca said with characteristic pragmatism. "You always do. Remember that time in eighth grade when you had to give that presentation about the solar system and you were so nervous you threw up in the hallway beforehand?"
"Ugh, please don't remind me," Benji groaned, his cheeks flushing pink at the memory. "That was mortifying."
"But you still gave the presentation," Beca pointed out. "And you got an A-plus. Mrs. Henderson said it was one of the most thorough and creative projects she'd ever seen."
"Only because I spent three weeks building that scale model of Jupiter's moons," Benji muttered, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"Exactly. You put in the work, and it paid off. This is the same thing." Beca paused, considering her next words carefully. She'd never been particularly good at the whole encouragement thing—that had always been more Benji's forte when it came to their friendship—but she could see how much this meant to him. "Look, I don't know much about... well, any of this a cappella stuff. But I know you, and I know that when you care about something this much, you usually find a way to make it work."
Even if 'making it work' sometimes involves color-coded spreadsheets and obsessive levels of preparation, she added silently, thinking of the detailed practice schedule Benji had taped to his bedroom wall back at home.
They continued walking in comfortable silence for a few moments, the sounds of campus life continuing around them. A group of girls near the fountain were laughing at something on one of their phones, their voices carrying across the quad in bright, melodic bursts. Somewhere behind them, a guy was playing acoustic guitar—badly, in Beca's professional opinion—while his friends provided equally off-key vocal accompaniment.
College is weird, she reflected, not for the first time since arriving at Barden. Everyone seemed so... enthusiastic about everything. Group activities, school spirit, social events—all the things that had made her feel like an outsider in high school seemed to be amplified here to an almost aggressive degree. She'd been hoping that college would be different, that she'd finally find her tribe of fellow music nerds who preferred headphones to conversation and late-night studio sessions to dorm room parties. Instead, she seemed to be surrounded by people who wanted to turn everything into a group activity.
"I'm really glad you're finally giving this a chance, you know," Benji said suddenly, breaking into her contemplations. His voice carried a note of genuine warmth that made her look over at him more closely. "I mean, I know you only auditioned because of... well, because of what happened in the shower—"
"Let's not talk about the shower incident," Beca interrupted quickly, feeling heat rise in her cheeks at the memory. "That was... that was a very strange day, and I'm still not entirely sure what happened there."
Other than the fact that some crazy redhead with apparently zero understanding of personal boundaries decided to stage an impromptu duet while I was trying to wash my hair, she thought, the embarrassment still fresh despite several days having passed. The whole encounter had been so bizarre that she sometimes wondered if she'd imagined it entirely. Normal people didn't just burst into other people's showers and start singing, right? That was the kind of thing that only happened in movies or dreams or very strange fever-induced hallucinations.
"Right, sorry, sorry," Benji said, though his grin suggested he found her discomfort amusing. "But still! I'm excited that you're exploring this world with me. A cappella music is so much more complex and interesting than most people realise. The way voices can blend together to create harmonies that are literally impossible to achieve with instruments, the rhythmic possibilities of vocal percussion, the pure artistry involved in taking a song and completely reimagining it using only the human voice—"
"Okay, okay," Beca said, holding up one hand in mock surrender. "I get it. It's very cool and impressive and probably involves more music theory than my brain can handle on a Tuesday afternoon."
Though I have to admit, she thought reluctantly, some of those arrangements he's shown me on YouTube were actually pretty impressive. Not that I'd ever tell him that directly—his ego couldn't handle the validation.
"But seriously," she continued, "I hope you get in. I know how much this means to you, and you deserve to be part of something that makes you this happy."
Benji's entire face lit up with one of those brilliant, unguarded smiles that reminded Beca why they'd been best friends for so long. Despite his anxiety and tendency to overthink everything, there was something infectious about his enthusiasm. He approached the world with a kind of open-hearted optimism that she sometimes envied, even if she'd never admit it out loud.
"Thanks, Beca. That... that really means a lot." He paused, then added with characteristic earnestness, "And I hope you get into the Bellas too. I mean, I know you're not as excited about it as I am about the Treblemakers, but I think it could be really good for you. Maybe help you connect with people who share your musical interests, you know?"
Doubtful, Beca thought, though she kept her scepticism to herself.
"Maybe," she said diplomatically. "Though I have to ask—what was that thing you mentioned earlier about a puking incident? That sounded... concerning."
Benji's expression immediately shifted, his eyes darting away from hers in a way that suggested he regretted bringing up the topic at all. "Oh, that. It's... well, it's probably not important. Just something that happened at last year's ICCA finals."
"Benji." Beca's voice carried a note of warning that he recognised from years of friendship. It was the same tone she'd used when they were kids and she suspected he was hiding something—like the time he'd broken her mom's favorite vase and tried to convince her that the cat had done it, despite the fact that they did not own a cat.
"It's.. not really my story to tell," he said, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack. "And besides, that was last year. I'm sure this year will be completely different."
Oh, that's definitely not ominous at all, Beca thought, making a mental note to do some research of her own later. Whatever had happened at the ICCA finals was clearly significant enough to make Benji uncomfortable, which meant it was probably the kind of drama she'd rather know about before potentially getting involved with the group.
Before she could press him further, they reached the entrance to Morrison Hall, one of the newer dormitory buildings on campus. The structure rose four stories above them, its red brick facade and white-trimmed windows designed to match the university's traditional architectural style while incorporating modern amenities like the electronic keycard access system and energy-efficient windows.
"Jesse should be in the room," Benji said, pulling his student ID from his wallet and swiping it through the card reader beside the glass doors. "He was planning to spend the afternoon organising his movie collection, which apparently requires a very specific organisational system based on genre, director, and year of release."
Of course it does, Beca thought, already bracing herself for what was bound to be an awkward encounter. Jesse Swanson—the guy who seemed to appear everywhere she went lately, like some kind of overly enthusiastic specter with an impressive knowledge of film trivia and an apparent inability to pick up on social cues. He wasn't completely unpleasant, exactly, but there was something about his relentless optimism and tendency to burst into song at random moments that made her feel like she was trapped in someone else's musical theatre audition.
They climbed the stairs to the third floor, their footsteps echoing in the utilitarian stairwell with its industrial carpeting and fluorescent lighting. Benji continued chattering nervously about auditions and harmonies and vocal ranges, his voice bouncing off the concrete walls in a way that made him sound even more anxious than usual.
Poor guy's really worked up about this, Beca observed, watching the way his hands fluttered as he spoke. She'd seen him get nervous before—before big tests, first dates, family gatherings—but this was different. This felt bigger, more significant. Like he was pinning all his hopes for college social success on getting accepted into this group.
Which, knowing Benji, he probably was.
They reached the dorm, and Benji knocked on the door with a characteristic rhythm—three quick taps followed by two slower ones. It was a pattern they'd developed in elementary school as a way to identify themselves to each other, and apparently old habits died hard.
"Come in!" called a voice from inside, warm and slightly muffled by the closed door.
Benji pushed the door open to reveal a typical double dorm room that had been transformed into something that looked more like a combination movie museum and recording studio. One half of the room—presumably Jesse's—was dominated by towering shelves of DVDs organised with almost military precision, while the walls were covered with movie posters ranging from classic films noir to contemporary indie comedies. The other half contained Benji's collection of musical equipment, magic supplies, and what appeared to be a large shrine dedicated to the original Star Wars trilogy.
Jesse Swanson was sitting cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by stacks of DVDs and armed with what looked like a label maker. His vintage t-shirt—today featuring the logo from some obscure 1980s movie she didn't recognise—was paired with well-worn jeans that had clearly seen better days.
"Hey, Benji," he said, looking up with a grin that immediately shifted to something brighter and more focused when he noticed Beca. "Oh, hey! Beca, right? We keep running into each other."
Unfortunately, she thought, though she managed to produce what she hoped was a polite smile but felt more like a grimace. "Yeah, we do. It's like you're everywhere I go."
"Must be fate," Jesse said with that particular brand of confidence that somehow managed to be both charming and slightly irritating. "Or destiny. Or maybe just the fact that Barden's campus is smaller than it looks and there are only so many places to grab decent coffee."
Or maybe you're just really good at showing up wherever I happen to be, Beca thought, though she had to admit that his explanation was probably more logical than any kind of elaborate stalking scheme. "Probably the coffee thing. This place doesn't exactly have a lot of dining options."
Jesse set aside his label maker and shifted to face them more fully, his attention clearly focused on her in a way that made her feel slightly uncomfortable. It wasn't that he was being inappropriate or invasive—just very... present. Like he was genuinely interested in whatever she might have to say, which was both mildly flattering and quite overwhelming.
"So I heard you sing during auditions," he said, his tone casual but carrying an undertone of genuine interest. "I have to say, I didn't peg you for an a cappella girl."
Beca shrugged, settling her messenger bag more securely against her hip. "I'm not, really. I mean, I don't think I am. This whole thing is pretty new to me."
And probably temporary, she added silently. Once I prove to Dad that I'm actually participating in college activities, I can go back to focusing on real music production and working toward getting to LA.
"Then what made you audition?" Jesse asked, and there was something in his voice—curiosity, maybe, or genuine interest—that made the question feel less like an interrogation and more like actual conversation.
"I did it for Benji," Beca said, glancing over at her best friend, who was now sitting at his desk and attempting to look casual despite the fact that he was clearly eavesdropping on every word. "He's been obsessed with the whole a cappella scene since we got here, so I figured I'd... I don't know. Give it a shot, I guess."
And because some crazy redhead ambushed me in the shower and somehow convinced me that I could actually sing in front of people without dying of embarrassment, she added mentally, though that particular detail seemed like something she could keep to herself.
"That's really cool of you," Jesse said, and the sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. "Not everyone would be willing to step outside their comfort zone like that for a friend."
"Yeah, well," Beca said, feeling heat creep up her neck at the unexpected compliment. "Benji would do the same for me. We've been friends since we were kids."
"How long exactly?" Jesse asked, settling back against his pillows as if he was genuinely interested in hearing the story. It was a simple question, but something about the way he asked it—like he really wanted to know, rather than just making polite conversation—made her pause.
"Since kindergarten," Benji answered when Beca hesitated. "Our moms were in the same book club, so we ended up at a lot of the same playdates. Beca was the only kid who didn't run away screaming when I showed her my magic tricks."
That's because your magic tricks were actually pretty good, Beca thought fondly. Unlike Samuel Thompson, who thought making ants disappear by stepping on them was cool.
"Really?" Jesse's eyebrows rose with interest. "You do magic?"
"Card tricks, mostly," Benji said, his cheeks flushing slightly with the attention. "Some sleight of hand, a few mentalism techniques. Nothing too dramatic."
"That's awesome," Jesse said with what seemed like genuine enthusiasm. "I'd love to see some tricks sometime. I'm a sucker for good sleight of hand."
"Maybe later," Benji said, practically glowing with the positive attention. "Right now we're mostly focused on audition results. I'm, uh, kind of nervous about whether I made it into the Treblemakers."
"Oh man, that's right," Jesse said, sitting up straighter. "When are results supposed to come out?"
"Today, supposedly," Benji replied, glancing at his phone as if the notification might appear at any moment. "They said they'd post the list outside the music building by five o'clock."
Beca checked her own phone and was surprised to see that it was already four-thirty. "We should probably head over there soon, then. You know, if you want to find out sooner rather than later."
Not that I'm particularly invested in the outcome, she told herself, though she had to admit that a small part of her was curious to see whether she'd actually made it onto the Bellas roster. Not because she desperately wanted to be part of the group, but because... well, because it would be nice to know that she was capable of succeeding at something completely outside her comfort zone.
"Good thinking," Benji said, already reaching for his coat — something Beca recognised as his 'security coat', something he would wear whenever anxious as it brought him comfort. "Jesse, do you want to come with us? I mean, you don't have to, but—"
"Are you kidding?" Jesse interrupted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I wouldn't miss this. Besides, it's not every day I get to witness potentially life-changing news being delivered via bulletin board."
'Life-changing' might be a bit dramatic, Beca thought, though she could see from Benji's expression that he didn't disagree with the assessment. For him, getting into the Treblemakers really would be life-changing—or at least college-changing, which in his current world view probably amounted to the same thing.
"Cool," Benji said, his voice cracking slightly with renewed nervousness. "That's... yeah, that would be great. It's always good to have moral support."
Jesse grabbed a light jacket from his closet and ran a hand through his hair in a gesture that seemed unconscious but somehow made it look annoyingly perfectly tousled. "All right then. Let's go find out if we're about to become Barden's newest a cappella sensations."
The three of them made their way back through the dorm and onto campus, the late afternoon sun now casting longer shadows across the quad. More students were out than before—probably because afternoon classes were ending—and there was a general sense of energy and anticipation in the air that seemed to match Benji's nervous excitement.
"So what happens if you do get in?" Jesse asked as they walked. "I mean, what's the time commitment like? Do you have to perform at every football game, or is it more of a competition thing?"
"Both, actually," Benji said, his voice taking on the slightly lecturing tone it always acquired when he discussed subjects he was passionate about. "The Treblemakers perform at various campus events throughout the year, but the main focus is preparing for the ICCA tournament. That's the International Championship of Collegiate A Cappella—basically the Olympics of college singing groups."
'The Olympics of college singing groups', Beca repeated mentally, trying to decide whether that sounded impressive or ridiculous. Probably both.
"And if you win?" Jesse prompted.
"Well, theoretically you could go on to compete professionally, or use it as a stepping stone into the music industry," Benji explained. "But mostly it's about the prestige and the experience. Plus, being part of a successful a cappella group looks really good on graduate school applications."
They were approaching the music building now, and Beca could see a small crowd gathered around what was presumably the bulletin board where results would be posted. Her stomach gave an unexpected flutter of nerves, which surprised her. She'd thought she genuinely didn't care whether she made it into the Bellas or not, but apparently some part of her was more invested in the outcome than she'd realised.
Probably just anxiety about disappointing Benji, she told herself. He's so excited about all this that I'd hate for him to think his enthusiasm rubbed off on me only for me to get rejected.
"There," Benji said, pointing toward a cluster of students near the main entrance. "That's got to be where they posted the lists."
As they got closer, Beca could see that there were indeed two sheets of paper taped to a large cork board, each surrounded by small groups of students. Some were celebrating—she could hear excited squeals and congratulations—while others were walking away with disappointed expressions.
"Okay," Benji said, stopping abruptly about ten feet from the board. "I'm... I'm suddenly terrified to look."
"Do you want me to check for you?" Beca offered, recognising the signs of an impending anxiety spiral. "I can go look and come back and tell you."
"No, no, I–I should do it myself," Benji said, though he made no move toward the bulletin board. "It's just... what if I didn't make it? What if they thought I was too weird, or my voice wasn't good enough, or—"
"Benji," Jesse interrupted gently. "Whatever happens, it's not going to change anything important. You'll still be the same person, with the same talents and the same friends. Getting into a college singing group doesn't define your worth as a human being."
Beca tilted her head, glancing at Jesse with new respect. It was rare that people actually tried to befriend Benji rather than treat him like a freak just because he's a little different.
Benji took a deep breath and nodded. "Right. You're absolutely right. It's just... it's just an extracurricular activity. It's not the end of the world."
Though try telling him that if his name isn't on the list, Beca thought, though she was proud of her friend for trying to keep things in perspective.
"Come on," she said, linking her arm through his in a gesture of support. "Let's go see what the damage is."
The three of them approached the bulletin board together, and Beca could feel Benji's tension radiating through their linked arms. The first sheet was titled "Barden Treblemakers - New Members!!!" in bold block letters, followed by a list of names in alphabetical order. Benji's eyes scanned the list quickly, his expression shifting from hopeful to confused to disappointed in the space of about ten seconds.
"I..." He started, then stopped, staring at the list as if the names might rearrange themselves if he looked long enough.
Beca followed his gaze and quickly scanned the names herself. It didn't take long — shockingly, there seemed to only be two new additions to the Treblemakers.
"McMillan, Swanson..." Beca muttered, eyes scanning over and over again as if expecting another name to magically appear.
...No Applebaum anywhere to be found.
