Chapter 1 – Blue Eyes

New York City vibrated with eight million people moving like they were running out of air. Ally couldn't decide yet if she liked it or not. In fact, she wasn't sure she'd ever get used to this.

She stood on the metal grating of her parents' new upper-east side terrace, her phone pressed tight against her ear. The humid late-August heat made her shirt stick to her back.

"...and then Coach said if we don't clear the track by five, she's cutting the whole relay team," Lena's voice crackled through the speaker, competing with the thumping bass of a party in the background. "Ally? You still there?"

"Yeah," Ally murmured, leaning against the cold railing. She looked down at the streets twenty stories below. "I'm here... Sounds like Austin is... busy."

"It's total chaos. Brody brought a keg to the creek..." Lena laughed, her voice momentarily drifting away as she yelled at someone off mic. "Anyway! How's the penthouse? Are you total royalty yet?"

"It's big... and quiet." Ally swallowed the lump in her throat, shifting her grip on the phone. "My dad's been in his office on conference calls since we landed. Lena, I don't know anyone here. The air smells... It reeks of wet pavement and..."

"Hey, Al, listen, can I call you back?" Lena interrupted. She was clearly distracted. "Brody's being an idiot again. Talk tomorrow?"

The line went dead before Ally even had a chance to answer. She lowered the phone. A heavy silence settled over her, except for the wailing sirens somewhere down below.

The two-block walk to her new school felt longer than the flight from Austin. Cars honked furiously while construction workers yelled over drills, and people moved in hurried, aggressive streams.

Outside an espresso bar, Ally accidentally veered too close to a man in a sharp, dark-tailored coat carrying a leather garment bag. He collided with her shoulder, dropping a sleek tablet onto the sidewalk.

"Watch it!" He snapped, his voice cold as he picked up his device, checking the screen for cracks. He wore a heavy silver watch that caught the morning light. He didn't pay her any more attention and brushed past her with the practiced arrogance of someone who owned the pavement, or at least acted like they did.

Ally took a shaky breath, pulling the straps of her backpack tighter against her shoulder.

Welcome to New York, she thought to herself.

She turned the corner onto the avenue where a towering, vintage boutique hotel carved into the skyline. Beside the broad stone steps leading up to the golden revolving doors, a small crowd had gathered in a loose semicircle.

An electric bass line thrummed through a portable amplifier sitting on the curb. A guy with bleached hair strummed an acoustic guitar wired into a distortion pedal, but it wasn't the instrument that stopped Ally in her tracks. It was the girl holding the microphone.

She looked like a walking contradiction, part street punk and part dark fairytale. Platinum blonde hair fell in messy waves past her shoulders, contrasting sharply with a heavy black leather jacket which was studded with dulled silver spikes. Beneath it, she wore a simple black tank top and dark denim. Her legs were encased in worn tactical boots laced up to the calf. Her eyes were rimmed in smudged, dark eyeliner, giving her a look that was equal parts exhausted and dangerous.

She began to sing, and the voice that came out of the cheap, battered microphone was raw and soaked in an effortless, intoxicating rasp that vibrated straight through the soles of Ally's shoes. It felt personal, like a secret whispered over an open flame.

Ally stood frozen in the middle of the sidewalk. The noise of New York City suddenly bled out into static background noise. Something in her chest tingled. She didn't know anything about music, but she knew what it felt like to be completely held by something.

The song hit a low, lingering bridge. The blonde girl tilted her head back, her fingers wrapping tight around the steel of the mic stand. As her voice dragged out the final, heartbreaking chord, her gaze drifted lazily over the small crowd, and landed straight on Ally.

Their eyes locked. The singer's were an electric, piercing blue.

Ally's breath caught in her throat. Time seemed to slow. There was no casual glance, or polite looking away. Instead, the girl on the steps stared right through her, lips hovering an inch from the mic. Her expression was intense, but unreadable.

Heat flooded Ally's neck and cheeks while her heart gave a sudden thud in her chest. Flustered by the sheer weight of the girl's stare, Ally looked down, adjusted her bag and practically ran down the block toward the school gates. Her whole skin tingled by now as if she'd brushed a live wire.

Near the entrance, a cluster of students stood in the shadows of the bleachers, casually passing a vapor back and forth. She could smell the fruity flavor across the place. Close to the bike racks, a tall broad-shouldered guy in a varsity jacket grabbed a younger kid by the collar over a dropped phone, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

Leaning against a pink coupe parked right in the fire lane was a girl who looked like she had stepped off a magazine cover. Her makeup looked flawless. Her dark hair fell over a designer sweater. Beside her, two other girls laughed on cue at whatever she said.

Ally tried to be invisible as she walked past, but the girl's sharp brown eyes flicked over. She surveyed Ally from her plain sneakers, up to her plain ponytail with a slow, calculating expression. It felt as if she was deciding if she was a bug even worth stepping on. When she turned back to her group, a faint smirk formed on her lips.

Ally kept moving. Room 302. Literature. That's what the email said.

She hovered near the doorway, suddenly wanting nothing more than to slip out the side exit and disappear back into the city.

"Hey."

Ally jumped. A guy with messy brown hair and a blue flannel shirt over a graphic tee stood beside her, holding a heavy board game box under his arm. He gave her a warm, easygoing grin.

"You look like you're contemplating execution," he said smoothly. "I'm Pete. You're the new transfer from Texas, right?"

