The high school hallway was a river of letterman jackets and cheer uniforms, and he was a rock in the middle of it all, leaning against a bank of lockers in his ripped jeans and a faded band t-shirt. His eyes, sharp and intent, were fixed on Ashley Robinson as she floated past with her ballet friends, her posture perfect, her laugh a light, airy thing that somehow cut through the noise. He wanted her with a raw, aching intensity that felt like a physical weight in his chest, a need he expressed by scowling harder whenever she glanced his way.

She never told a soul, but sometimes, when she thought no one was looking, her eyes would follow him too. She'd watch him from the window of the dance studio as he ollied over the concrete steps in the courtyard, his baggy clothes flying around him, a picture of a freedom she could never allow herself. The scent of fresh concrete and the distant sound of skateboard wheels against pavement became strangely comforting to her during long rehearsal days.

But all of her friends, a tight-knit circle of girls in cashmere sweaters and pearls, stuck up their noses at the very mention of him. They had a problem with his baggy clothes, his scuffed skate shoes, the way he existed outside their carefully curated world of privilege and expectation. The hallway echoed with their whispered gossip whenever he passed by their exclusive lunch table.

"God, Ashley, don't even look at him," her best friend, Chloe, would whisper, linking their arms together. "He's so... grungy. What would your mom say?"

He was a skater boy, an outsider, and she was the prima ballerina. The chasm between their worlds felt impossible to cross. So one afternoon, when he finally worked up the nerve to approach her by her locker, his heart hammering against his ribs, she made her choice.

"See you later, boy," she said, her voice colder than she felt inside, before turning to join her waiting friends.

He wasn't good enough for her, or at least, that's what she had to make him believe. She had a pretty face, a scholarship to Julliard pending, and a future mapped out for her. But her head was up in space, floating on dreams that felt less like her own and more like obligations. She needed to come back down to earth, and that meant closing the door on the boy who made her feel like flying.

Five years later, she sat curled in the corner of her sofa, the afternoon sun spilling across the quiet living room. The only sound was the soft suckling of her baby daughter feeding from a bottle clutched in Ashley's hand. She was all alone, the weight of motherhood and a quiet, unremarkable life settled heavily on her slender shoulders.

She turned on the TV for some noise, for some connection to a world outside her four walls. The channel was tuned to MTV, and her breath caught in her throat. Guess who she sees? Larger than life, screaming into a microphone on a massive stage, drenched in sweat and screaming adoration from a sea of fans. He was rockin' up MTV, a punk rock god, his music video playing in heavy rotation.

Her heart did a painful, familiar squeeze. She called up her friends, her fingers trembling on the phone.

"Chloe, are you watching MTV? It's— it's him."

"We know," Chloe chirped, her voice buzzing with excitement. "We've all got tickets to see his show tonight at the Paramount! His new album is everywhere! You have to come with us!"

She tagged along, a ghost at the feast, standing at the back of the crowd while her friends pushed their way toward the stage. She stood in the crowd, a solitary figure in a simple sweater, and looked up at the man that she turned down. The lights strobed over his face, now sharp with fame and confidence, and the raw, powerful sound of his voice was a far cry from the quiet boy with the skateboard. He was everything she'd ever secretly wanted, and he was completely, utterly, out of her reach. The music pounded through her, each beat a reminder of the choice she'd made, and the life she'd let slip through her fingers.