Shit, she thought, her heart sinking for her friend. I really thought he'd make it.
"I'm sorry, Benji," Jesse said quietly, and Beca was surprised by the genuine sympathy in his voice. "That really sucks."
"It's... it's fine," Benji said, though his voice was slightly strangled. "I mean, I knew it was a long shot. Competition was probably really fierce this year."
It's not fine, Beca thought, watching her best friend try to hold himself together in public. This is definitely not fine.
"Hey," she said, squeezing his arm. "Their loss, okay? Seriously. They obviously don't know talent when they see it."
Before Benji could respond, Jesse spoke up again. "Wait—did you say Swanson? As in Jesse Swanson?"
All three of them turned to look at the list again, and sure enough, there it was: "Swanson, Jesse" listed among the new Treblemaker members.
"Holy shit," Jesse said, his eyes widening. "I... I actually made it?"
Well, that's just perfect, Beca thought, watching Jesse's face transform with excitement while Benji tried to look happy for him. The universe has a really twisted sense of humour sometimes.
"Congratulations," Benji said, and to his credit, he managed to sound genuinely pleased despite his own disappointment. "That's... that's really great, Jesse. You're going to love it."
"Thanks, man," Jesse said, though he seemed to be picking up on the awkwardness of the situation. "I mean, I'm sorry you didn't—"
"Don't," Benji interrupted gently. "Don't apologise for succeeding. That's not how friendship works."
God, I love him. This is why I'm friends with him, Beca thought, feeling a surge of fierce protectiveness toward her best friend. He's disappointed and trying not to show it, and he's still being gracious to someone who got what he wanted.
"Uhm... What about the Bellas?" Jesse asked, clearly trying to shift focus away from the awkward moment. "Beca, did you check to see if you made it?"
Honestly, Beca had almost forgotten about her own audition results in the drama of Benji's disappointment. She turned to the second sheet, which was headed "Barden Bellas - New Recruits" in similarly bold lettering.
The list was a lot longer than the Treblemakers' total of two, with nine names total. She scanned it quickly: Adams, Conrad, Gould, Hester, Hobart, Jones, Mitchell, Onakuramara, Sims, Smith...
Wait.
"Mitchell, Rebecca," she read aloud, her voice slightly incredulous. "I... I actually made it."
How the hell did that happen? she wondered, staring at her name on the official university letterhead. I showed up late, didn't sing the right audition song and instead sang something that barely portrayed my vocal range, and basically acted like I didn't want to be there. Which I didn't.
"Beca, that's amazing!" Benji exclaimed, and his excitement seemed genuine despite his own disappointment. "I'm so proud of you!"
"Thanks," she said, still processing the information. "I honestly didn't think... I mean, I wasn't really trying that hard."
"Well, you must have impressed them somehow," Jesse said with a grin. "Congratulations. This is really cool—now we'll both be part of Barden's a cappella scene."
Lucky me, Beca thought sarcastically, though she found herself oddly pleased by the news despite her general ambivalence toward the whole thing. There was something satisfying about succeeding at something she hadn't expected to be good at.
"So what happens now?" She asked, looking between Jesse and Benji. "Do they send instructions, or do we just show up somewhere and hope for the best?"
"They'll probably contact you with rehearsal schedules and performance requirements," Benji said, his voice taking on that slightly wistful tone that suggested he'd researched this process extensively. "Most groups start intensive training right away, especially if they're preparing for ICCA competition season."
Intensive training, Beca repeated mentally. That sounds... intensive.
"That reminds me," Jesse said, pulling out his phone. "I should probably text my parents and let them know. They're going to flip out—my mom's been hoping I'd get involved in music again ever since I stopped taking piano lessons in high school."
As Jesse stepped away to make his phone call, Beca found herself alone with Benji for the first time since they'd discovered the results. His carefully maintained composure was starting to crack around the edges, and she could see the disappointment he'd been trying to hide.
"Hey," she said quietly, moving closer so their conversation wouldn't be overheard by the other students still lingering around the bulletin board. "You okay?"
Benji attempted a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. Disappointed, obviously, but fine. It's not like this was my only chance to be involved in music at Barden."
But it was the thing you wanted most, Beca thought, wishing there was something she could say to make it better. And now you get to watch your roommate live out your dream while you're stuck on the sidelines.
"I'm sorry," she said inadequately. "This really sucks."
"It does suck," Benji agreed, and there was something relieving about him finally acknowledging his disappointment. "I really thought... I mean, I've been preparing for this for months. I know every Treblemaker arrangement from the last five years, I've practiced until my voice was hoarse, I even bought new audition clothes."
Jesus.
"But," Benji continued, straightening his shoulders in a gesture she recognised as his attempt to rally himself, "Jesse's right. This doesn't define me, and it's not the end of the world. There are other musical opportunities on campus, and maybe this just means I'm supposed to find a different path."
There's the Benji I know, she thought with relief. Disappointed but not defeated.
"Besides," he added with a grin that looked more genuine this time, "now I get to live vicariously through both you and Jesse. I'll be like your unofficial a cappella consultant."
"Lucky us," Beca said dryly, though she was smiling. "I'm sure we'll need all the help we can get."
Jesse rejoined them, sliding his phone back into his pocket with a satisfied expression. "My mom literally screamed when I told her. I think she's already planning to drive down for our first performance."
Your first performance, Beca thought, the reality of what she'd signed up for starting to sink in. Holy shit, I'm actually going to have to perform. In front of people. On purpose.
"That's really sweet," Benji said, adjusting his coat with nervous fingers. "Family support makes such a difference in competitive performance situations."
Jesse nodded enthusiastically, his sandy hair catching the late afternoon light filtering through the nearby windows. "Yeah, she's always been my biggest cheerleader. Even when I was going through my awkward middle school phase where I thought I was going to be the next John Hughes."
"John Hughes?" Beca found herself asking before she could stop herself, genuinely curious despite her general policy of not encouraging Jesse's tendency toward elaborate pop culture references.
Why am I even asking? Now he's going to think I actually want to hear about his weird obsession with eighties movies.
Jesse's face lit up with the kind of enthusiasm typically reserved for discovering twenty-dollar bills in old jacket pockets. "The director! Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, Home Alone, Pretty in Pink? He basically defined the entire teen movie genre and created this incredible template for—"
There it is.
"Ah," Beca interrupted, recognising the onset of what was probably going to be a twenty-minute lecture on film history. "Got it. Movies."
Jesus Christ, this guy really can turn anything into a dissertation, she thought, though she had to admit there was something oddly endearing about how genuinely excited he got about the things he cared about. It reminded her of Benji's enthusiasm for a cappella, or her own passion for music production—that kind of pure, unfiltered interest that made people light up from the inside.
"Sorry," Jesse said with a slightly embarrassed laugh, running a hand through his hair in what she was beginning to recognise as a nervous habit. "I get a little carried away when it comes to movies. Occupational hazard of joining the film club in high school, I guess. We spent a lot of time discussing pop culture."
"Speaking of which," Jesse continued, and there was something in his tone—a kind of casual hopefulness—that made Beca look at him more closely. "I was thinking, since we're both going to be involved in Barden's music scene now, maybe we could grab coffee sometime and compare notes? You know, share war stories from our respective a cappella experiences?"
The suggestion hung in the air between them, and Beca found herself processing it with the kind of careful consideration she usually reserved for mixing complicated tracks. On the surface, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable proposal—two people with shared interests getting to know each other better. But there was something in Jesse's expression, a particular quality to his smile, that suggested he might be hoping for more than just casual friendship.
Or maybe I'm overthinking it, she told herself. Maybe he's just being friendly. It's not like every guy who talks to me is automatically trying to ask me out. Jesus, what is happening to me? I'm thinking like those blondes on the cheerleading team back in high school.
"Yeah, sure," she said finally, aiming for the kind of casual tone that wouldn't give him the wrong idea but also wouldn't hurt his feelings. "That could be fun. I mean, I don't know how much I'll have to share, since I'm basically going into this blind, but..."
"That's perfect," Jesse said, his grin widening in a way that made her wonder if she'd accidentally said something more encouraging than she'd intended. "I mean, not perfect that you're going in blind—that's probably pretty nerve-wracking—but perfect that we can figure it out together. The whole college music scene thing."
Together, Beca repeated mentally, noting the way he'd emphasised the word. Okay, so maybe he is hoping for more than friendship. Great. How do I navigate this without being a complete bitch?
Benji, meanwhile, seemed completely oblivious to any underlying romantic tension, his attention still focused on the bulletin board with the kind of determined concentration that suggested he was trying to memorise every detail. "So the Treblemakers have twelve members total now," he observed, his voice carrying that slightly wistful quality that meant he was working hard to sound interested rather than disappointed. "That's a really good size for complex harmonies. You'll probably be able to do some incredible arrangements with that many voices."
Bless him, Beca thought with an inaudible sigh. He's trying so hard to be supportive even though this has to be killing him inside.
"What about the Bellas?" Jesse asked, genuine curiosity replacing the slightly flirtatious undertone that had colored his previous comments. "How many new members did they take?"
Beca turned back to the second list, counting names more carefully this time. "Ten new members, so twelve total with the two who were already in the group."
"Solid!" Benji grinned, nodding along, seeming genuinely pleased. "The Trebles and Bellas have been known to be rivals for a while now, so the fact that they have equal members is great!"
"Well," Jesse said, glancing at his watch, "I should probably head back and start researching Treblemaker history. I have a feeling I'm going to need to catch up on about a decade's worth of group traditions and inside jokes."
Good luck with that, Beca thought. If Benji's obsession with them is any indication, you're going to need a spreadsheet just to keep track of all the trivia.
"That's probably smart," Benji agreed. "The Treblemakers have a really rich history of musical innovation and competitive success. Did you know that their 2019 arrangement of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' was featured in Collegiate A Cappella Magazine as one of the—"
"Benji," Beca interrupted gently, recognising the signs of an impending infodump. "Maybe save the history lesson for later? Jesse probably wants to discover some of this stuff for himself."
And I don't think my brain can handle another detailed analysis of vocal arrangements right now.
"Right, sorry," Benji said with an embarrassed laugh. "Uhm, I get a little... enthusiastic about these things."
"It's cool," Jesse assured him. "I actually appreciate the enthusiasm. It's nice to know there are people who are genuinely passionate about this stuff." He shouldered his backpack and headed toward the door, then paused and turned back toward Beca. "Hey, seriously though—congratulations on making the Bellas. I know this wasn't really your thing, but I have a feeling you're going to be great at it."
There was something in his voice when he said it—a kind of quiet confidence that suggested he genuinely believed what he was saying rather than just offering empty encouragement. It caught Beca off guard, the sincerity of it, and she found herself meeting his eyes for a moment longer than she'd intended.
"Uh, thanks," she said, and was surprised to find that she actually meant it. "Good luck with the Treblemakers. Try not to let them turn you into one of those guys who bursts into song in the middle of conversation."
Though he often already does that, she added silently.
"No promises," Jesse said with a grin that suggested he was absolutely going to become exactly that type of person. "See you around, Beca. Benji."
As Jesse disappeared through the doors of the music building, Beca found herself alone with Benji once again. The late afternoon crowd around the bulletin board was starting to thin out as students either celebrated their acceptances or dealt with their rejections, leaving behind the usual campus atmosphere of overlapping conversations and distant music from someone's portable speaker.
"So," Benji said after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. "Looks like we're both going to be part of Barden's musical landscape now. Just... in different ways than we expected."
Shit, that came out more melancholy than I think he meant it to, Beca thought, studying her best friend's profile as he stared at the Treblemaker list with obvious longing.
"Benji—" she started, but he shook his head quickly.
"I'm okay, really. And I'm genuinely excited for you about the Bellas thing. This could be really good for you, you know? Force you to actually interact with people instead of hiding behind your headphones all the time." He chuckled.
"I do not 'hide behind my headphones'," she protested, though even as she said it, she became aware of the weight of her Beats hanging around her neck, ready to be deployed at the first sign of unwanted social interaction.
"Beca," Benji said with the patient tone of someone who'd been having this conversation for years. "You wore headphones to your high school graduation ceremony."
"That was for artistic reasons," she said aloud. "The music was objectively terrible."
"Uh-huh," Benji said with obvious skepticism. "And what about the time you wore them to your own birthday party?"
Beca winced. "The playlist was.. not what I requested," she said weakly.
"Your dad was playing jazz standards," Benji pointed out. "Ella Fitzgerald and Duke Ellington. That's good music."
"It wasn't... it wasn't the right music for the moment," Beca said, struggling to articulate something she'd never really had to explain before. "I needed something with more energy, more... I don't know. More me."
More isolation, she admitted silently. More distance between me and all those people who were trying so hard to make my birthday about them instead of just letting me be.
Benji studied her with the kind of understanding expression that came from a lifetime of friendship. "That's exactly what I mean, though. You curate your entire world through music—which is amazing, don't get me wrong—but sometimes I think you use it to avoid connecting with people who might actually surprise you."
Jesus, when did Benji get so insightful? she wondered, feeling slightly unsettled by how accurately he'd managed to identify something she'd barely acknowledged to herself. And when did he start sounding like a psychology textbook?
"Maybe," she said noncommittally, not ready to fully engage with the implications of his observation. "Or maybe I just like good music more than small talk."
"They're not mutually exclusive," Benji said gently. "Anyway, the point is, I think this whole Bellas thing could be really good for you. Even if you go into it kicking and screaming."
"We'll see," she said with a turn of her head. "Right now I'm just trying to figure out what I've actually signed up for. Hopefully it's not some kind of cult situation where they make us wear matching outfits and chant in unison or something."
"I don't think it's a cult," Benji said, though there was a note of uncertainty in his voice that wasn't entirely reassuring. "Though from what I've heard, some of these groups do take their traditions pretty seriously."
Traditions, Beca repeated mentally. That doesn't sound ominous at all.
Notes:
I know it might seem short, but I have half of the next chapter done. I was originally going to post a bunch of stuff in one chapter, but that was really long, and I was worried about people being hesitant to read a chapter that long, so I'm going to split it up a little bit — probably just divided into three or four chapters, and then we can move on to the more interesting fun plot stuff.
Also, I know there's some romantic tension between Beca and Jesse, but trust me, Mitchsen is forever endgame!!
Anyway, stay tuned 😝
Chapter 2: Debugging the Bellas.
Summary:
Aubrey and Chloe discuss some matters to do with the Bellas, and Beca has a jarring encounter.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Several hours later, the golden late-afternoon light had softened into the dusky purple of early evening, casting long shadows across the Barden University campus.
Most students had retreated to their dormitories or headed off-campus for dinner, leaving the quad and surrounding areas in a state of peaceful quietude that felt almost meditative after the earlier bustle of post-class activity.
In a cozy corner booth of the campus coffee shop, two young women sat across from each other, their conversation intense and focused despite the casual setting. Empty ceramic mugs and scattered papers covered the small table between them, evidence of what had clearly been a lengthy discussion punctuated by multiple caffeine refills and increasingly detailed note-taking.
Aubrey Posen sat with perfect posture, her spine straight and shoulders squared in a way that suggested years of vocal training and performance experience. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled back into an immaculate ponytail, not a single strand out of place despite the fact that she'd been running her hands through it periodically as they talked. She wore a glittery pinkish top that complemented her complexion perfectly, paired with dark jeans and heeled boots—an outfit that managed to look both effortlessly elegant and carefully coordinated. Her green-blue eyes held an intensity that bordered on fierce, the kind of focused determination that came from someone who'd experienced failure and was absolutely committed to never experiencing it again.
This has to be perfect, she thought, staring down at the meticulously organised list of names spread across the table between them. After last year's disaster, we can't afford a single mistake. Not one.
Across from her, Chloe Beale radiated the kind of warm, infectious energy that seemed to make everything around her brighter. Her red hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, and her bright blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm even after hours of detailed planning and discussion. She was dressed more casually than Aubrey—a soft dark cardigan over a dark turqoise top — the sleeves poking out underneath the cardigan's sleeves like sweater paws, with comfortable jeans and well-worn sneakers—but somehow managed to look just as put-together despite her more relaxed approach to fashion.