Ally blinked.

"Is it that obvious? I even left my head at home."

"Tyler. He runs the school blog and has a weird sixth sense for new enrollments." Pete chuckled, gesturing into the room. "Come on. Ms. Elliot's tough, but she doesn't bite unless you pull your phone out."

Pete led her inside. The room was half full.

Suddenly, someone roughly brushed past Ally's shoulder, walking in right after her. It was the designer girl with her friends. They settled near the windows, their laughter dropping into low whispers when their eyes flicked to Ally.

"First day and she's already creeping around the back," one girl muttered loudly enough for Ally to hear.

"Ms. Williams," Ms. Elliot's sharp voice cut through the air from the doorway as she entered and occupied her desk. "Unless you're offering an analysis on Poe's use of macabre imagery, keep your mouth closed."

Pete pulled out a chair near the back row for Ally.

"Ignore Becca and her circle... This is the safe zone."

Ten minutes into the lesson, the door swung open with a loud click. The entire room went quiet. Ally looked up... and felt her pulse instantly spike. It was her. The blonde girl from the hotel steps.

Up close, the scent of her reached Ally before she even moved. An intoxicating blend of sweet vanilla, leather and roses. A silver ear piercing gleamed under the harsh school lights. She looked completely unbothered by the fact she was late, slinging a leather rugged messenger bag over her shoulder.

Ms. Elliot rubbed her temples.

"Ms. Vance. Sixth time this cycle."

"Subway delay," she said smoothly, her voice carrying that same low, raspy cadence from the street performance. "The train..."

"Save it for Principal Kane's office after third period," Ms. Elliot stopped her excuse, pointing toward the back. "Take the open seat."

The girl didn't argue. She turned and walked down the center aisle, her boots thudding against the linoleum.

Ally kept her eyes glued to her notebook, her heart hammering against her ribs.

A shadow fell over her desk. She looked up and the singer was standing right next to her, her blue eyes clearly amused.

She slid into the empty seat right next to Ally's.

"Hey," the girl murmured quietly, leaning over subtly, clearly meaning to address Ally. A faint smile touched her lips. "You run fast."

Ally's face burned at that.

"What?"

"On the street. You took off like I was about to rob you." She unzipped her bag, pulling out a battered, leather-bound notebook crammed with scrawled song lyrics and loose papers.

"I... I had class..." Ally managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper as she stared at her own blank paper.

"Right. Class." The girl turned her head, gaze lingering on Ally's profile for a second.

"I'm Steph."

"Ally. Just Ally."

"Just Ally?" Steph let out a soft, low chuckle that sent a strange shiver down Ally's spine. "Cool name, Just Ally."

From three rows ahead, Becca turned around in her seat. Her eyes narrowed into a cold, dangerous glare as she watched Steph lean closer into Ally's space.

Steph didn't even notice, or if she did, she didn't care, resting her chin in her palm as she pretended to listen to the lecture.

By lunch, the cafeteria was a chaotic roar of clattering trays and students chatting and laughing.

Ally navigated the lines, her mind still swirling. She didn't see Steph anywhere in the crowd. When she turned around, holding her salad which she brought from home, Pete waved her over to a corner table where a group was huddled over colorful trading cards.

"Ally! Over here," Pete called out.

Beside him sat a tall girl with short, black hair and silver rings on almost every finger. Liz. Opposite them was a sharp-eyed guy with a digital camera hanging around his neck. It was Tyler.

"Sit with us," Pete offered, sliding over to make room. "Liz is currently trying to decimate Tyler's dragon deck with sheer hubris."

"It's not hubris, it's probability," Liz countered, throwing Ally a nod. "You play, cowgirl?"

"A little," Ally admitted, sitting down as the tightness in her shoulders finally began to thaw. She looked at the cards spread out between them. "Though, if Tyler plays that defense spell now, your healer's passive effect gets wiped on the next turn."

Liz paused, her hand hovering over her deck. She slowly looked up at Ally, a genuine grin spreading across her face.

"Okay. I like her. She's staying."

Pete laughed, offering Ally a corner of his pizza slice. For the first time all day, New York felt a little lighter than before.

That night, the penthouse was silent. Ally sat on her bed, the glow of her phone screen illuminating the dark room. Her old group chats from Austin were moving fast without her. They were filled with inside jokes, photos from Brody's creek party, plans for the weekend, Mrs. Smith's torturing homework... Ally felt like a ghost watching a world she used to belong to. Her eyes flicked to her black Stetson resting on the dresser. Her chest tightened and she tore her eyes away quickly. She closed the chat and opened her social media feeds instead. The algorithm was already adapting to her new location.

A recommended profile popped up. @steph.vance. Ally froze. Her thumb hovered over the screen.

After a second, she tapped it. The grid was filled with dark, gritty short clips of underground basement shows, candid shots and flickering streetlights, scribbled lyric drafts and clips of Steph's raw voice echoing on empty stairwells in some park. There were thousands of likes and hundreds of comments calling her "the next big thing", and asking for new performances.

Ally stared at the screen. To the internet, Steph was a rising star, a mysterious local rock figure.

But Ally remembered the faint scent of roses and leather, the silver piercing on her ear, and the way her piercing blue eyes had cut right through the noise of the city, locking onto her like nothing else existed.

With a quiet exhale, Ally tapped "Follow".