"Oh. My. Creator." What the hell was Dopey doing?

Nora scrolled through Dopey's message board on his Musetunes profile. She always did a quick check of the pages she maintained before going to bed. And thank Creator she did. If she hadn't, Dopey would have single-handedly thrown his career down into the sewers.

She snagged her cell off the nightstand. What the hell are you doing? she texted furiously. Get off Musetunes. Now.

Dopey's response came less than a minute later. He might not be the brightest, but at least his response time was quick. Y?

You're ruining the message board.

No Im not.

Yes, you are! Her mouse scrolled over the third message near the top. One of his fans wrote a beautiful, heartfelt note about how his music changed her life. At the end, she asked for a collaboration. And Dopey—being himself—had responded.

You can't promise a collaboration!

Y not?

She never wanted to reach through a cell phone and strangle someone before. Because people are going to look for it. Then they're going to call foul if it doesn't happen.

Then we do the collaboration. he responded, followed by the freaking eye-roll emoji.

She did not go to all that hard work only to have it destroyed by an idiot.

Okay, so maybe she was being a bit dramatic. But how else was she supposed to act at 2 a.m. when her "charge" was making terrible Musetunes decisions? ESPECIALLY if he'd be looking to her to do damage control when he found himself in a bind.

If she were a cartoon character, there'd be steam pouring from her ears. First off, we can't just DO a collaboration. We have absolutely no idea how this girl sings.

What if she sings gud?

What if she doesn't? You want to take that chance?

His "..." showed him typing. And typing. When it seemed he wasn't going to answer, she said, We agreed that I would respond as you on your profile.

Y can't I help?

Because you sound like two different people!

Shit.

Yeah. You want people suspecting you don't do all the work yourself?

No.

A final plea: Please sign off.

Ok.

With a sigh, Nora logged onto Dopey's Musetunes. At the top of his profile page his name took over the cover banner. Pete Butler, written in all capitals. She scrolled down to his message board and, with a tired sigh, began damage control.

❅❅❅

Eli Leonger fell onto his king-sized bed and stared up at the vaulted ceiling of his bedroom. Another day finished in the studio. And what did he have to show for it?

Absolutely freaking nothing.

He'd sat in the palace's music studio for hours, messing with his latest song. The beat wasn't there, wasn't quite right. No matter what he did, it didn't feel like a song. At this point, it was more a bunch of mismatched, randomized tones.

One of his worst fears was coming true: all his songs were beginning to sound the same. And when he tried to mix things up, the piece became wild, as if he'd taken a bunch of songs and pieced them together.

He loved EDM—Electronic Dance Music. Liked to create music that livened the crowd. But at this rate, he'd have the shortest career ever. A one-hit wonder would be his destiny. If he could even get the one hit to hit the charts.

His material was old, and his fans were bugging him for new music. Message upon message filled his message board.

"Eli, can you release new music?"

"I hope you'll bring something new out!"

"I've listened to this song on repeat for days. When is your next album releasing?"

He speared his fingers through his chocolate hair. At this rate, he'd have no album to his name. The first couple of songs were produced by a friend of Prince Ethan's. After they'd done their job of bringing the audience in, he'd told the producer he could take it from there. That he'd find a way to write and put together his own sound from what he'd learned.

He just wanted to put his own mark on the music world.

If he asked his sister Lizzie, she'd drop everything to help him out. The thought itself was enough to warm his heart. Despite her crazy busy schedule, she was loyal and attentive to family.

He did not want to take away from the important things she was doing—he wanted, no needed, to do this himself. There was nothing wrong with asking for help—he knew that. But he didn't want someone to hold his hand through the process.

He needed inspiration. Something to get him going.

The clock on the wall said 2:35 a.m. School would start in less than six hours. If he didn't do something productive today, he'd never sleep.

Eli opened his laptop and began researching.

❅❅❅

The next morning, Nora yawned into her fist as she made her way into school. An hour of sleep. Could the average Ace survive on an hour of sleep? Was it healthy?