"Okay," Aubrey said, her voice carrying the crisp authority of someone accustomed to making decisions and having them followed without question. "So we're in agreement about the final roster. Ten new members, which gives us twelve total including ourselves."
She picked up a neatly typed list and reviewed the names once more, her lips moving silently as she double-checked each selection. "Some of the Mezzos... Cynthia-Rose Adams—strong voice, good stage presence, though she seemed a bit... intense during auditions. Stacie Conrad—excellent range, very confident, definitely has the look we want for performances — though her... sensuality... during performance needs to be toned down. Kori Gould—solid presence, good harmonising instincts, appears confident in abilities."
"Mary-Elise Hester," she continued aloud, "sweet voice, seems eager to learn, probably won't cause any drama. Fat Amy Hobart—unique vocal quality, definitely memorable, though her attitude during auditions was... unconventional."
That's putting it mildly, she thought, recalling Fat Amy's bold declaration that she'd like to be called "Fat Amy" because she didn't want "twig bitches" like them to call her that behind her back, delivered with such matter-of-fact confidence that it had left the entire audition panel speechless for several long moments. She'd only repeated it during auditions since Bumper, amused, had asked why she willingly calls herself that.
"Ashley Jones—good harmony voice, seems to work well with Jessica Smith, who also made the cut. Beca Mitchell—" Aubrey paused here, her expression becoming more complicated. "Excellent voice, obvious musical talent, but she seems... resistant to authority."
Which could be either exactly what we need or exactly what we don't need, she mused, tapping her pen against the paper as she considered the dark-haired freshman who'd shown up late to auditions and somehow managed to deliver one of the most compelling performances of the day despite her obvious reluctance to be there.
"Lilly Onakuramara—very quiet, but her voice has beautiful tone quality and she showcased some exceptional beatboxing abilities. And Denise Sims—solid all-around performer, good attitude, seems committed."
Chloe nodded along with each name, her expression thoughtful. "I think we made good choices. There's a nice balance of personality types and vocal ranges, and most of them seemed genuinely excited about being part of the group."
"Most of them," Aubrey agreed, her tone carrying a note of concern. "I'm still not entirely sure about Beca. She didn't seem particularly... invested in the audition process."
That's an understatement, she thought, chewing the inside of her cheek. She looked like she'd rather be anywhere else in the world, and she didn't even come with the original audition song.
"I think she's just nervous," Chloe said with characteristic optimism. "Some people... express excitement differently. And the cup thing was super cool."
"Her vocal ability certainly isn't in question," Aubrey said carefully. "It's her attitude I'm concerned about. The Bellas need members who are committed to excellence and willing to put in the work required to compete at the highest level."
Especially after what happened last year, she added silently, feeling the familiar twist of humiliation and determination that accompanied any thoughts of the previous ICCA finals. The memory was still vivid—the bright stage lights, the expectant faces in the audience, the moment when her nerves had finally overwhelmed her vocal control and she'd...
Well.
She'd embarrassed herself, her parents, the group, and the entire university in front of hundreds of people and a panel of celebrity judges.
Never again. She wouldn't let herself be responsible for that kind of failure ever again.
"I think she'll come around," Chloe said with the kind of gentle confidence that had made her such an effective co-captain. "Sometimes the people who seem most resistant at first are the ones who end up being most committed once they find their place in the group."
"Maybe," Aubrey said, though privately she remained skeptical. "Either way, we'll find out soon enough. Which brings us to the next order of business—how exactly do we gather our new recruits?"
Chloe shifted in her seat, tucking one leg underneath her in a casual gesture that somehow managed to look graceful rather than sloppy. "About that... I was thinking maybe we could just send them all an email? You know, something welcoming and informative that tells them when and where to meet for our first official rehearsal?"
Aubrey blinked at her, certain she must have misheard. "An email?"
"Yeah," Chloe said, warming to her idea with the kind of enthusiasm she brought to most suggestions. "We could make it really nice—maybe include some information about group history, performance schedules, what they should expect from rehearsals. That way everyone gets the same information at the same time, and they can prepare mentally for—"
"Aca-scuse me??" Aubrey interrupted, her voice sharp enough to cut through Chloe's cheerful rambling. "Chloe, we're not running a book club. We're continuing a tradition that goes back decades."
Email, she thought with something approaching horror. She wants to reduce the sacred initiation process to a mass email like we're inviting people to a casual pizza party.
Chloe's expression shifted to one of patient persistence—a look Aubrey had learned to recognise as a precursor to gentle but determined argument. "I understand the tradition aspect, Aubrey, but don't you think the whole... kidnapping thing might be a little intense for some people? I mean, putting bags over their heads and dragging them across campus? What if someone calls security?"
"It's not kidnapping," Aubrey said firmly, her tone carrying the kind of authority that had helped her maintain control of the Bellas even after last year's humiliation. "It's initiation. It's about demonstrating commitment and creating bonds between new members and the group. Every successful a cappella organisation has traditions that help establish group identity and loyalty."
Plus, she added mentally, it weeds out anyone who isn't serious about being here. If they can't handle a little dramatic flair during initiation, how are they going to handle the pressure of competitive performance?
Chloe leaned forward, her expression earnest. "I get that, I really do. But think about the logistics, Aubrey. We have ten new members scattered across campus, probably in different dormitories, with different class schedules and extracurricular commitments. It could take us hours to track them all down, and that's assuming we can find them at all."
She has a point about the logistics, Aubrey admitted reluctantly. But that's exactly why the tradition is meaningful—it requires effort and dedication from the existing members to welcome the new ones properly.
"That's part of what makes it special," she said aloud. "The effort involved shows the new recruits how much their membership means to the group. It's not supposed to be easy or convenient."
Chloe sighed, a soft sound that carried both affection and mild exasperation. "Okay, but what if we compromise? Maybe we could just call them and ask them to meet us somewhere specific, instead of doing the whole bag-over-the-head thing?"
"Chloe," Aubrey said, her voice taking on the kind of patient but immovable tone that she'd perfected during years of dealing with group members who didn't immediately understand the importance of maintaining standards. "The Bellas have been conducting initiations this way since 1987. Diane Morrison, who founded the group, established these traditions because she understood that membership in an elite a cappella organisation requires a certain level of... commitment and theatrical flair."
And because dramatic initiations create stories that bond group members together, she added silently. Shared experiences, even uncomfortable ones, build the kind of loyalty we need to function as a cohesive performing unit.
"I know the history," Chloe said gently. "I was here last year too, remember? I went through the same initiation process."
Right, Aubrey thought, remembering her own initiation when she was a freshman—the mixture of terror and excitement as she'd been led blindfolded across campus, the sense of anticipation and belonging when the bag had finally been removed and she'd found herself surrounded by the previous generation of Bellas. It had felt like being welcomed into something exclusive and important, like joining a sisterhood that transcended ordinary college friendships.
That's what I want these new girls to experience, she realised. That sense of being chosen for something special.
"Then you understand why it's important," she nodded firmly, eyebrows raised slightly in expectance. "The initiation isn't just about tradition—it's about creating the right mindset from the very beginning. These women need to understand that being a Bella means being part of something bigger than themselves."
Chloe was quiet for a moment, clearly weighing her arguments carefully. When she spoke again, her voice carried a note of practical concern that Aubrey had learned to take seriously. "I just worry about the time factor, Aubrey. It's already getting dark, and if we spend three or four hours tracking people down, we won't be able to start the actual initiation ceremony until really late. Some of these girls probably have early classes tomorrow."
Early classes, Aubrey thought dismissively. If they're not willing to sacrifice a little sleep for the honor of joining the Bellas, maybe they don't deserve membership in the first place.
But even as the thought crossed her mind, she recognised its unfairness. Not everyone approached extracurricular activities with the same level of intensity that she did, and that didn't necessarily make them less valuable as potential group members.
Still, she told herself firmly, there's something to be said for ensuring that only the most dedicated candidates make it through the initiation process. Better to lose a few people now than to deal with half-hearted commitment later.
"We'll be efficient," she said aloud, her tone brooking no further argument. "We'll split the list between us and work systematically. I've already mapped out the most likely locations for each recruit based on their class schedules and dormitory assignments."
Chloe's eyebrows rose slightly. "You've been tracking their schedules?"
"I've been thorough," Aubrey corrected, feeling slightly defensive about what she knew probably sounded like excessive preparation to most people. "I looked up their course listings in the student directory and cross-referenced them with their housing assignments. It's just basic research."
Chloe smiled—a soft, understanding expression that somehow managed to be both supportive and gently amused. "Of course you did. I should have known you'd have a systematic approach to this."
"Systematic approaches prevent chaos," Aubrey said, unconsciously echoing something her mother had always told her about the importance of planning and organisation. "And chaos is exactly what we can't afford right now."
Not when we're already starting from a position of weakness, she added silently. Not when everyone on campus still remembers what happened at last year's finals.
"All right," Chloe said, reaching for the list of names. "How do you want to divide them up?"
Aubrey had already given this considerable thought, naturally. She pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper from her purse—a detailed organisational chart that she'd created after their earlier discussion about recruitment strategy.
"I was thinking we could split them evenly—five each," she said, spreading the paper across the table. "I've grouped them based on dormitory locations and probable whereabouts during evening hours to maximise efficiency."
And to ensure that neither of us gets stuck with a disproportionately difficult group to track down, she added mentally, studying the carefully color-coded assignments she'd created.
Chloe leaned forward to examine the chart, her expression shifting from mild amusement to genuine impressed surprise. "Aubrey, this is... incredibly detailed. You have backup locations listed, estimated travel times between dormitories, and... wait, is this a contingency plan for what to do if someone isn't in their room?"
"Preparation prevents poor performance," Aubrey said with a slight flush of pride. "I wanted to make sure we could execute this efficiently and professionally."
"Okay," Chloe said, studying the assignments more carefully. "So you're thinking I should take Stacie, Fat Amy, Jessica, Kori, and Denise. And you'll take Beca, Ashley, Lilly, Mary-Elise, and Cynthia-Rose."
"That gives us an even split," Aubrey confirmed, "and it distributes the new members based on personality types and probable difficulty levels."
I kept Beca for myself, she added silently, because something tells me she's going to be the most challenging to convince. Better that I handle her directly rather than risk Chloe's gentle approach being insufficient.
Chloe was quiet for a moment, her finger tracing down the list of names as she considered the assignments. "Are you sure you want to take Beca? I mean, not that I don't think you can handle her, but she seemed... I don't know. Maybe a little sceptical of authority?"
That's certainly one way to put it, Aubrey thought, remembering the way Beca had responded to questions during her audition—short, clipped answers delivered with the kind of barely concealed impatience that suggested she considered the entire process a waste of her time.
"Which is exactly why I should be the one to approach her," Aubrey said firmly. "If she's going to be resistant to group leadership, it's better that she understand from the beginning that the Bellas have clear expectations and standards."
"All right," Chloe said, though there was still a note of concern in her voice. "Just... try to remember that she might be nervous, okay? Some people don't respond well to high-pressure situations, and the whole bag-over-the-head thing might be genuinely scary for someone who's not expecting it."
"She'll be fine," Aubrey sighed, waving a hand dismissively. "And if she can't handle a simple initiation ceremony, then she's not Bella material anyway."
Chloe gathered up her assigned papers, tucking them carefully into her oversized tote bag along with what appeared to be at least three different colored pens and a small notebook covered in inspirational stickers. "Okay, so the plan is to find everyone, bring them to the rehearsal room in the music building, and then conduct the official initiation ceremony?"
"Exactly," Aubrey confirmed, feeling a familiar surge of satisfaction at having a clear, actionable plan. "We'll meet back at the rehearsal room at nine o'clock sharp. That should give us enough time to locate everyone and brief them on what's expected, and then we can head to the initiation party."
And if someone proves impossible to find, she thought pragmatically, we'll have to make a judgment call about whether they're really committed enough to be part of the group.
"What about the oath?" Chloe asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer. "Same as always?"
"Of course," Aubrey said, her voice carrying the kind of reverent seriousness that she reserved for the most important Bella traditions. "They'll pledge their loyalty to the group and promise to uphold our standards of excellence and exclusivity."
"Including the Treblemaker clause?" Chloe asked, looking a bit uncertain.
"Especially the Treblemaker clause," Aubrey confirmed. "That rule exists to protect the integrity of the group and prevent conflicts of interest that could compromise our competitive advantage."
And to prevent the kind of drama that destroyed previous versions of the group, she thought grimly. Romance makes people stupid, and stupid people make mistakes that cost competitions.
Chloe nodded, though Aubrey detected a slight hesitation in her expression. "Right. Of course. I just hope everyone understands that it's about maintaining focus and group unity, not about... I don't know, controlling their personal lives."
It's about winning, Aubrey thought bluntly. Everything we do needs to be about winning, because second place isn't good enough anymore.
"They'll understand," she said rather than voicing her exact thoughts. "And if they don't, we'll explain it to them until they do."
The two young women gathered their materials and prepared to leave the coffee shop, the weight of their upcoming task settling over them like a familiar costume. For Aubrey, the initiation process represented everything she loved about the Bellas—the tradition, the exclusivity, the sense of belonging to something larger and more meaningful than ordinary college activities. It was a chance to welcome new members into a sisterhood that had shaped her own university experience in profound and lasting ways.
"Ready?" Chloe asked, slinging her tote bag over her shoulder with a smile that somehow managed to be both excited and slightly apprehensive.
"Ready," Aubrey confirmed, her voice carrying the kind of determined certainty that had gotten her through vocal competitions, academic challenges, and the aftermath of last year's public humiliation. "Let's go create the next generation of Barden Bellas."
They walked toward the exit together, their footsteps echoing across the now-empty coffee shop as the barista began closing procedures for the evening. Outside, the campus was settling into its nighttime rhythm—porch lights flickering on in dormitory windows, groups of students heading toward dining halls or evening study sessions, the distant sound of music drifting from someone's open window.
Perfect conditions for initiation, Aubrey thought with satisfaction. Dark enough for drama, but not so late that we'll be dealing with security concerns.
"Good luck," Chloe said as they paused outside the coffee shop, preparing to head in different directions across campus.
"Luck has nothing to do with it," Aubrey replied, though her tone was warm rather than dismissive. "We have a plan, we have a list, and we have a clear objective. Everything else is just execution."
And execution, she added silently as they parted ways, is what separates successful groups from failures.
As Aubrey set off across the darkening campus toward her first target location, her mind was already calculating optimal routes and contingency plans with the methodical precision of someone who had learned to prepare for every possible outcome. The evening air carried a crisp autumn chill that made her pull her cardigan more tightly around her shoulders, and the amber glow of the scattered street lamps created pools of warm light that contrasted sharply with the lengthening shadows between buildings.
Her footsteps echoed with determined purpose against the concrete pathways, each stride bringing her closer to what she hoped would be the beginning of the Bellas' triumphant resurrection.
Five recruits to locate, one initiation ceremony to conduct, and then we can finally begin the real work of rebuilding this group into something worthy of championship recognition, she thought, her internal monologue carrying the same crisp authority that characterised her spoken commands. Everything depends on executing this flawlessly.
The weight of responsibility settled across her shoulders like a familiar burden—one she'd carried ever since that catastrophic night at the ICCA finals when her voice had failed her at the worst possible moment, when months of preparation and years of dreams had dissolved into humiliation and defeat. But tonight was different. Tonight was about moving forward, about creating something new from the ashes of last year's disaster.
No more dwelling on the past, she commanded herself firmly. Tonight... we start writing a different story.
Meanwhile, across campus in the fading twilight, Beca Mitchell walked with the unhurried pace of someone who had nowhere in particular to be and no pressing obligations to fulfill.
After leaving Benji at his dormitory—where he'd immediately disappeared into his room with promises to research "advanced vocal arrangement techniques" and "competitive a cappella performance strategies"—she'd found herself oddly reluctant to return to her own cramped dorm room with its sterile institutional furniture and her roommate's unwelcoming glares.
I don't even know what her deal is with me, she thought with a sigh, adjusting her well-worn leather messenger bag across her shoulder as she navigated the increasingly empty pathways that crisscrossed the university grounds. Maybe she's just even more introverted than me.
