Chapter Text
Mike has loved the cello since he was young. He knew he'd be a musician ever since he heard a symphony perform for the first time on a field trip in 3rd grade, begging his parents for an instrument. Luckily for him, they allowed him and enrolled him in lessons.
He's loved music ever since he learned to play notes and found he could recognize them just by ear. Sometimes making listening to music difficult when all he can think of is how he can play it on the school's glockenspiel. Hard to do things when even if he tapped his nail onto a glass he could recognize the note to be F. He had always been musically talented
That's why the second he was old enough, he joined his school's orchestra at the age of ten.
He had already had experience, easily impressing his classmates. He couldn't help but smirk at how the crisp sound of his notes contrasted with the others’ squeaky noises, their bow holds were anything but correct.
Obviously, he joined the orchestra that was offered in middle school. He was sad to leave his school, but this was a new opportunity. The sixth-grade orchestra felt like they were testing his patience. The music being so easy it was annoying. Mike was constantly asking for a challenge and staying later to play the pieces faster.
That was until seventh grade they introduced him to the honors symphony. All the middle schools in the school district come together to make an orchestra, selecting thirty kids.
He secured his spot with ease, getting first chair as well.
That year in honors symphony was great, the challenge of the honors music balanced well with the typical orchestra music, successfully fulfilling his needs. The orchestra teacher no longer needed to hear him whine about it being easy when he could practice the fingerings of the other music whenever he wasn't playing.
The seventh-grade year felt like it ended fast, before he knew it he was finished with his final concert with a bow and saying goodbye to that year's 8th graders.
Now, he's in eighth grade. Honors symphony auditions are tonight and he isn't even worried. He still feels he's superior to the rest of the kids. He's been playing for two more years than them as well, and he takes extra time to take lessons
Today's practice comes to an end as the teacher announces it is time to pack up. He lifts his cello to his lap and undoes a screw to push back in the endpin before tightening it again. Placing it on its side next to his chair. Picking up his rockstop, bow, music, rosin, and of course, his cello to place in his instrument locker, twisting a screw to loosen his bow on the way.
Once all the items are put into the locker his arms almost feel sore from carrying them. Hopefully, this will not affect his performance. He doesn’t have much competition though.
At home, he spends a while doing his hair just right in the mirror to seem more approachable, spraying pounds of cologne onto himself. He's wearing the black polo that represents his school district and black pants per the required attire for the night.
After hearing his father call for him, he quickly grabs his instrument case and rushes down to ensure he makes it on time. He shoves his instrument and music into the trunk and hops into the passenger's seat.
Now that he's almost fourteen, he's been given much more freedom, like sitting in the front seat. Eighth grade also comes with much more freedom since it's the last year of middle school and the year with the oldest kids.
They make it to the high school, Hawkins High. The auditions are hosted in the high school since it's bigger than practically all middle schools in the district combined.
He walks into the school's gym with confidence, placing his instrument case onto the ground. There are only three other people here, two being people from previous years. He doesn't mind them, he hopes they get in.
However, an unfamiliar face catches his eye. Brown hair, almost in a bowl cut. He smirks at the hair choice, what kind of honors player has hair like that? He hadn't seen him before, but he clearly isn't a seventh grader. He also picks up that he also plays the cello. Best of luck to him he thinks, before directing his attention to his instrument.
Unpacking it and getting all of the supplies. Rosining his bow, double checking his music, and tightening his bow to head to the room.
He quickly exits the gym, feeling prepared after this afternoon's practice. He checks his phone, 8:07. The audition begins at 8:15. He begins to feel nervous, but that's pretty normal for something as big as this.
The audition went well actually. He didn't even break a sweat and performed his best. He left the high school with confidence, early enough for him to be able to go to sleep on time.
It's been two weeks since the auditions and tonight is the night where they finally announce who got in. Honestly, he's always found it odd how they host an entire event just to say who got in.
He’s always hated this part. It seems tedious, but also unfair to those who don't get in. Having to leave in shame. Luckily, he hasn't had to experience this.
Mike is standing in a line with the other cellos. Standing in front of all these people is nerve-racking. His eyes drift around to find his parents, but he can’t seem to find them.
At this point, he's filtered out the orchestra teacher's voice, only picking up things every once in a while. “First chair viola… Maxine Mayfield from Hawkins Middle School!” he announces. Oh, nice. His friend got it. He gives a smile at her.
The rest of the cellos announced were ignored by him. He's on autopilot clapping after a name is said. He just wants this to be over with so he can go to sleep.
“Second chair cello,” The teacher says slowly, “Mike Wheeler from Hawkins Middle school.”
Huh?
Mike looks like a deer in headlights, hesitantly walking towards the seat. This isn't right. None of this is right. Was there a mistake?
“First chair cello… Will Byers from North Hawkins Middle School” the teacher announces.