The New York skyline comes into view as the highway coach pulls up to a red light. It's 6:47am, the sun is rising, and I'm pretty sure my breath and body smell like a dumpster. I continue gazing out the window, taking in the view of the approaching city. My mother's words ring in my ears, "New York is filled with possibilities." I know it's big and mysterious and whimsical, but it's still hard for me to see it that way when my and Laura's plans taint it. We planned to explore the city and find cute coffee shops and bookstores near our apartment. It kills me knowing that I won't get to experience that with her.

I open my lock screen on my iPhone and stare at the picture of the two of us. It's not the best picture, we were acting goofy, and Laura has her tongue hanging out. The memory makes me smile as tears form in my eyes. Will I ever not be sad about losing Laura? Probably not. Will I ever be able to look at a picture of her without crying? Maybe.

The next hour involves taxiing through the traffic-filled city at a snail's pace. I thought traffic in Portland was terrible, but it's nothing compared to this. Everyone's bumper-to-bumper and barely moving. I don't know how much longer I can stand it.

When we finally pull into the bus station, I feel as if the lower half of my body is immobile. I made the stupid decision to sit the entire ride without getting up, so now my legs are stiff, and I can hardly move. I wait for everyone else to exit the coach before attempting to wrangle my cello down the aisle. Thankfully so, because I must look like an idiot trying to tame this beast of an instrument.

Ordering an Uber is the first thing I do once I find my suitcase. The sooner I get to my dorm, the better. It takes almost half an hour for the cab to arrive, and after another thirty minutes, I arrive at Julliard. The cab driver drops me off right outside the Meredith Wilson Residence Hall, which is where all new students are required to stay. The building isn't as exhilarating as Lincoln Centre, but it's still better than what Portland Community College has to offer.

After dragging my belongings inside, I join the registration line and wait my turn.

"Hi," a woman greets, "name, please."

"Lyla Cummings."

"A-ha, here we go!" she says, handing me a bundle of paper. "Alright, here's your info packet and key. Your dormitory is on the third floor, room 343."

"Thank you," I say with a smile, clutching the papers against my chest.

I make my way to the elevator. Thankfully, when it arrives, there is no one else with me. It would be a tight squeeze fitting another person in the small space with me, my cello, and my luggage. The box screeches as it lifts to the third floor, singing a sweet ding upon arrival. The hallway is a warm shade of beige, and the doors are deep chocolate brown.

When I open the door to room 343, I see a dark-haired girl, who I'm assuming is my roommate. Though, she's not alone. Her back is to me while she straddles someone's lap, clearly in the middle of something.

I clear my throat. "Uh, hi," I say, wishing afterward that I sounded more confident.

The girl stops her movements and turns to look at me. She flashes a wide grin and removes herself from the guy's lap. "Hey," she says.

I smile at her before glancing back at the guy sprawled across her bed, noticing the bulge in his pants. I raise an eyebrow and shift my glance back to my roommate. "I'm Lyla," I say, extending a hand.

"I'm Renee," she says, ignoring my hand and pulling my body into a hug.

The guy smiles at me and licks his lips as I hug Renee. "Umm," I say quietly, "who's that?"

"Oh," she says, releasing me and turning around. "That's Derek," she grins, looking his body up and down. "You can go now," she purrs, widening her eyes at him. Thankfully, he takes the hint and leaves the room, taking his smug look and tented jeans with him.

"So," I say, "is this your first year?"

"No," Renee laughs, "I'm in my second. I'm glad there was room for me to stay in res this year." I stare at her, not knowing what to say. "I'm assuming you play the cello?" she says, nodding to my instrument.

"Yeah," I smile. "You?"

"Piano."

"Oh, nice."

"So," Renee says, taking a seat in her desk chair, "tell me about yourself."

"I'm from Portland, I'm fresh out of high school, this is the first time I've been away from home, and when I'm not practising cello, I'm reading."

"Okay, do you have any siblings?"

"I-" I choke when I realize what I was about to say. I was about to tell Renee that I have an older sister when, in fact, I no longer have one. I begin to feel tears forming in my eyes as I bring my knees to my chest.

"Oh, sorry, I-"

"It's okay," I interrupt, "I had an older sister, Laura. She died in a car accident a few months ago."

"I'm sorry. I feel bad for asking now."

"Don't be. It's not your fault. I need to get used to admitting it to myself. It's one of the reasons I'm glad I decided to leave Oregon for school. I need to discover who I am without her." I look at Renee, noticing the blank stare she's giving me. "Sorry, I didn't mean to unload all of that on you."

"It's fine, don't worry. And as for finding yourself, I think I can help you with that. I can introduce you to some people. There's a party tonight actually if you want to come."

"Oh, I, uh – I don't want to impose."

"You won't be, trust me," she smirks.