The familiar weight of her Beats headphones settled around her neck like a security blanket, ready to be deployed at the first sign of unwanted human interaction or environmental noise that threatened to disrupt the carefully curated soundtrack of her evening contemplation. The device in her pocket contained thousands of meticulously organised tracks—everything from obscure electronic remixes to underground hip-hop collaborations that she'd discovered in the dark corners of the internet where true musical innovation happened, far away from the sanitised mainstream offerings that most people seemed to accept as the pinnacle of artistic achievement.
At least now I have something potentially interesting to tell Dad when he calls to check up on my 'college experience', she reflected, her internal voice carrying a note of wry amusement at the thought of explaining her inadvertent involvement in competitive collegiate a cappella to a man who still thought her music production aspirations were a "phase" that she'd eventually grow out of in favor of something more "practical" and "stable."
The late evening air carried the distinctive scents of autumn—crisp fallen leaves mingled with the earthy dampness that preceded the region's inevitable seasonal rainfall, punctuated by the distant aroma of coffee from one of the campus's numerous caffeine dispensaries and the faint trace of someone's illicit cigarette smoke drifting from behind one of the academic buildings. It was the kind of atmospheric combination that would have inspired her to create a new mixtape under normal circumstances, something moody and introspective with underlying beats that captured the melancholic beauty of transitional seasons and liminal spaces.
Maybe something with that Portishead sample I've been sitting on, she thought, already beginning to mentally layer different sonic elements together in the experimental fashion that had become second nature after years of basement studio experimentation. Add some vinyl crackle, maybe a subtle string arrangement underneath the main beat...
Her wandering footsteps had carried her beyond the central quad area where most evening student activity typically concentrated, past the brightly lit dormitory complexes with their squares of golden window-light suggesting warmth and community and social connection—all the things that she'd spent most of her life successfully avoiding in favor of solitary creative pursuits and the kind of deep musical exploration that required extended periods of uninterrupted focus.
Not that there's anything wrong with community, she told herself with the kind of defensive internal commentary that suggested she'd had this argument with herself many times before. It's just that most people don't understand the difference between meaningless social noise and actual meaningful connection.
The music building loomed ahead of her through the gathering darkness, its building creating dramatic shadows that transformed the familiar daytime structure into something more mysterious and imposing. During regular academic hours, the building buzzed with constant activity—practice rooms filled with dedicated students working through scales and études, ensemble rehearsals that leaked fragments of classical and contemporary arrangements through inadequately soundproofed walls, the occasional heated discussion between music theory professors about the relative merits of different analytical approaches to harmonic progression.
But at this hour, with most students either studying in their dormitories or engaging in whatever social activities passed for entertainment in small college towns, the building stood largely empty and silent, its windows reflecting the amber streetlight like watchful eyes observing her solitary passage through the increasingly deserted campus landscape.
Perfect, she thought with satisfaction, recognising the area behind the music building as exactly the kind of isolated, atmospheric location that would provide the ideal backdrop for some serious musical contemplation. No chattering freshmen, no overeager RAs trying to organise 'community building activities', just me and whatever sonic inspiration decides to strike.
She rounded the corner behind the building, leaving the ambient glow of the main campus lighting behind in favor of the deeper shadows cast by the music building's imposing stone facade. The area was even more secluded than she'd anticipated—a small courtyard-like space bounded by the building's rear wall and a grove of mature evergreen trees that effectively blocked most of the surrounding light pollution and created a pocket of genuine quiet that felt almost sacred in its separation from the constant background hum of university life.
This is exactly what I needed, she realised, feeling some of the tension she hadn't even been aware of carrying begin to ease from her shoulders and neck. Just... space. Silence. The chance to actually think without someone trying to engage me in conversation about meal plans or roommate compatibility or whatever other social obligations everyone else seems to think are essential to the 'authentic college experience'.
She was reaching into her bag to retrieve her laptop when the world suddenly, violently, went dark.
The sensation was disorienting in the most fundamental way possible—one moment she was standing in the peaceful semi-darkness of the secluded courtyard, mentally preparing to lose herself in the kind of deep musical meditation that had become her primary coping mechanism for navigating an increasingly chaotic world, and the next moment something heavy and suffocating had been pulled down over her head, blocking out all light and most sound while filling her nostrils with the musty scent of what felt like rough canvas or burlap.
What the actual fuck— was as far as her conscious thought process managed to progress before pure, adrenaline-fueled panic took over, flooding her nervous system with the kind of primal fight-or-flight response that bypassed rational analysis entirely in favor of immediate, desperate action.
Her first instinct was to scream—a sound that emerged from her throat as a raw, wordless expression of terror and outrage that echoed off the surrounding stone walls with startling volume. The bag over her head muffled the sound somewhat, but not enough to prevent it from carrying across the empty courtyard and potentially alerting anyone within a considerable radius that something was very, very wrong.
Jesus fucking Christ, this is exactly like those horror stories everyone always shares about women getting attacked on college campuses because they were walking alone at night with their headphones on, too distracted to notice someone approaching until it was too late—
Her second instinct was to fight, and she threw herself into it with the kind of desperate fury that came from genuine fear for her personal safety. Her arms flailed wildly as she tried to grab at whatever was restraining her, her legs kicked out in every direction as she attempted to make contact with her attacker, and her entire body twisted and thrashed with the uncoordinated but determined violence of someone who had absolutely no intention of going quietly into whatever nightmare scenario was unfolding around her.
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" She screamed, her voice cracking with the strain of trying to project through the heavy fabric that covered her head. "HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME! I'VE GOT A RAPE WHISTLE AND I AM NOT AFRAID TO—"
"Oh for Christ's sake, would you shut up and stop thrashing around like that??" came a sharp, exasperated female voice from somewhere behind her, the tone carrying a note of authority that suggested whoever was speaking was accustomed to being obeyed without question. "You are going to cause a scene and bring half of campus security running over here, which is exactly what we don't need right now."
The voice was familiar in a way that made Beca's panicked brain struggle to process the incongruity between the situation she thought she was in and the reality of what was apparently actually happening. This wasn't the gruff, menacing tone she would have expected from someone intent on dragging her off to commit unspeakable crimes—this was the crisp, no-nonsense voice of someone who sounded more annoyed than malicious, more frustrated by her resistance than excited by her vulnerability.
Wait, she thought, her struggling becoming slightly less frantic as confusion began to compete with terror for dominance in her emotional landscape. I know that voice. That's... that's the blonde girl from auditions. The one who looked like she wanted to dissect every note I sang to determine whether I was worthy of breathing the same air as her precious a cappella group. Isn't It?
"Who the hell are you?" She demanded, though her voice carried less of the raw panic that had characterised her initial screams and more of the suspicious hostility that was her default response to unexpected social interactions. "What do you want? If this is some kind of robbery, I should probably warn you that I'm a broke college student with approximately fifteen dollars in my bank account and a laptop that's held together with electrical tape and good intentions."
"This isn't a robbery, don't be so ridiculous," the voice replied with the kind of patient exasperation typically reserved for dealing with particularly slow children or willfully obtuse adults. "This is Aubrey Posen, from the Bellas auditions. You know, the group you supposedly wanted to join badly enough to show up and sing for us?"
Aubrey Posen, Beca repeated mentally, the name clicking into place alongside a mental image of perfectly styled blonde hair, impeccable posture, and the kind of intensely focused green eyes that suggested their owner took everything in life approximately seventeen times more seriously than any reasonable person should. The captain. The one who looked like she was personally offended by my existence and my audition choices and probably my entire approach to life in general.
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Beca asked, her voice rising with a combination of relief that she probably wasn't about to be murdered and outrage at the realisation of what was actually happening. "You put a bag over my head? What is this, some kind of cult initiation? Because I should probably mention that I didn't know I was signing up for a cult. I just thought I was joining a singing group, not some kind of ritualistic organisation that kidnaps people under cover of darkness."
A cult, she thought with growing alarm. Oh my God, what if the Bellas are actually some kind of weird sorority-adjacent cult that uses a cappella music as a front for bizarre hazing rituals and questionable group psychology experiments? What if I've accidentally gotten myself involved in one of those situations you read about in true crime podcasts where seemingly normal college activities turn out to be elaborate schemes for—
"It's not a cult," Aubrey said, her tone carrying the kind of forced patience that suggested she'd had this conversation before and found it tedious in the extreme. "It's tradition. It's initiation. It's the way the Bellas have welcomed new members for literally decades, and it's designed to create bonds of trust and commitment that will serve the group well during competitive performance situations."
Tradition, Beca repeated sceptically in her head. Right. Because nothing says "welcome to our friendly singing group" like assault and kidnapping.
"This is insane," she said aloud, though she noticed that her physical struggling had largely ceased now that she understood the basic parameters of what was happening. "You realise this is actually illegal, right? Like, putting bags over people's heads and dragging them around campus without their consent is literally the definition of kidnapping, regardless of whatever 'traditions' you think justify it."
"Oh my God," Aubrey replied, her voice taking on the kind of sharp edge that suggested her patience was rapidly approaching its natural limits. "Would you please just shut up and come with me? The sooner we get through this process, the sooner you can go back to whatever antisocial activities you had planned for the evening."
'Antisocial activities', Beca thought indignantly. Like that's automatically a bad thing. Some of us prefer meaningful solitude to meaningless social noise, thank you very much.
But despite her ongoing philosophical objections to the entire situation, she found herself allowing Aubrey to guide her forward through what felt like a complex series of turns and directional changes that suggested they were making their way across campus via some kind of predetermined route designed to avoid areas with heavy foot traffic or adequate lighting.
This is absolutely insane, she thought as she stumbled slightly on what felt like an uneven section of sidewalk, her hands instinctively reaching out for balance while the bag over her head made it impossible to see potential obstacles or hazards. I'm being led around campus by someone who's apparently the captain of a competitive singing group that conducts initiation ceremonies like they're some kind of secret society from a Gothic novel.
The journey seemed to last forever, though Beca's disoriented state made it difficult to accurately judge either time or distance. The sounds around her shifted as they moved—the distant hum of dormitory activity giving way to the quieter atmosphere of academic buildings, the occasional sound of footsteps or voices that suggested other people were present but apparently uninterested in investigating why someone was being led around campus with a bag over her head.
Either this kind of thing happens often enough that nobody thinks it's worth getting involved, she mused, or college students are even more oblivious to their surroundings than I thought possible.
Eventually, their movement stopped, and Beca heard the distinctive sound of a key being inserted into a lock, followed by the creak of what was presumably a heavy door opening. The acoustic quality of the space they entered suggested they were now inside a large room with high ceilings and hard surfaces that created a subtle echo—probably somewhere in one of the academic buildings, though the bag over her head made it impossible to gather more specific environmental information.
"Stay here," Aubrey commanded, her tone carrying the kind of absolute authority that suggested she was accustomed to being obeyed without question or delay. "Don't move, don't try to remove the bag, and don't make any unnecessary noise. We're waiting for the other new members to arrive, and then we can proceed with the official ceremony."
Other new members, Beca realised. Right. She said there were ten of us newbies in total. Which means nine other people are going through this exact same ridiculous experience right now—getting kidnapped by their respective Bella captors and led around campus like some kind of bizarre trust-building exercise.
She stood in what she assumed was the center of the room, the bag still firmly secured over her head, trying to process the surreal nature of her current situation. Twenty-four hours ago, her biggest concern had been whether to skip her morning music theory lecture in favor of working on a new remix project. Now she was standing blindfolded in what was probably the music building, waiting for a group initiation ceremony conducted by people who apparently took competitive collegiate a cappella seriously enough to engage in quasi-legal kidnapping activities.
This is what I get for letting that crazy redhead convince me to step outside my comfort zone, she thought with a mixture of resignation and dark amusement. Next time someone ambushes me in the shower and starts singing, I'm just going to pretend I don't speak English and hope they go away.
The minutes passed with agonising slowness, punctuated by occasional sounds that suggested other people were being brought into the room—footsteps, muffled voices, what sounded like similar protests and confusion from other bag-wearing initiates who were presumably experiencing the same disorienting introduction to Bella traditions that she had just endured.
At least I'm not the only one who thinks this is completely insane, she thought as she heard another female voice expressing sentiments that echoed her own concerns about the legality and sanity of the entire process.
"I heard that having a bag over your head for extended periods can lead to oxygen deprivation and potential suffocation," came a worried voice from somewhere to her left—a statement that immediately made Beca more acutely aware of the fact that the heavy fabric covering her head was indeed making breathing somewhat more difficult than usual.
Great, she thought. Now I'm going to spend the rest of this ridiculous ceremony obsessing about whether I'm getting adequate oxygen flow, which is exactly the kind of anxiety-inducing detail I needed to make this experience even more surreal and uncomfortable.
"Just be quiet and wait," came Aubrey's sharp response, her tone suggesting that she found these concerns about basic physiological safety to be tedious interruptions to the smooth execution of her carefully planned initiation process.
Jesus Christ, Beca thought, beginning to understand why Benji had been so vague about the "puking incident" from the previous year's ICCA finals. If this is how they treat their own new members, I can only imagine what kind of pressure they put on themselves during actual competitions.
The room gradually filled with what she assumed were her fellow initiates, based on the increasing number of voices expressing various degrees of confusion, concern, and outright objection to their current circumstances. Some sounded excited despite the bizarre nature of the situation—she could hear someone with an Australian accent making what appeared to be jokes about the whole process—while others seemed genuinely distressed by the combination of sensory deprivation and uncertainty about what was expected of them.
The waiting continued, punctuated by Aubrey's occasional sharp commands for silence whenever someone's anxiety or curiosity got the better of their ability to stand quietly in uncomfortable circumstances.
This is like some kind of bizarre social experiment, Beca thought. Take a bunch of strangers who have nothing in common except the ability to carry a tune, deprive them of visual information, put them in an unfamiliar environment, and see how they respond to authority and group pressure.
Actually, she added with a touch of dark humour, that's probably exactly what this is. College is just one big social experiment anyway, and competitive a cappella is probably just a more concentrated version of all the weird dynamics that govern how people interact when they're thrown together in artificial communities.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably closer to thirty or forty minutes, Aubrey's voice cut through the background murmur of anxious conversation with the kind of commanding presence that suggested the official portion of the evening was about to begin.
"Ladies," she announced, her tone carrying the formal authority of someone conducting a ceremony of genuine significance, "welcome to the Barden Bellas."
And despite all her scepticism about the methods involved, despite her ongoing concerns about the legality and sanity of the entire initiation process, despite her general resistance to group activities and institutional traditions, Beca felt a small, unexpected flutter of anticipation in her stomach as she waited to see what would happen next.
Well, she thought, I guess I'm about to find out what I've actually gotten myself into.
Notes:
mitchsen finally meet in this fanfic! I promise, the next chapters will be far more interesting 😭
Chapter 3: Swears and Software.
Summary:
The Bellas oaths take place, and Beca has a strange interaction at initiation night that leaves her with a lot of things to think about.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Ladies," Aubrey announced, her tone carrying the formal authority of someone conducting a ceremony of genuine significance, "welcome to the Barden Bellas."
The words carried a weight that seemed to settle over the assembled group like a velvet curtain, heavy with tradition and expectation. Beca could feel the anticipation crackling through the air around her—a palpable energy that suggested whatever was about to happen next would fundamentally alter the trajectory of their collegiate experiences in ways both profound and irreversible.
Jesus Christ, she thought, acutely aware of the theatrical nature of the entire proceedings while simultaneously finding herself inexplicably drawn into the ritualistic atmosphere that Aubrey had so carefully orchestrated. She really is treating this like some kind of sacred ceremony. Like we're about to be inducted into the Illuminati or something equally melodramatic and historically significant.
"First," Aubrey continued, her voice taking on the measured cadence of someone reciting ancient liturgy, "we must properly introduce our newest sisters according to their vocal classifications."
The ceremonial introduction began with a flourish that would have made Broadway producers weep with envy. Aubrey's voice rang out across the darkened rehearsal room with crystalline precision, each syllable articulated with the kind of perfect diction that spoke of years of classical vocal training and countless hours spent in front of mirrors practicing proper mouth position and breath support.
