"Hey, can you give me a hand in one of the practice rooms?" you hear Stacey ask you. Looking at the cute redhead, you find it hard to say no, and follow her in. "I need your opinion if I'm playing this right," she says, pulling out her horn. You smile and sit in the corner, happy to help. After she gets it out, she grabs a chair and sets it so it's back is just front of the door, blocking it, then sits up on top of it with her feet on the seat.
You listen politely to her playing for a bit, the horn quite loud in the small room, but giving what help you can in between breaks. Then you notice that she has, during those breaks, started slipping her shoes off. You start to say something, but decide it would be rude, even as a foul aroma starts to fill the room. You decide you can put up with it though.
You get more and more uncomfortable in the room, as her playing gets more and more energetic. She's positively bouncing with the music now, toes tapping away. You on the other hand are trying to surreptitiously cover your mouth and nose. You briefly consider just leaving the room, then realize that her chair is blocking the door, and you'd have to get her to move. You can't take it and let out a couple quiet coughs, trying to muffle them. At that point, she cracks up, stopping mid song to laugh at you, "What's wrong? You look like you need some FRESH AIR."
Keeping one foot on the seat of the chair, she playfully stretches her other leg out so her toes are right in front of your face, wiggling them playfully. You remember that she usually wears socks, but not today, probably having planned this out for maximum discomfort on you. While part of you can't help but admit she has cute toes, the majority of you can't take it, and slap her foot out of your face. Unfortunately, this throws her off balance, and with a squeak she falls onto her back on the ground. You consider stopping to help her, then take another breath and realize if you don't get out of this small, humid, stink filled room, you might very well pass out.
As your hand touches door knob, you feel her hand grip your ankle tightly. "And just where do you think your going?" she says with an evil grin. "Look what you did now," she says, holding up her mellophone. The mouthpiece appears to have been dented in the fall. You open your mouth to apologize, but she shushes you, "No, don't even start. I know exactly how you are going to pay me back."
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