Havok Publishing

Olivia Neale

For Old Time’s Sake

“Late! You’re late!” Dr. Rawlings bellowed at the brass section. Those magnificently large ears missed nothing. “I went to school for many years to become this brilliant—play faster!” He rubbed a hand through his poof of white hair and called out, “Rehearsal letter M!” while flipping pages in his score.
Most music professors

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She Who Calls the Shots

I slipped my left foot into one high heel, hopping on the other while I swung out an arm to grab my purse, steadied myself, and wrenched open the door. Thirteen minutes to get to the subway, seven minutes to my stop, six minutes to get coffee, and four minutes to run to work. Perfect.

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