"Our sopranos," she announced, her tone carrying the reverent respect typically reserved for discussing religious figures or deceased literary masters, "the celestial voices that will carry our melodies to heights of transcendent beauty and emotional resonance—Jessica, whose purity of tone rivals that of renaissance angel choirs; Mary-Elise, whose vibrato control demonstrates technical mastery beyond her years; and Lilly, whose mysterious vocal quality adds an ethereal dimension to our ensemble arrangements."
Renaissance angel choirs, Beca thought with barely concealed amusement as she desperately held in a bewildered laugh. She's really going all out with the dramatic descriptions here. I wonder if she practiced this speech in front of a mirror, complete with hand gestures and theatrical lighting effects.
"Our mezzos," Aubrey continued, her voice rising with the kind of dramatic enthusiasm typically associated with opera performances or Shakespearean soliloquies, "the versatile voices that provide harmonic richness and melodic flexibility to our most complex arrangements—Cynthia-Rose, whose soulful delivery brings emotional depth to every phrase; Stacie, whose technical precision and natural stage presence elevate the entire ensemble's performance quality; and Kori, whose vocal agility allows for sophisticated ornamentation and improvisation."
Vocal agility and sophisticated ornamentation, Beca translated mentally. Translation: she can do those annoying runs that every wannabe American Idol contestant thinks make them sound professional but actually just demonstrate that they don't understand the difference between technical skill and musical taste.
Finally, Aubrey's ceremonial introductions reached the vocal section that would determine Beca's own identity within the group's carefully constructed hierarchy—a moment that felt simultaneously anticlimactic and oddly significant, like crossing a threshold that couldn't be uncrossed once she'd officially accepted her designated role in whatever musical drama was about to unfold.
"And finally," Aubrey intoned with the kind of reverent solemnity typically reserved for discussing martyred saints or fallen war heroes, "our altos—the foundational voices that provide harmonic stability and rhythmic drive to our most challenging performance pieces. These women are the backbone of our ensemble, the steady heartbeat that allows our sopranos to soar and our mezzos to explore their most adventurous melodic territories."
Backbone of the ensemble, Beca repeated, unsure whether to feel flattered by the description or insulted by its implication that altos were somehow less creatively important than their higher-voiced counterparts. So basically we're the musical equivalent of roadies—essential for making everything work, but not glamorous enough to get top billing.
"Fat Amy," Aubrey continued, "whose distinctive vocal texture and fearless performance style bring unique character to our traditional arrangements; Denise, whose reliability and consistent intonation provide harmonic security during our most technically demanding passages; Ashley, whose gentle vibrato and natural musicality enhance the emotional impact of our ballad selections..."
Jesus, Beca thought as she listened to Aubrey's elaborate descriptions of her new section-mates, she really has done her homework on everyone's vocal characteristics. Either she has an incredible ear for individual voice qualities, or she's been taking extremely detailed notes during every audition, complete with psychological profiles and potential group dynamic assessments.
The anticipation in the room had reached an almost unbearable level of intensity by the time Aubrey's introductory speech approached its conclusion. Beca could feel her heart rate increasing as she waited for her own name to be called, acutely aware that whatever description Aubrey chose to give her would effectively establish her identity within the group for the foreseeable future—a thought that filled her with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension about how the Bella captain perceived her attitude, abilities, and potential contributions to the ensemble.
"And Beca," Aubrey announced, her voice carrying a subtle note of something that might have been challenge or assessment, "who is here to help solidify the Bellas' tradition along with everybody else."
Wh—that's it?? Beca thought, only for her thought to get cut off as she felt the suffocating weight of the bag being lifted from her head with a swift, dramatic gesture that left her blinking in confusion as her eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden change in lighting conditions. The transition from complete darkness to the room's current illumination was disorienting enough that it took several long moments before she could fully process her surroundings and begin to understand the theatrical scope of the ceremony that Aubrey had orchestrated for their initiation.
Holy fucking shit, was her first coherent thought as her vision cleared enough to take in the elaborate stage dressing that had transformed the ordinary music building rehearsal room into something resembling a cross between a medieval monastery and a horror movie set.
The overhead fluorescent lights had been extinguished entirely, leaving the room's illumination to be provided exclusively by what appeared to be dozens of candles arranged in precise formations along every available surface—the rehearsal room's upright piano, the long tables that normally held sheet music and water bottles, the window sills, even the floor itself where clusters of votive candles created pools of flickering amber light that cast dancing shadows across the institutional beige walls and created an atmosphere of mystical solemnity that bordered on the supernatural.
This is like something out of a Gothic novel, she realised, taking in the dramatic lighting effects with a mixture of artistic appreciation and growing concern about the level of commitment that her new group-mates had demonstrated toward what she'd assumed would be a relatively straightforward musical extracurricular activity. They didn't just organise a simple welcome ceremony—she created an entire theatrical production complete with mood lighting and choreographed reveals.
The candles cast an eerie, wavering glow that made everyone's faces look gaunt and mysterious, their features alternately highlighted and obscured by the constantly shifting play of light and shadow. The effect was simultaneously beautiful and unsettling—like being inside a living painting where the subjects might step out of their frames at any moment and reveal themselves to be something other than what they initially appeared.
But before she could fully process the implications of her current environment, Aubrey's voice cut through her observations with the kind of commanding presence that demanded immediate attention regardless of whatever private thoughts might be competing for mental priority.
"Now," the Bella captain announced, lifting what appeared to be an ornate chalice filled with dark, crimson liquid that caught the candlelight in ways that made it appear to glow with an inner fire, "we will begin by drinking the blood of the Bella sisters that came before us—a sacred communion that will bind you to the generations of women who have worn these colors with pride and excellence."
What.
Oh my God, Beca thought, her heart rate spiking as she stared at the goblet in Aubrey's hands with growing alarm. This is totally a cult. They want us to drink actual human blood. This has gone from weird collegiate hazing to legitimate criminal activity faster than I ever thought possible.
The crimson liquid in the chalice seemed to pulse with malevolent energy in the flickering candlelight, its surface reflecting the ambient illumination in ways that made it appear thick and viscous—exactly like the blood of whatever unfortunate previous Bella members had apparently been sacrificed to maintain the group's dark traditions. Beca's mind raced through the implications of what she was being asked to participate in, calculating the legal and health consequences of consuming human blood while simultaneously trying to figure out how to extract herself from the situation without triggering whatever violent response such groups typically reserved for initiates who attempted to leave before completing their ritualistic obligations.
Jesus Christ, what have I gotten myself into!? she thought desperately, her internal voice a low hiss as if the others would somehow be able to read her mind. This is like every urban legend about college secret societies come to life, except instead of mysterious men in robes conducting ceremonies in hidden basement chambers, it's a bunch of women who take competitive singing way too seriously!
Chloe stepped forward with fluid grace, accepting the ceremonial chalice from Aubrey with the kind of reverent care typically reserved for handling religious artifacts or priceless antiques. Her movements were deliberate and practiced, suggesting that she'd participated in this particular ritual before—a realisation that only increased Beca's growing sense of panic about what she'd inadvertently committed herself to by accepting membership in what was clearly a dangerous cult organisation masquerading as a legitimate student activity.
The red-haired co-captain approached Beca with measured steps, the goblet held carefully in both hands as she moved through the circle of new initiates with the solemnity of a priestess conducting ancient religious rites. Her expression was serene and confident, showing no trace of the moral conflict or ethical uncertainty that Beca would have expected from someone who was about to participate in ritualistic blood consumption.
She must have done this before, Beca realised with mounting horror. Multiple times. This can't be some spontaneous dramatic gesture—this must be an established tradition that they've been perpetuating for years, which means there are probably dozens of previous victims whose blood they've collected and preserved for exactly this kind of ceremony.
As Chloe drew closer, Beca could smell something emanating from the chalice that didn't quite match her expectations of what human blood should smell like—there was something almost fruity about the aroma, with underlying notes that suggested fermentation rather than the metallic scent she associated with actual blood. But her panic was too intense to allow for careful analysis of olfactory evidence, and she simply assumed that whatever preservation methods the Bellas used for their ritualistic blood supply had altered its natural characteristics.
"Dude, no." Beca blurted out firmly, taking a half-step backward as Chloe extended the goblet toward her with encouraging smile that looked distinctly sinister in the flickering candlelight.
I don't care if it means they kick me out of the group, she added silently. I don't care if it means disappointing Benji and having to explain to my dad why I couldn't even maintain membership in a simple college singing group. There are some lines I will not cross, and ritual blood consumption is definitely one of them. I just hope they don't... I don't know, eat me or something as punishment for saying no.
Chloe's expression shifted to one of gentle amusement, and she leaned closer to Beca with the kind of conspiratorial intimacy that suggested she was about to share a significant secret. When she spoke, her voice was pitched low enough that only Beca could hear her words over the ambient sound of nervous breathing and whispered conversations among the other initiates.
"Don't worry," she whispered, her breath warm against Beca's ear as she delivered what was apparently meant to be reassuring information, "it's Boone's Farm."
Oh.
Boone's Farm, Beca repeated mentally, her panic-stricken brain taking several long moments to process the significance of this revelation. Boone's Farm wine. Cheap, artificially flavored, college-student-budget wine that happens to come in colors that look disturbingly similar to blood when viewed in dramatically insufficient lighting conditions.
The relief that flooded through her nervous system was so intense that she actually felt lightheaded for a moment, the adrenaline that had been preparing her for fight-or-flight responses gradually dissipating as her rational mind reasserted control over her fear-driven imagination. They weren't asking her to participate in ritualistic blood consumption—they were asking her to take a ceremonial sip of what was probably strawberry or cherry flavored wine that had been selected specifically for its dramatic visual impact rather than its actual connection to previous Bella members.
Jesus fucking Christ, she thought with a mixture of relief and embarrassment at how completely she'd allowed her imagination to run away with the situation. Of course it's just wine. Of course they're not actually conducting human sacrifices in the music building rehearsal room. The Bellas are a college a cappella group, not a branch of the fucking Manson family.
With her panic subsiding enough to allow for more rational decision-making, Beca accepted the chalice from Chloe and took a tentative sip of the liquid inside. The taste confirmed her co-captain's whispered explanation—it was indeed cheap, overly sweet wine with artificial fruit flavoring that had been chosen more for its dramatic appearance than its palatability. The liquid was room temperature and had the kind of cloying aftertaste that suggested it had been purchased from the bottom shelf of whatever liquor store was closest to campus and most willing to overlook questionable identification.
At least it's not actually blood, she thought as she passed the chalice to the next initiate in line. Though I have to admit, the theatrical presentation was pretty effective. For a minute there, I genuinely believed I'd accidentally joined some kind of murderous secret society.
The ceremonial wine made its way around the circle of new Bellas, with each woman taking her ritualistic sip before passing the goblet to her neighbour. Some of the other initiates seemed to approach the experience with genuine reverence, treating the moment as a sacred communion with the group's history and traditions. Others—particularly Fat Amy, whose irreverent commentary could be heard even during the most solemn moments of the ceremony—seemed to view it as an opportunity for dramatic performance and social bonding rather than spiritual connection.
At least I'm not the only one who finds this whole thing slightly ridiculous, Beca observed as she watched her new group-mates navigate the various levels of sincerity and scepticism that the ceremony seemed to inspire in different personalities.
Once the wine had completed its circuit and returned to Aubrey's possession, the Bella captain set the empty chalice aside with the kind of careful deliberation that suggested the ritual portion of the evening was far from complete. If anything, the ceremonial wine consumption seemed to have been merely an appetiser for whatever more elaborate traditions were yet to come.
"Now," Aubrey announced, her voice carrying renewed authority as she moved to a table that had been arranged with what appeared to be carefully folded fabric items, "we proceed to the most sacred aspect of our initiation ceremony—the administration of the Bella oath, which will bind each of you to the principles, standards, and commitments that define our organisation."
'The oath', Beca thought with growing apprehension. Because of course there's an oath. Secret societies always have oaths, complete with penalties for betrayal and elaborate language about honor and commitment and whatever other psychological manipulation techniques they use to ensure loyalty.
Aubrey lifted what appeared to be a collection of scarves from the table—strips of fabric in the distinctive blue and yellow colors that Beca vaguely remembered seeing worn by past Bellas during performances Benji had shown her. The scarves had clearly been chosen for their symbolic significance rather than their fashion appeal, and they carried the kind of formal weight that suggested they were meant to represent something more profound than simple group identification.
Blue and yellow, she noted. The official Bella colors, I guess. Which means these scarves are probably going to become part of some kind of uniform requirement for performances and official group functions.
"These scarves," Aubrey explained with the reverent tone she seemed to reserve for discussing the most important aspects of Bella tradition, "represent your commitment to excellence, your dedication to the group's success, and your willingness to uphold the standards that have made the Barden Bellas one of the most respected collegiate a cappella organisations in the nation."
Most respected, Beca repeated mentally, wondering whether that assessment was based on actual objective measures of success or simply Aubrey's personal conviction about the group's significance within the broader landscape of competitive collegiate music. Though I guess after last year's puking incident—whatever that was—they probably need to rebuild their reputation from whatever damage was done. Jesus, I really do need to look into whatever that was.
The scarves were distributed with ceremonial precision, and Chloe began to speak. "Place your Bella scarves in your right hand," she instructed with gentle authority, her voice carrying the kind of patient guidance that suggested she genuinely wanted every new member to feel comfortable and confident during the ceremony, despite its inherently unusual and potentially intimidating nature.
Beca followed the instructions along with her fellow initiates, the fabric feeling smooth and slightly cool against her palm as she arranged it according to the prescribed ceremonial requirements. Around her, she could hear the other new Bellas making small adjustments to their scarf positions, clearly taking the symbolic aspects of the ritual seriously even if they didn't fully understand the underlying significance of the various elements they were being asked to perform.
"Now," Aubrey announced, her voice taking on the formal cadence of someone conducting a legal proceeding or religious ceremony, "repeat after me as I guide you through the sacred words that will bind you to our sisterhood and establish your commitment to the principles that define Bella excellence."
Sacred words, Beca repeated mentally. Sisterhood. Principles of excellence. She's really going all out with the dramatic language here, like we're about to take vows to join a medieval order of warrior nuns or something equally historically significant.
"'I,'" Aubrey began, her voice ringing out across the candlelit rehearsal room with crystalline clarity, "sing your name."
The response from the assembled new Bellas was immediate but far from harmonious. Ten different voices singing their names simultaneously created a cacophonous blend of overlapping melodies, conflicting rhythms, and clashing harmonies that produced exactly the kind of musical disaster that Beca had always feared would result from group singing situations. The sound was so discordant and unpleasant that several of the participants visibly winced, while others struggled to maintain their vocal confidence in the face of the obvious musical chaos they were collectively creating.
Jesus fucking Christ, Beca thought as she added her own voice to the melodic catastrophe unfolding around her. We sound like a group of tone-deaf cats being tortured by someone with no understanding of basic music theory. If this is representative of our collective musical abilities, we're going to need a lot more practice before we're ready for any kind of public performance.
Aubrey's reaction to the musical disaster was carefully controlled but clearly visible to anyone who knew how to read the subtle signs of professional disappointment and barely contained frustration. Her smile remained fixed in place with the kind of determined cheerfulness that suggested she was making a conscious effort to maintain ceremonial dignity despite the obvious evidence that her new recruits were going to require significant musical development before they could be considered performance-ready.
She's trying so hard to look encouraging, Beca observed, noting the slight tightness around Aubrey's eyes that betrayed her true feelings about the group's initial harmonic attempt. But she's clearly horrified by how terrible we sound together. Which doesn't bode well for whatever musical standards she's expecting us to achieve.
"Excellent," Aubrey said with the kind of forced enthusiasm that fooled absolutely no one but served to maintain the ceremonial momentum that she'd worked so hard to establish. "Now repeat after me: 'comest fulfill the duties and responsibilities of a Bella woman.'"
The collective recitation of this portion of the oath went somewhat more smoothly than their earlier name-singing attempt, primarily because speaking in unison required less musical coordination than the previous harmonic disaster they'd attempted. But even the simple process of repeating Aubrey's words revealed significant differences in the group members' comfort levels with the formal, ritualistic language they were being asked to recite.
