Fever Pitch by Heidi Cullinan Page A

college.”
    â€œIt’d be killer to join them at this point—their schedule is brutal. Music therapy is pretty much what it sounds like: using music in therapy. Psychotherapy, healing therapy, hospice. Say you’re fighting cancer. It’s grisly, wearing stuff. A music therapist comes in on a regular schedule and has you play music or sing, or plays music with you.”
    â€œHow in the world does that help anything?”
    â€œMusic is powerful, and when you’re fighting a health battle, it can mean the difference some days between the strength to fight or giving in. In practical terms, music therapists help with small, specific goal achievements, but patients who use music therapy are passionate about how much the treatments helped them emotionally.”
    â€œI suppose.” Brian continued choosing armor for his avatar.
    The dismissal irked Giles. “Music is huge in our lives. Ignoring the scientific evidence of what it does to our brains, how it helps us forge connections and relearn patterns—look at what you’re doing right now. You’re playing a game, but it has its own soundtrack. We pipe music into elevators, malls, city squares. You stream Spotify every morning while you study. I’ve caught you humming along with the Nationwide Insurance commercial. Imagine somebody using music deliberately during a time of pain and suffering. Or taking a frustrating occupational or physical therapy task and turning it into something with music attached.”
    Brian put the controller down, chagrined. “Wow. Okay, you’re right. And you need to totally go switch your major, because holy crap, you’re almost vibrating when you talk about it.”
    He was, Giles acknowledged—but the realization only depressed him. “I can’t. It’s a five-year program with overloads, and that’s when you start at the beginning of your freshman year. Also, I’d have to apply. It’s a separate degree. There’s only a handful of schools in the whole Midwest offering it.” He shrugged. “I’m probably being flighty, high on rehearsal. The urge will pass.”
    â€œIt sounds like you can’t switch anything out until term anyway. Do some investigating, and see where it takes you.”
    The idea rattled around in Giles’s brain for days, haunting him. He thought of it every time he saw Aaron laughing and happy with his choir buddies.
    Giles could hate Aaron for being popular, but there was no question—Aaron had found his joy.
    You deserve your joy too, a voice in the back of his mind whispered.
    He did. But first Giles had to be brave enough to seize it.
    Though the music part of his life was good, Aaron’s roommate was strange.
    Aaron tried to engage Elijah, but it never got him anywhere. Take, for example, their exchange when Aaron pointed out he had plenty of extra space in his fridge if Elijah wanted to share it.
    â€œThank you, I’m fine,” Elijah replied, and went back to writing in his notebooks.
    â€œI don’t mind, really.”
    â€œI appreciate it, but I don’t need to use your fridge.”
    Aaron should have left it there, but he’d seen Elijah come from the cafeteria with leftovers and drink warm soda from cans. “The thing is, my dad insisted I get this big model, but I hardly put anything in it. I seriously don’t mind at all.”
    Elijah put down his pen with a scary smile on his face. “ Okay. If I put a goddamned pop in your fridge, will you leave me alone?”
    Aaron blinked and took a step back. “I— Sorry. I didn’t—”
    Rolling his eyes, Elijah pulled a Dr Pepper from beneath his desk, marched to the fridge and slammed it on the door. “There you go. I’m using your fridge. Good deed done, move on.”
    The soda never moved, and no other foodstuffs of Elijah’s ever joined it.
    It was like that with everything. Aaron would tell