"No, Lyla! You can't come with me!" Laura's voice yells over the roar of the car's muffler.

"Laur, where are you going?"

"It's none of your business! Get back inside!"

Laura backs the car out of the driveway and zooms off, leaving nothing but a trail of exhaust behind her.

"Laura!" I yell, but there's no use; she can't hear me.

As I make my way inside, I hear the sound of car-tires crunching the gravel on the driveway. I whip my head around to find a policeman getting out of his car and walking in my direction.

I cock my head, confused at why law enforcement has come to my house. "Is there something I can help you with, officer?"

"Are your parent's home, young lady?" his stern voice asks.

"Is something wrong?"

"Miss, your parents, please."

I led the officer into the foyer and called for my parents. The pair of them appear in front of me with worried looks on their faces.

"Lyla," my father starts, "go to your room."

"Why?"

"No arguing! Just go!"

I go into the hallway, leaving my parents with the police officer. I choose to linger there so I can eavesdrop on the conversation.

"Is your daughter home?"

"Laura?" my mother's voice asks. "No, she's gone out."

"Ma'am, I regret to inform you that there has been an accident."

My mother gasps at the man's words. "You're not saying..."

"Let the man finish, dear," my father interjects.

"I regret to inform you that your daughter, Laura, was killed in a car accident earlier this evening."

I hear my mother begin to sob. It's the ugliest sound I've ever heard. The officer's words echo in my mind as I round the corner and meet my mother's eyes. She breaks from my fathers' grip and lunges toward me, grasping me firmly in her arms.

"Laura's dead?" I ask, wanting her to deny the whole thing.

"Yes, sweetie."

/     /     /     /     /     /     /    /     /     /     /     /         

"No!" I shout, jolting awake from the nightmare.

For a moment, I forget where I am. I forget that I'm in a cramped dorm room with a roommate whom I barely know. I begin scanning my surroundings, taking into account that I am not the only one in the room. I am joined by both Renee and Derek. I try to steady my breathing, taking note of my pulse's rapid pace. I need to get out of this room. I need to escape from these four white walls that entrap me in this space.

Careful not to wake my company, I slip on a pair of black sweatpants, grab my Vans, phone, and earbuds, and head for the door. I close it gently and sigh in relief once I'm in the clear. I put my shoes on in the elevator, trying not to fall over in the process. I have the worst balance on a good day, and being on edge makes it worse.

When the cold morning air hits my skin, a wave of calmness washes over me. There's always something about being out in the fresh air that makes my body relax from its tensed state. Laura had the trait, too; we got it from our dad. He's such an outdoorsy man. He loves camping and hiking and hunting. Heck, he'll do just about anything if it's outside.

My earbuds come to life, singing the allegro agitato of Rachmaninoff's Piano Sonata No. 2 in Bb minor into my ear canal. I submerge myself in the intricate melody as my body propels itself down the sidewalk. It's not too busy, but just to be safe, I decide to stay on campus. New York is full of weirdos, and I'm not ready to meet any of them just yet.

I continue on my walk as the music changes from Rachmaninoff to Beethoven to Ludovico Einaudi. After a while, I begin to feel better, so I choose to venture back to my dorm room. I'm not holding my breath for Derek to be gone. He and Renee got back way later than I did last night, and they were drinking. I may as well let them sleep; there's no point in waking them.

When I make it back to my room, I change into some dressy-casual clothing, brush my teeth, sweep my hair into a bun, and grab my cello before leaving the room again. I decided that I'm going to one of the music buildings to find a practice room. I haven't touched my cello since I got to New York, and even though it's only been a day, it feels like forever.

Finding the music building is easy, but finding the practice rooms, however, is like finding a needle in a haystack. But, after wandering around aimlessly for nearly ten minutes, I find the practice corridor, whose bright red doors reflect off the white walls. The hallway is silent, which calms my nerves slightly. Knowing that there isn't anyone else practicing this early, puts less pressure on me to sound perfect.

After choosing a room to practice in, I unpack my cello and begin warming up. I start with some scales and articulation exercises before diving into some pieces I have been working on. For more of a warmup, I pull out the Prelude to Bach's Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major. I know this piece like the back of my hand, which is why Laura insisted that I include it in my Julliard audition tape. I don't even have to think when I play it; the music just flows from my fingers.

I ebb and flow with the melodies until I become bored and reach for another piece. I stare at the sheet music to Chopin's Nocturne No. 13 in C minor for a moment before resting my cello back between my legs.

After stopping, starting, and replaying the same section fifteen times, I take a deep breath and begin playing from the beginning. I don't have any issues with the beginning or end of the work; it's just the middle section that I'm struggling with. For some reason, I can't get a particular passage under my fingers, which infuriates me. I lurch in my seat along with the crying melody, giving space for the notes to breathe between each rest. At one point, I close my eyes, allowing my body to absorb the sound flowing from the strings fully.

I stop playing when I reach the mid-section, only to be interrupted by clapping. I whip around in my seat to see Liam leaning against the wall, hugging the neck of his upright bass to his chest.