Some of these girls are really into this whole ceremony thing, Beca noted as she listened to the varying levels of enthusiasm and conviction in her fellow initiates' voices. While others sound like they're just going through the motions to get to whatever comes next. Which probably means we've got a pretty diverse range of attitudes toward group commitment and traditional structures.
But it was Aubrey's final instruction that truly captured Beca's attention and crystallised her growing understanding of exactly what kind of organisation she had agreed to join.
"And finally," the Bella captain announced, her voice carrying a note of particular solemnity that suggested this final element of the oath was considered especially significant, "repeat after me: 'And I solemnly promise to never have sexual relations with a Treblemaker, or may my vocal cords be ripped out by wolves.'"
Okay, back to the weird shit.
What the actual fuck, was Beca's immediate mental response to this unexpected and bizarrely specific prohibition. They have a rule against sleeping with members of the rival a cappella group, complete with a ritualistic curse involving wolf-related vocal cord mutilation? What kind of elaborate inter-group rivalry have I stumbled into here?
The implications of this particular oath component were staggering in their scope and specificity. Not only were the Bellas apparently engaged in some kind of serious competitive relationship with the Treblemakers that went far beyond normal collegiate rivalry, but they considered romantic or sexual contact between members of the two groups to be such a significant threat to their organisational integrity that they required new members to swear a formal oath avoiding such relationships.
Huh, she thought with growing realisation. Aubrey really doesn't seem to like the Trebles. This isn't just about competitive rivalry—this is about maintaining some kind of absolute separation between the two groups that extends into their personal lives and romantic choices.
The enforcement mechanism specified in the oath—having one's vocal cords ripped out by wolves—was so dramatically over-the-top that it had to be intended as metaphorical rather than literal. But the fact that such extreme language had been incorporated into their official membership ceremony suggested that the prohibition against Treblemaker relationships was considered deadly serious by the group's leadership.
Either this is some kind of elaborate joke that everyone except me is in on, Beca reasoned, or the competitive relationship between these two groups is way more intense and personal than I ever would have imagined based on their status as college extracurricular activities.
The collective recitation of this final oath component was notably more hesitant and uncertain than the previous portions had been. Several voices carried clear notes of confusion or concern about the unusual specificity of the prohibition, while others seemed to find the dramatic language amusing rather than genuinely binding. But everyone participated in the collective recitation, suggesting that whatever reservations individual members might have about the Treblemaker clause, they were willing to accept it as part of their commitment to group membership.
With the completion of the oath recitation, the formal ceremonial portion of the evening appeared to have reached its conclusion.
"You are all Bellas now," Aubrey said dramatically as she moved to the light switches with theatrical precision, and the sudden illumination of the overhead fluorescent fixtures created a jarring transition from the mystical, candlelit atmosphere that had defined the initiation ceremony to the harsh, institutional reality of the music building rehearsal room.
Back to reality, Beca thought as her eyes adjusted to the bright fluorescent lighting that revealed the true scope of Aubrey's elaborate stage dressing. Though I have to admit, the candle thing was pretty effective from a dramatic standpoint. Very Gothic romance novel meets collegiate secret society.
The change in lighting seemed to trigger an immediate shift in the group's energy and behavior. The solemn, ritualistic atmosphere that had characterised the oath ceremony dissolved almost instantly, replaced by the kind of excited, celebratory chaos that typically followed the successful completion of challenging or significant group activities.
"We're BELLAS!!" Someone screamed with the kind of pure, unfiltered joy that suggested they'd been waiting years for exactly this moment of acceptance and belonging.
The exclamation seemed to give the rest of the group permission to express their own excitement and relief at having successfully navigated the initiation process. Voices rose in celebration, squeals of delight echoed off the rehearsal room walls, and several of the new members began hugging each other with the kind of spontaneous affection that emerges when groups of strangers successfully bond over shared unusual experiences.
And there's the payoff, Beca observed as she watched her fellow initiates celebrate their new status with uninhibited enthusiasm. All the weird ritualistic stuff was designed to create exactly this moment—where everyone feels like they've achieved something significant together and bonded over the shared experience of participating in bizarre group traditions.
Fat Amy's voice rose above the general celebration with characteristic irreverence: "Does this mean we get to wear the pretty scarves to parties now? Because I have several outfit combinations in mind that would really showcase the blue and yellow color scheme."
But despite the general atmosphere of celebration and excitement that filled the rehearsal room, Beca found herself standing somewhat apart from the collective euphoria, observing the scene with the kind of analytical detachment that had become her default response to group activities and social bonding experiences.
This is exactly the kind of thing I usually avoid, she realised as she watched her new group-mates embrace and congratulate each other with genuine enthusiasm. Group celebrations, collective emotional experiences, ritualistic bonding activities—everything about this situation is designed to create the kind of intense social connections that I've spent most of my life successfully avoiding.
The real test, she told herself, will be whatever comes next. The actual singing, the competitive performances, the group dynamics when we're not all high on initiation ceremony endorphins and cheap wine.
But for now, she added, watching Chloe organise the excited new Bellas into something resembling a cohesive group photo opportunity, I guess I'm officially a Barden Bella. Whatever that actually means.
And standing there in the fluorescent-lit rehearsal room, surrounded by women who were still celebrating their successful navigation of one of the most bizarre initiation ceremonies she'd ever imagined, Beca Mitchell found herself cautiously curious about what exactly she'd gotten herself into.
Time will tell, she thought. Time will definitely tell.
The transition from the ritualistic solemnity of the initiation ceremony to the chaotic revelry of what Aubrey had formally designated as "Hood Night" was so abrupt and jarring that Beca felt as though she'd been transported through some kind of temporal portal that connected parallel universes governed by entirely different social physics and behavioral expectations.
One moment they had been standing in the candlelit rehearsal room, surrounded by the mystical atmosphere of ancient traditions and ceremonial wine consumption, and the next they were being herded through the corridors of the music building like a group of recently liberated prisoners being released into a world they no longer fully recognised or understood.
Hood Night, Beca repeated mentally as she followed her fellow newly-minted Bellas through the building's main entrance and back onto the campus proper, where the cool evening air carried the distant sounds of music, laughter, and the kind of boisterous social interaction that characterised college parties across the nation. Because apparently every aspect of this experience needs to have its own special terminology and ceremonial significance. We can't just call it 'the after-party' like normal people—it has to be Hood Night, with all the mysterious implications that such a title suggests.
The campus had undergone its own transformation during the hours they'd spent sequestered in the music building. What had been a relatively quiet, academic environment during the late afternoon had evolved into something resembling a small festival, with clusters of students gathered around various outdoor locations, music spilling from dormitory windows, and the kind of heightened energy that emerged when large numbers of young people came together for the express purpose of celebrating their collective escape from academic responsibility and social inhibition.
It's like the entire university turns into a different place after dark, she observed, noting how the familiar daytime landscape of walkways, benches, and study spaces had been repurposed into an elaborate network of social gathering points and impromptu entertainment venues. During the day, everyone's focused on classes and studying and maintaining the illusion of serious academic commitment. But as soon as the sun goes down, it all transforms into this massive social experiment where everyone gets to try on different versions of themselves.
Aubrey had positioned herself at the head of their small procession with the kind of natural authority that suggested she viewed the transition from sacred ceremony to secular celebration as yet another opportunity to demonstrate leadership and maintain group cohesion. Her posture remained perfectly erect despite the evening's earlier ritual consumption of cheap wine, and her voice carried its characteristic note of commanding clarity as she addressed the assembled new Bellas with what was clearly a prepared speech about behavioral expectations and reputational responsibility.
"Ladies," she announced, her tone managing to be both celebratory and cautionary simultaneously, "you are now official members of the Barden Bellas, which means that everything you do from this moment forward reflects not only on your individual character but on the reputation and standing of our entire organisation within the broader university community."
Of course there's a speech about behavioral expectations, Beca thought with resigned amusement. Because apparently joining a college singing group means accepting responsibility for maintaining the moral integrity of everyone who's ever worn the blue and yellow scarves. No pressure or anything.
Aubrey's eyes swept across the group with the kind of penetrating intensity that suggested she was mentally cataloguing each individual's potential for causing embarrassment or scandal, calculating risk factors and developing contingency plans for whatever social disasters might emerge from allowing ten new members to interact freely with the broader campus population while under the influence of ceremonial wine and post-initiation euphoria.
"The aca-initiation party," she continued, her voice taking on the formal cadence that seemed to emerge whenever she discussed topics of particular importance to group welfare, "is a time-honored tradition that allows new members of all collegiate a cappella organisations to celebrate their achievements and begin building the interpersonal relationships that will serve as the foundation for successful collaborative performance throughout the academic year."
Interpersonal relationships, Beca translated mentally. Translation: everyone's going to get drunk and make out with people they barely know, and somehow we're supposed to turn that into the basis for successful musical collaboration. College is weird.
"However," Aubrey's tone sharpened with the kind of subtle warning that suggested she was about to articulate consequences for behavior that failed to meet her exacting standards, "I want to remind each of you that your conduct tonight will establish your reputation within the competitive a cappella community, and that reputation will follow you throughout your tenure as Barden Bellas."
'Your tenure as Barden Bellas', Beca mentally repeated, noting how Aubrey's language choices consistently emphasised the formal, professional aspects of what most people probably considered a fun extracurricular activity. She talks about this like we've just been inducted into some kind of elite professional organisation with corporate hierarchies and performance evaluations, rather than a college singing group that performs at football games and local competitions.
"So please," Aubrey concluded with the kind of forced smile that suggested her natural instincts toward micromanagement were in constant conflict with her recognition that adult human beings couldn't be directly supervised during every moment of their social lives, "make intelligent choices, remember that you represent the Bella legacy, and don't do anything that will require me to explain your behavior to the Dean of Students or the campus newspaper."
Don't do anything that will require explanations to administrative authorities, Beca noted. That's actually pretty reasonable advice for any college party situation, Bella-related or otherwise. Though the fact that she feels the need to specifically mention the campus newspaper suggests that the group's previous adventures in public embarrassment might have involved more media attention than your average collegiate mishap.
"But still," Aubrey added, her voice softening slightly. "Make sure to enjoy yourselves too. You all have earned your roles as Bellas, and deserve a night of relaxation and fun." She nodded, smiling — before hastily adding, "Oh—and just... don't eat anything offered by any of the High Notes. Got it?"
Oh, for heaven's sake.
The Bellas exchanged awkward, uncertain glances, but Aubrey's advice was met with slow nods and some quiet murmurs of "got it..."
With their behavioural guidelines established and their ceremonial scarves tucked safely into pockets and purses, the newly expanded Bella membership began to disperse across the campus party landscape with the kind of eager anticipation that suggested most of them had been looking forward to this moment of social celebration and potential romantic exploration since the initiation ceremony had begun.
And there they go, Beca observed as she watched her fellow new Bellas scatter in various directions with the enthusiasm of recently released prisoners embracing their newfound freedom.
Within a matter of minutes, Beca found herself standing alone in the middle of the campus quad, surrounded by the swirling chaos of college party culture but somehow separate from it—like an observer watching a documentary about social phenomena that she found intellectually interesting but emotionally irrelevant to her own lived experience.
This is exactly what I was afraid would happen, she realised as she watched groups of students coalesce and separate around her with the fluid dynamics of some kind of complex social chemistry experiment. Everyone else immediately knows how to navigate this kind of environment and connect with other people, while I'm standing here like an anthropologist trying to decode the behavioral patterns of an alien civilisation.
Her first instinct was to locate Benji, whose familiar presence would provide an anchor of comfortable companionship in the midst of what felt like an overwhelming ocean of unfamiliar social dynamics and interpersonal complexity. Even though he hadn't been accepted into the Treblemakers, she reasoned that he might still be somewhere on campus—possibly accompanying Jesse to the party as a friend and unofficial supporter of the broader a cappella community.
Benji would definitely want to be here even if he's not officially part of any group, she thought as she began scanning the various clusters of party-goers for his familiar figure. He's too much of an a cappella fanboy to miss what's probably the biggest social event of the semester for people involved in competitive collegiate singing. And besides, Jesse seems like the kind of person who would invite his roommate along rather than leaving his roommate along rather than leaving him alone in the dorm while he goes out to celebrate his new group membership.
She began moving through the party landscape with purposeful determination, weaving between conversations and around impromptu dance circles as she searched for any sign of her best friend's distinctive sideburns and animated gesturing. The campus had been transformed into a series of interconnected social spaces, each with its own particular energy and demographic focus—freshmen clustered around portable speakers sharing music from their phones, upperclassmen gathered around more sophisticated sound systems with elaborate lighting setups, graduate students maintaining slightly more subdued conversation circles that suggested their approach to social celebration had evolved beyond the purely hedonistic impulses that characterised undergraduate party culture.
It's like a series of concentric circles representing different levels of college social development, she mused as she navigated between the various party zones. Everyone's found their appropriate level of chaos and stimulation, and they're all existing in parallel social universes that occasionally intersect but mostly operate according to their own internal logic and behavioral expectations.
The search for Benji proved more challenging than she'd anticipated, primarily because the shifting, fluid nature of party dynamics meant that groups of people were constantly forming, dissolving, and reforming in new configurations that made systematic searching nearly impossible. Every time she thought she'd spotted someone who might be him, closer inspection revealed a different person entirely—usually someone with similar height and hair texture but completely different facial features and body language.
This is hopeless, she concluded after spending nearly twenty minutes moving through the party landscape without catching even a glimpse of Benji's familiar presence. Either he's not here at all, or he's somewhere that I haven't thought to look, or the constantly shifting crowd dynamics are making it impossible to systematically canvas the entire party area.
Eventually, she found herself circling back to the spot Aubrey had originally taken the Bellas to, standing by some stone benches alone, observing the party from a distance. As she always would.
It was while she was standing these stone benches that a familiar voice called out her name with the kind of enthusiastic recognition that suggested its owner had been drinking for some time prior to their encounter.
"Beca! Hey, Beca—Becaw!! Becaw!"
She turned toward the sound and was greeted by the sight of Jesse Swanson approaching her with the kind of slightly unsteady gait and overly bright smile that unmistakably indicated significant alcohol consumption. His usually carefully maintained hair was disheveled in ways that suggested he'd been engaging in vigorous social interaction, and his vintage movie t-shirt was slightly wrinkled and bore what appeared to be small stains from whatever beverages he'd been consuming throughout the evening. He was also wearing a red jacket that she'd seen a lot of other men wearing — most likely being the brand of the Treblemakers, like how the scarves are the Bellas' thing.
Oh, great, she thought as she watched him climb over stone benches with the kind of determined focus that drunk people often applied to simple tasks that would normally require no conscious effort. Drunk Jesse. This should be interesting. I wonder if alcohol makes him more or less likely to burst into spontaneous movie quotes and elaborate pop culture references.
"Jesse," she replied with cautious politeness, noting how his approach seemed to involve more physical coordination challenges than it should have for someone who was merely walking across level ground. "How's your first night as a Treblemaker going?"
"It's incredible!" Jesse exclaimed with the kind of unbridled enthusiasm that suggested his natural optimism had been amplified by whatever combination of celebratory beverages he'd been consuming. "The guys are amazing, the music is incredible, and the whole tradition aspect is just... it's just so much more meaningful than I expected it to be, you know?"
The whole tradition aspect, she repeated mentally, wondering whether Jesse's Treblemaker initiation had involved anything as dramatically ritualistic as the Bella ceremony she'd just experienced. I'm guessing their version was probably less focused on candlelit atmospherics and ceremonial wine consumption, but knowing college men, it probably had its own unique elements of questionable judgment and potentially embarrassing group bonding activities.
"That's great," she said aloud, genuinely pleased for him despite her own complicated feelings about group membership and collective identity. "I'm glad you're enjoying it. The Treblemakers seem like they know what they're doing when it comes to competitive performance from what Benji has shown me before."
Unlike the Bellas, who apparently can't even sing their own names in harmony without creating the kind of musical catastrophe that makes trained vocalists visibly wince, she added silently. But hopefully we'll improve with practice. We pretty much have to improve with practice, because there's nowhere to go but up from where we started.
