The day my parents told me I was transferring schools, my world ended for the first time.
"Leo is a bad influence. A musician with no future, and he's too old for you," my mother stated, her lips a thin, unforgiving line.
Two weeks later, I was adrift in the sterile halls of Northgate Prep, an art portfolio heavy in my hand, feeling like a ghost.
Then I met Ethan.
He seemed to light up the gray afternoon, a kind, talented musician who understood my dreams of New York and the Ashton Conservatory.
Our pact to conquer the city together felt like a promise of a masterpiece.
But the night before our audition, he handed me a "herbal supplement" that made the world tilt.
I remember his whispered "I'm sorry, Chloe" just before he left me disoriented and helpless in a dark, grimy alley.