Jesse's expression shifted to one of slightly unfocused curiosity, his alcohol-influenced attention apparently focusing on some aspect of her appearance or presence that he found particularly noteworthy or significant. "You look different," he announced with the kind of confident observation that drunk people often made when they were trying to demonstrate their perceptiveness despite their obvious cognitive impairment.
"Different how?" She asked, not really because she was genuinely interested, but rather because she was just trying to humour him.
"Like... like one of those a cappella girls now," he said with a grin that suggested he found this transformation both amusing and somehow personally meaningful. "You've got that whole... I don't know, that whole confident performer thing going on. It suits you."
'One of those a cappella girls', she repeated, unsure whether to be flattered or concerned by his characterisation of her apparent transformation. I've offically been a Bella for approximately three hours, most of which were spent wearing a bag over my head or trying to figure out whether I was about to participate in ritual blood consumption. If I look different, it's probably just confusion and mild dehydration.
But before she could formulate an appropriate response to his observation, Jesse's expression took on the kind of mischievous quality that suggested his alcohol-influenced thought processes were leading him toward what he probably considered clever wordplay or witty social commentary.
"You know what this means, right?" he asked with the kind of leading tone that indicated he was about to reveal some profound insight that had apparently occurred to him during their conversation.
"What what means?" She asked, though some instinct warned her that she probably didn't actually want to know where his current train of thought was heading.
"You're one of those a cappella girls," he said, his words beginning to slur slightly as the full effects of whatever he'd been drinking throughout the evening continued to assert themselves on his motor control and speech patterns. "I'm one of those a cappella boys, and we're gonna have aca-children. It's inevitable."
What.
Jesus Christ, he must be so drunk, Beca thought blankly, blinking slowly as his words settled in.
"You're really drunk right now," Beca said clearly, trying to penetrate through whatever rom-com lens he's probably staring at her through. "You're not thinking clearly, I don't think you're even going to remember this by tomorrow. Maybe you should find some water and some food and some friends who can help you get back to your dorm safely. Okay...?" She nodded slowly.
"Nope, no way, n-o, not a chance, not even... close." Jesse said, his words spilling out in a rush as he shook his head in response to Beca calling him drunk. "I'm not drunk at all, you're just blurry. If I'm drunk on anything, I'm drunk on love, huh?"
Yeah, he won't remember this by tomorrow.
"Can I get you a drink?" Jesse asked with a lazy smirk and an awkward tilt of his head that didn't really look intentional but rather an effect from his blurry coordination from God-knows how many drinks he'd taken.
"Now, I'm not entirely sure if my drink would be safe with you. Not in the way that I think you'd spike it, more in the way that I'm concerned you'd drink it yourself."
"I'm gonna get you a drink," Jesse nodded vigorously — the action making him visibly dizzy — as he ignored Beca's words entirely, beginning to turn away. "You need to get on this level."
This level of drunk stupidity, you mean? Beca thought with a barely suppressed sigh.
"Be careful," Beca called out as Jesse started climbing back over the stone benches, body swaying slightly due to whatever alcoholic beverages he'd drank seemingly a lot of.
Just as Beca thought she was going to catch a break, a flash of red hair in her peripheral vision shut down that thought immediately.
A single breathy "hi!", and all of a sudden, Beca felt herself getting tugged forward by the same ginger who had ambushed her in the shower. Chloe, if she remembers correctly.
Wonderful.
"I am so glad that I met you," Chloe said, her grip on Beca's hands surprisingly strong. "I think... that we're gonna be really fast friends." She smiled with a similarly lazy quality to Jesse's.
Do all a cappella group members just get really drunk easily and have no concept of boundaries? Beca pondered as she awkwardly tried to reel her neck back so their faces weren't so close, because if not, then this interaction would be very different.
"Yeah," Beca nodded with an amused smile, deciding to humour Chloe the same way she humoured Jesse. "Well, you saw me naked, so..."
"Right," Chloe nodded vigorously, and Beca began to realise that Jesse and Chloe both were weirdly similar in that golden-retriever type way. "Well, I'm gonna go get a drink! This ginger needs her jiggle juice!"
Beca blinked as quicker than Chloe had arrived, she was already leaving — slapping her ass and snapping her fingers as she went as if she had to demonstrate what she was talking about.
"Make good choices!..." Beca called out weakly, before sighing as she was left alone yet again.
God. Is this what everyday is gonna be like for me now? Beca thought, and she couldn't quite decide if she was curious or intensely dreading it.
Some time passed at the party, and Beca had decided to go wander again. She eventually decided that Benji probably wasn't here — and if he was, he'd probably have left right now. Parties had always been overstimulating for him no matter how badly he wanted to fit in.
Jesse had never returned with her drink, probably getting caught up in other party stuff as drunk college students do. Either that or he's probably puking into a bush somewhere. One of the two.
Eventually, she found a little place on the edges of the party. Not too far away — she doesn't want to look like she's just staring and not even a part of the groups — but close enough to still look involved enough.
It was in this more peaceful environment that she encountered an unexpected sight—Aubrey Posen standing alone near one of the outdoor tables, holding what appeared to be a plastic cup containing some kind of beverage while observing the party activities with the kind of analytical attention that suggested she was conducting research rather than simply enjoying herself.
But as she watched Aubrey's behavior more closely, she began to understand that the Bella captain's presence at the party wasn't about personal enjoyment or social celebration—it was about surveillance and quality control. Aubrey was monitoring the party environment, tracking the behavior of Bella members, and maintaining the kind of watchful oversight that would allow her to intervene quickly if any of her new recruits began engaging in activities that might compromise the group's reputation or violate their oath commitments.
She's not here to have fun, Beca realised. She's here to make sure the rest of us don't do anything that will embarrass the group or create problems for her leadership. Which is actually kind of sad, when you think about it. She's so focused on maintaining control and preventing disasters that she can't actually enjoy what's supposed to be a celebration of the group's successful expansion.
Something about Aubrey's solitary surveillance struck Beca as both admirable and slightly tragic—admirable because it demonstrated genuine dedication to group welfare and leadership responsibility, but tragic because it suggested that Aubrey had effectively sacrificed her own opportunities for social enjoyment in favor of maintaining constant vigilance over everyone else's behavior.
The decision to approach Aubrey felt simultaneously natural and completely out of character—natural because her instinct toward connecting with isolated individuals had always been stronger than her general avoidance of social interaction, but out of character because it required her to voluntarily engage with someone who represented everything she typically found annoying about group leadership and institutional authority.
This is probably a mistake, she acknowledged as she began walking toward Aubrey's position. We barely know each other, we've had exactly one real long conversation that involved her calling me a bitch and me calling a cappella lame only to audition for it later on.
But then again, she looks lonely. It sort of reminded Beca of Benji when they'd first met — at some childhood disco thing that they used to hold for stuff like Halloween. Benji had wanted to show everyone his magic tricks, but no one wanted to see them. No one except Beca.
"Hey," she said as she reached Aubrey's position, her tone carefully calibrated to sound casual and non-threatening rather than overly familiar or inappropriately intimate.
Aubrey's reaction to her unexpected presence was immediate and complex—a rapid succession of micro-expressions that suggested surprise, wariness, and what might have been cautious pleasure at having someone to talk to who wasn't currently engaged in potentially embarrassing party behavior.
"Beca," Aubrey replied with the kind of controlled politeness that suggested she was still processing the social implications of their interaction and trying to determine what response would be most appropriate for maintaining proper group dynamics.
"Mind if I join you?" Beca asked, gesturing toward the empty space next to Aubrey's position. "It's pretty crazy out there, and this seems like a good vantage point for people-watching without getting caught in the middle of whatever elaborate social dramas are probably unfolding."
Aubrey's expression softened slightly, suggesting that Beca's approach had struck an appropriate balance between friendliness and respect for personal boundaries. "Of course," she said, her tone warming enough to indicate genuine welcome rather than mere politeness. "You're right about the people-watching. It's fascinating to observe how different personality types respond to social environments with reduced inhibitions and increased opportunities for questionable decision-making."
"Have you spotted any particularly interesting examples of questionable decision-making?" She asked, settling into position next to Aubrey as she began examining the area around them.
Aubrey's lips curved into what might have been the beginning of a genuine smile—the first expression of spontaneous warmth that Beca had observed from her during their brief acquaintance. "Well," she said, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone that suggested she was about to share observations that she probably wouldn't discuss with other group members, "I've been watching Stacie work her way through what appears to be a systematic evaluation of every attractive male within a fifty-foot radius. Though thankfully, I haven't seen any make-outs with Treblemakers. So far, at least."
Beca nodded along, eyes drifting briefly to where Stacie was talking to one of what Beca recognised as the BU Harmonics, before turning back to Aubrey. "Anybody else? I haven't really spoken to anybody yet except Chloe and I'm trying to learn more about them I guess."
Lie, she mentally chided, though showed no outward acknowledgment of her dishonesty. I may not be too interested in become friends with these girls, but I need to not look like a total loner.
Aubrey's expression became genuinely amused as she directed Beca's attention toward a cluster of students gathered around what appeared to be an impromptu karaoke setup. "Well, there's Fat Amy over there. She's currently leading a group sing-along of what I believe is an Australian folk song about sheep farming, complete with choreographic elements that she appears to be improvising in real time. It's... interesting."
Fat Amy? Beca thought, briefly wracking her memory. I think met her once at that... Deaf Jews place, right? At the activities fair. Interesting is definitely a way to describe her.
"At least she's staying true to her authentic self," she observed. "That's more than you can say for most people in college social situations, where everyone's trying to project carefully curated versions of whatever they think will make them more appealing to potential romantic partners or social connections."
Including me, she added silently, standing here trying to make casual conversation with someone who kidnapped me three hours ago and subjected me to ritualistic wine consumption and anti-Treblemaker oaths, just so I don't look like the same loner I've been since... kindergarten. College really does make people do strange things in the name of personal growth and social development.
Their conversation continued with surprising ease and naturalness, covering topics that ranged from observations about party dynamics to more general discussions about college social hierarchies and the psychology of group belonging. Beca found herself genuinely enjoying Aubrey's company in ways that contradicted her expectations about personality compatibility and social chemistry—discovering that beneath the rigid perfectionism and authoritarian leadership style, Aubrey possessed a sharp wit, keen observational skills, and a dry sense of humour that had Beca surprised.
She's actually pretty cool when she's not in full group management mode, Beca realised as they shared observations about the various social dramas unfolding around them. Smart, funny, perceptive about human behavior—all qualities that probably make her an effective leader, even if her methods sometimes seem a bit extreme for what's supposed to be a fun extracurricular activity.
Then again, Beca added, it could be the alcohol. You never know with these... 'aca-people'. Especially from what I've seen with Jesse and Chloe.
It was during a lull in their conversation—as they watched Jessica and Ashley attempt to coordinate their dance moves with what appeared to be a group of High Notes who were clearly out of their element in terms of rhythmic coordination—that Beca became aware of someone approaching their position with the kind of swaggering confidence that could only belong to one person on campus.
Oh, great, she thought as she turned to identify the approaching figure and found herself looking at Bumper Allen, whose expression radiated the kind of self-satisfied smugness that suggested he was about to make everyone within a fifty-foot radius aware of his presence and perceived importance.
Beca had only ever interacted with Bumper once. It was during her audition — before she'd actually started singing, he'd started 'whispering' (except the whole auditorium could hear it) about how she was an 'emo', before practically serenading her by dramatically singing that song — "cut my life into pieces, this is my last resort" — as the rest of his little Treblemakers had smirked and chuckled behind their hands until Tommy had to come back in to tell them to shut up (not that he had any particular influence on them to be fair).
That interaction reminded Beca that some boys really just don't mature after high school.
Bumper's approach was characterised by his typical display of exaggerated masculine bravado—shoulders thrown back in an aggressive posture that was clearly designed to showcase his physical presence, his stride carrying the kind of territorial swagger that suggested he viewed every social interaction as an opportunity to establish dominance, and his facial expression radiating the particular brand of cocky self-assurance that had apparently convinced legions of Treblemaker fans that his personality was somehow charming rather than insufferable.
"Well, well, well," Bumper announced as he reached their location, his voice carrying the theatrical projection and exaggerated inflection that characterised all of his public interactions. "If it isn't Aubrey Posen, captain of the Barden Bellas, gracing us mere mortals with her presence at a college party. How very... democratic of you."
Democratic, Beca repeated mentally, noting how Bumper's attempt at sophisticated vocabulary fell slightly flat due to his obvious lack of understanding about the word's actual meaning in this context. He's trying so hard to sound intellectually superior, but he just sounds like someone who learned big words from a thesaurus without bothering to understand how to use them properly.
"Bumper," Aubrey replied with the kind of crystalline enunciation that made every syllable sound like a weapon being carefully sharpened. "How delightful to encounter you in your natural habitat—surrounded by loud music, cheap alcohol, and the kind of social chaos that allows people with limited intellectual capacity to feel temporarily relevant."
Beca dipped her head, suppressing an amused smirk. Is this how a cappella groups argue?
"Oh, that's rich coming from someone who..." Bumper paused dramatically, his expression taking on the kind of malicious glee that suggested he was about to deploy what he considered his most devastating rhetorical weapon. "Well, let's just say, someone who knows all about making memorable impressions during important performances. Especially when those performances involve... projectile expressions of anxiety."
'Projectile expressions of anxiety', Beca translated mentally, her confusion evident as she tried to decode whatever elaborate euphemism Bumper had constructed around what was clearly some kind of reference to a past incident involving Aubrey and public embarrassment. What the hell is he talking about? And why does he look so pleased with himself for making a reference that literally no one else understands?
The effect of Bumper's cryptic comment on Aubrey though was immediate and profound. Her carefully maintained composure cracked for just a moment—a barely perceptible flinch that suggested he'd managed to hit a genuinely sensitive nerve despite his general incompetence at sophisticated verbal sparring. Her green eyes flashed with something that looked like a combination of rage and humiliation, while her hands clenched slightly at her sides in a way that suggested she was actively restraining herself from physical retaliation.
Whatever he's referring to, it's clearly something that really bothers her, Beca observed, noting the subtle but unmistakable signs of genuine emotional distress that Aubrey was working hard to conceal. Something public and embarrassing that happened during a performance, based on his comment about 'memorable impressions'. But what could have been so bad that just mentioning it would get this kind of reaction from someone as controlled and confident as Aubrey?
"You absolute—" Aubrey began, her voice carrying a note of genuine fury that suggested Bumper's comment had crossed some kind of line that transformed their verbal sparring from entertainment into actual cruelty.
But before she could complete her counter attack, the Treblemaker captain shifted his attention away from their intellectual combat zone and focused his predatory smile directly on Beca with the kind of calculated interest that made her immediately suspicious about his actual motivations for approaching their conversation.
Oh God, Beca thought, blinking as Bumper set his gaze on her.
"But enough about ancient history," he said with the kind of dismissive wave that suggested he considered his victory over Aubrey to be complete and was now ready to move on to more interesting conversational territory. "I'm actually here to talk to the lovely Beca Mitchell, newest member of the Barden Bellas and clearly the most promising addition to their... struggling organisation."
Way to contradict yourself considering you were calling me an emo whilst serenading me with weird songs, Beca thought with a scoff.
"Thanks, but I'm perfectly comfortable staying right here," Beca said firmly, recognising the classic manipulation tactic of trying to isolate someone from their support system in order to apply pressure or make requests that would be more difficult to refuse in a group setting. "Whatever you want to discuss, you can say it in front of Aubrey."
Plus, she added mentally, I really do not want to be around you. You give major high school 'Chad' or 'Brad' vibes.
Bumper's expression shifted through several different emotional registers as he processed her refusal—surprise that his charm offensive hadn't been immediately successful, frustration at the unexpected obstacle to his plans, and what appeared to be renewed determination to overcome her resistance through more aggressive persuasion tactics.
"Come on," he said with the kind of exaggerated wheedling tone that suggested he was trying to project friendly persistence rather than controlling manipulation, despite the obvious pressure underlying his request. "I promise it'll be worth your while. There's something really important I want to share with you—something that could change your entire college experience in ways people like you can't even imagine."
He's trying to serve me drugs, isn't he? Also, wait—'people like you'??
But before she could formulate an appropriately dismissive response to his mysterious offer, Bumper took a more direct approach to achieving his objective. Without waiting for her consent or agreement, he simply reached out and gently but firmly grasped her wrist, applying the kind of subtle physical pressure that suggested he was prepared to guide her away from Aubrey's protective presence regardless of her expressed preferences about the matter.
"Hey—!" She started to protest, but Bumper was already leading her away from their conversation spot with the kind of confident determination that suggested he'd successfully employed similar tactics in previous social situations.
This is exactly the kind of controlling behavior that makes me want to avoid most social interactions entirely, she thought as she found herself being steered across the party landscape toward a more isolated area where their conversation would be free from Aubrey's watchful supervision. He's not taking no for an answer, he's using physical pressure to overcome my stated boundaries, and he's clearly operating under the assumption that whatever he wants to discuss is more important than my right to make my own choices about social interactions.
God, and I thought high school was weird.
Bumper led her to a position near the edge of the party area—close enough to the main social activity that they remained visible to other party-goers, but far enough away that their conversation would be private and free from the kind of external monitoring that Aubrey had been providing from their previous location. The spot he'd chosen offered a clear view back toward where Aubrey remained standing, allowing Beca to see that the Bella captain was indeed watching their interaction with the kind of sharp attention that suggested she was prepared to intervene if the situation developed in concerning directions.
At least Aubrey's keeping an eye on things, she thought with some relief. If Bumper tries anything genuinely inappropriate, she'll probably notice and either come over to extract me from the situation or create enough social pressure to make him back down. Though I'm slightly worried her protective instincts are probably more about preventing oath violations than genuine concern for my personal welfare.
Once they'd reached his selected conversation location, Bumper released his grip on her wrist and stepped back slightly—presumably to create the kind of respectful personal space that would make their interaction seem more like voluntary social conversation rather than coercive manipulation. His expression shifted from the calculating determination that had characterised his approach to something that looked almost like genuine excitement, as if he was about to share information that he considered genuinely thrilling rather than merely self-serving.
"Okay," he said, his voice carrying a note of barely contained enthusiasm that suggested whatever he was about to reveal represented something he considered genuinely significant. "What I'm about to tell you is going to sound, like, totally insane at first, but I need you to hear me out before you make any judgments about whether it's real or not."
It's definitely gonna be drugs.
"Right," she said with the kind of patient tone typically reserved for dealing with her crazy Aunt Kate who spoke about words flying through the air and her being immortal. "I'm listening."
Bumper took a deep breath, his expression becoming more serious as he apparently prepared to deliver whatever revelation he considered important enough to justify his manipulative approach to securing her attention. When he spoke again, his voice carried a note of genuine conviction that suggested he absolutely believed whatever he was about to explain, regardless of how ridiculous it might sound to objective observers.
"Have you ever heard of something called a Squip?" He asked, his eyes scanning her face intently as if her reaction to this question would provide crucial information about how to proceed with the rest of his explanation.
Beca blinked, her nose wrinkling in weirded-out confusion. "A script? Of course I know what a script is, I'm not an idio—"
"No, not a script," Bumper scoffed, his voice taking on a condescending tone as he crossed his arms. "I said a Squip. S-Q-U-I-P. Squip. Have you heard of it?"
What the hell is a Squip? Sounds like drugs to me.
"... No," she said slowly and honestly, her confusion evident in both her tone and her facial expression. "I have never heard that word before. What is it?"
Bumper's expression became more animated as he apparently interpreted her genuine curiosity as permission to launch into what was clearly going to be an elaborate explanation of whatever concept he'd built around this mysterious term. His body language shifted from cautious uncertainty to confident enthusiasm, suggesting that he was about to share information that he considered both fascinating and personally significant.
"Okay, look," he said with buzzing excitement, pointing a finger at her. "The reason why you don't know is because this is serious, got it? Can't take it for granted. Like this is some top secret, can't-even-look-it-up-on-the-internet shit."
That's... certainly a way to put it.
"Okay, I get it," Beca nodded, holding up her hands to try and get him to stop and just get to the point. "Just.. what is it, then? And please make it quick because I don't want Aubrey to interpret this as flirting."
"Okay, okay—a Squip," he announced with the kind of dramatic emphasis typically reserved for revealing state secrets or profound philosophical truths, "stands for Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor. It's from Japan, and it's this little... grey oblong pill. It's basically a quantum computer, some kind of nanotechnology CPU thing, that's been miniaturised down to pill size—you swallow it, and it travels through your bloodstream until it reaches your brain, where it implants itself and can tell you what to do."
Is he drunk too? Beca thought, trying not to show her incredulity in her expression just in case Bumper might be going through some crisis similar to her Aunt Kate. Seriously—is this what everyone is like?
"... Okay," she said carefully, trying to find a diplomatic way to express her scepticism without being unnecessarily harsh about what was clearly either elaborate fiction or the product of whatever substances he'd been consuming throughout the evening. "That sounds... interesting. But also, I'm not gonna lie, completely impossible based on everything I know about current technology and basic human anatomy."
Plus, she added mentally, even if such technology somehow existed, why would you be telling me about it at a college party? And why would you, specifically, have access to something that advanced? You're the captain of a college a cappella group, not a neuroscientist or computer engineer working on cutting-edge medical technology.
But rather than being discouraged by her obvious scepticism, Bumper seemed to interpret her logical objections as the kind of natural resistance that required more detailed explanation rather than indication that his entire premise was fundamentally flawed.
"I know it sounds crazy," he said with the kind of earnest conviction that suggested he was genuinely committed to convincing her rather than simply entertaining himself with elaborate storytelling. "But it's real, and it works, and I know this because I have one."
"You... have a quantum computer implanted in your brain..." She said slowly, wanting to make absolutely sure she understood the scope of whatever delusion or fantasy he was operating under. "A computer that tells you how to optimise your life choices and social interactions."
"Exactly!" Bumper exclaimed with obvious pleasure at her apparent comprehension of his concept. "And let me tell you, it's been absolutely life-changing. Before I got my Squip, I was just... I was nobody, you know? Mediocre grades, no real friends, definitely no success with girls. But now? Look at me—I'm captain of the most successful a cappella group on campus, I've got fans who think I'm awesome, and I know exactly how to handle any social situation that comes up."
So what he's saying is this... quantum computer or whatever is why he's... like this? Well, he's not very likeable to me. Or Aubrey, clearly. Why would his Squip want to piss some people off?
And God, why am I thinking as if this is a real thing? What is happening to me?
"So, it's like..." Beca shrugged. "What, drugs?"
Bumper scoffed, smirking. "It's better than drugs, Bec-emo."
There it is again.
"Okay," she sighed, deciding to play along with his narrative to see where it might lead. "Let's say I believe you—hypothetically—about this Squip thing. What does that have to do with me? Why are you telling me about it?"
Bumper's expression became more intense as he leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a more confidential tone that suggested he was about to share information that he considered particularly significant or sensitive.
"Because," he said with the kind of dramatic emphasis that suggested he was revealing the crucial point of their entire conversation, "my Squip told me that you need one too. It analysed your situation—new to college, struggling to fit in, clearly not reaching your full potential in terms of social success or personal achievement, and, uh... your choice of style—and it determined that you're the perfect candidate for Squip enhancement. You also just move and act weird in general. Seriously, look at the way you're slouching. You're totally hunched over. I think you should get that checked out."
Beca grew more and more offended with each stab at her existence.
"I'm... going to ignore some of the things you just said," she decided to start with, because if she didn't, they'd probably be here all night. "So, my full potential in terms of social success. Right. And how exactly would this imaginary brain computer help me achieve whatever potential you think I'm not reaching?"
And what makes you think I want to achieve greater social success? She added silently. Maybe I'm perfectly happy with my current level of social involvement and don't need technological enhancement to feel fulfilled or accomplished. I am perfectly fine and fulfilled. That is the complete and honest truth. Definitely.
But Bumper's response suggested that he'd anticipated this question and had prepared an elaborate answer designed to address whatever objections or concerns she might raise about his proposal.
"Think about it," he said, his voice taking on the kind of persuasive enthusiasm typically associated with sales presentations or motivational speeches. "You could have anything you want—popularity, academic success, guys—" he paused, eyeing her up and down as if looking closer for the first time, "or, uh, girls, a guaranteed path to whatever career you're hoping to achieve after graduation. The Squip analyses every situation in real time and provides optimal strategies for getting the results you're looking for."
Anything you want, she thought with growing suspicion. Popularity, success, romance, career achievement—basically everything that insecure college students typically worry about. It's like he's describing a technological solution to all the normal anxieties and uncertainties that come with being human, which sounds exactly like the kind of too-good-to-be-true proposition that's usually associated with scams or cult recruitment.
"And all I have to do is swallow a mysterious pill that supposedly contains advanced technology that doesn't actually exist," she said with obvious scepticism. "What could possibly go wrong with that plan?"
But rather than being discouraged by her logical objections, Bumper seemed to interpret her concerns as the kind of natural caution that required reassurance rather than indication that his entire proposal was fundamentally problematic.
"Look," he said, his tone becoming more urgent as he apparently recognised that he was running out of time to make his case before she dismissed his entire proposition as elaborate fiction. "I know it sounds too good to be true, but it's not. It's real technology, it works exactly like I'm describing, and it could completely transform your college experience in ways you can't even imagine."
God, why's he so desperate about it? Beca thought, cautiously taking a step back. There are three possibilities: that the Squip is just a drug that he's probably addicted to, that this is some cult thing and they worship the Squip or something, or he's just really drunk and won't even remember this in the morning.
"Okay," she said, deciding to test his commitment to this fantasy by asking for concrete details. "Where exactly would I even get this miraculous brain computer pill? And how much does it cost? And what kind of evidence can you provide that it's real rather than just an elaborate scam or delusion?"
Bumper's expression brightened with obvious relief that she was finally asking practical questions rather than simply dismissing his entire proposal as obvious fiction. His body language became more animated as he apparently prepared to provide the specific information she'd requested, suggesting that he'd anticipated these questions and had prepared detailed answers.
"There's a guy at the Payless shoe store at the mall down the street," he said with the kind of matter-of-fact delivery that suggested he considered this information to be perfectly normal rather than bizarre and suspicious. "He can hook me up. Costs six hundred dollars. Cash payment since it's illegal."
A guy at a Payless shoe store who sells illegal quantum computer brain implants for six hundred dollars cash, she thought with renewed incredulity. That's possibly the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard anyone say with a straight face. Even if such technology existed, why would it be sold by a shoe store employee? And why would it cost exactly six hundred dollars, which happens to be approximately the amount that most college students could theoretically access through student loan money or part-time job savings?
God, I have so many questions.
"Six hundred dollars," she repeated, noting how the price point seemed specifically calibrated to be expensive enough to seem valuable but not so expensive as to be completely unattainable for someone with access to typical college student financial resources. "For a quantum computer brain implant sold by a shoe store employee."
"I know it sounds weird," Bumper admitted with what appeared to be genuine acknowledgment of how bizarre his proposition sounded. "But that's just how it works. The technology is cutting-edge and completely unofficial, so it has to be distributed through unconventional channels to avoid government regulation and corporate interference."
Government regulation and corporate interference, she translated. So now we're adding conspiracy theory elements to the imaginary technology claims. Because of course the reason why this miraculous brain enhancement isn't widely available through normal medical or technological channels is that mysterious powerful forces are suppressing it rather than because it doesn't actually exist.
"Right," she said with obvious scepticism. "And you just happened to find out about this secret underground brain computer distribution network through... what, exactly? Random internet research? Word-of-mouth advertising from other satisfied customers?"
Oh, and there's a fourth possibility for what this could be, she thought, adding to her internal list from before. A scam. Just a scam, some hustle he's trying so he can get money.
Bumper's expression became slightly evasive as his gaze darted away, and he began to shift from foot to foot.
"Let's just say that I was going through a rough time and someone helped me," he said with the kind of vague elusiveness that suggested he was making up his origin story as he went along. "The important thing isn't how I found out about it—the important thing is that it works, and it could work for you too if you're willing to take advantage of this opportunity."
"Don't play dumb. You're bullshitting me, aren't you?" Beca scoffed.
"See, if you had a Squip, you wouldn't talk like that."
Oh my God, I hate him so much.
"Look, Bumper," she said with the kind of firm tone that suggested she was preparing to end their conversation and return to more rational social activities. "I appreciate your... enthusiasm about whatever you think this Squip thing is, but I'm not interested in spending six hundred dollars on imaginary technology sold by shoe store employees. It sounds like either an elaborate scam or the product of whatever substances you've been consuming tonight."
"Just... think about it," Bumper said with what appeared to be genuine disappointment at her obvious scepticism. "Don't make a final decision right now. Sleep on it, consider what you might be able to accomplish with the right kind of guidance and support, and if you change your mind, come find me tomorrow with the money."
"I'll... consider it," she said diplomatically, though her tone made it clear that such consideration was unlikely to result in any change in her position. "But I should probably get back to the party now. Aubrey's probably wondering what we've been discussing over here."
And I need to extract myself from this conversation before it gets any weirder, she added silently. Whatever Bumper's actual mental state or motivations, this entire interaction has moved well beyond the boundaries of normal social conversation into territory that makes me genuinely uncomfortable.
As she prepared to return to the main party area and hopefully rejoin Aubrey for more rational conversation about observable social dynamics, she became aware that their extended private discussion had indeed attracted attention from the Bella captain, whose expression suggested a combination of concern and suspicion about whatever interaction had required such lengthy confidential consultation.
Great, now I probably need to deal with lectures about her oath. Beca thought with dread, suppressing a long sigh as she stalked over to the Bella Captain.
"So." Aubrey began, her tone stiff and her eyes still lingering on Bumper's retreating silhouette as he walked in the other direction. "What was all that about?"
Beca shrugged, turning back around to stare ad Bumper walked off. "Nothing much. I think he was just drunk and rambling. Nothing serious, just Bumper being a dumbass as usual." She murmured, though like Aubrey, her eyes lingered — for different reasons. For Aubrey, it may have been suspicion. For Beca, it was moreso curiosity.
"Right..." Aubrey said slowly, eventually tearing her eyes away from the Treblemaker Captain to look back at Beca. "Well.. Just.. try not to speak with him any further, okay? Bumper is an asshole who only ever thinks about himself. Anything he says to you just isn't true, and I don't want my girls getting mixed up with the likes of him." She said with an almost visceral disgust, her expression twisting.
"Yeah, got it," Beca nodded, before realising that that response felt too inadequate. "I mean—it's not like I plan on it, anyway. He's not really... the type of person I'd hang out with."
"Mm," Aubrey nodded, and the two of them stood in silence for a few moments before the blonde continued. "Well, if you decide to stick around any longer, I hope you enjoy the rest of the party. Stay safe, Beca."
"Mhm. You too," Beca offered a strained smile in response — because for some reason, responding to best regards is very awkward for her sometimes — before turning away and beginning to walk off.
As she walked off, her mind rewinded back to her conversation with Bumper.
A 'Squip', huh? She thought, chewing the inside of her cheek as she pondered. And I either totally ignore him about this and just continue with life, or I come up to him tomorrow with six hundred bucks and either get some kind of mind-blowing illegal technology or I get completely and utterly ridiculed and my college reputation gets destroyed not even halfway into Freshman year.
I'm beginning to hate college even more than I initially did.
Notes:
story is finally getting started 😝
Also, I decided to add more to the bellas ceremony scene, especially the dumb introductions that Aubrey did for everyone because I thought it was dramatic and funny and stupid and very Aubrey 😭
readerofallthings on Chapter 2 Sun 07 Sep 2025 03:05AM UTC
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1unluckystudent on Chapter 2 Sun 07 Sep 2025 09:28AM UTC
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readerofallthings on Chapter 2 Sun 07 Sep 2025 05:33PM UTC
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1unluckystudent on Chapter 2 Sun 07 Sep 2025 06:57PM UTC
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