Last night, it'd taken her almost two hours to undo everything Dopey had done to his profile page—apparently when she wasn't looking, he'd changed a lot of his notification settings too. Those were important to Nora, as certain things needed to be brought to her attention through a notification. Like when producers posted on his message board or shared his work. Dopey had mistakenly turned on all notifications, and her phone had blown up so much that she'd had to turn it off and switch to the computer to reset them. After that, she'd had to do a first draft of Felicity's song—because she wanted to keep all her body parts, thank you very much.

She hadn't started her homework until 6 a.m.

Jostlin Academy, one of the Sarias Kingdom's most popular music academies, was a massive three-floor billowing brick building set on a 150-acre plot of land. Nora knew the exact measurements only because in grade school, she and her father poured over the brochures and visited the building. Her father had been as excited for her to go as she had been. The main building had three wings, all covered with evenly spaced sash windows and heavy trim, and boasted more than 30 classrooms. All core classes took place in the main building, except the theater and science classes. Just 25 minutes from the palace, Jostlin Academy welcomed each student in with its expansive, well-maintained courtyard and front drive. All the students parked in the west parking lot and entered through the tall tan archways in the front.

She absolutely loved the courtyard in the warmer months—the grass was a beautiful spot to sit and relax before class. On a really warm day, most of the students chatted with their friends under the evenly spaced oak trees or near the orange and yellow wildflowers along the entrance walkway. Today, though, she barely glanced at any of it. Snow coated the front lawn and sucked the life from the trees. She curled her shoulders inward, pulling her coat tighter around her, and on autopilot, headed to her locker. Her eyes saw nothing, unable to focus.

If she were anyone else, she'd skip and stay home for the day. But today she had a session with Ms. Overly-Happy, Celine Whithers, during lunchtime. She'd hoped to get her song done by the end of the day so that she could finish up with Grumpy's disaster of a song.

A small brown leather notebook stared at her in her locker. Her favorite notebook—it was covered head to toe in songs, melodies, and emotions. She put it in her backpack.

It'd be so easy to take a page from that notebook and use those songs as material for her endless stream of artists. But these songs were different. These songs were a piece of her in a way the others weren't.

When her dad died two years ago, she'd spent a lot of time using songwriting as a way to cope. He'd been the one who'd gifted it to her and told her to pour her heart onto its pages. At the time, neither of them knew his loss would be what incited her to use it.

She couldn't ever just give these songs to someone else. These were precious. In a way, they were all she had left of him. All that really mattered.

Tessa caught up to her on her way to homeroom. "Did you see Musetunes last night?"

Nora grunted in response. She'd been all over Musetunes last night. First on Dopey's profile, then Grumpy's, then Sneezy's. Just monitoring their work and what the fans liked and what they didn't.

"Then you saw the announcement?"

Nora blinked away her mind fog and made herself focus. "What announcement?"

Tessa grinned, enjoying her full attention. "The one from Daxton Cavenaugh."

Daxton Cavenaugh.

There were few people she looked up to in this world. Her dad had been one of them. The other? Daxton Cavenaugh.

Daxton was a famous music producer for Cavenaugh Productions. His pieces were some of the greatest songs to ever hit her ears. And the people he worked with were some of their generation's finest: Prince Ethan Alexander, Anonymous, Danika Leighton, Kamree Philips. His influence in the music industry was beyond compare. People worked their ass off just to be able to work with him.

She dreamed of having the talent Daxton Cavenaugh did.

"What was the announcement?"

The bell chimed three times.

Tessa winked. "We'll talk about this at lunch."

"What?" Nora called out to her back. "Now you want to be on time?"

She spent the first half of the day on autopilot. In between scribbling down lyrics onto her notebook margins, she tried not to fall asleep. The eagerness to know about the announcement helped.

Her fingers itched to check her phone and see what it was. The thought of freaking out in the middle of class stopped her. There was no telling how she'd react at an announcement from Daxton Cavenaugh. The last thing she wanted was to burst into tears during chemistry class.

Oh Creator—what if it was something terrible? What if he was retiring? He'd made plenty of money. Even if he retired now, he'd be able to live comfortably for the rest of his life. And he was dating Kamree Philips. She'd be more than able to buy anything he couldn't afford.

Shit. That was it. He was retiring. Before she could even work her way up into his world. Now she'd never have a chance to work with him.

Dejected, she got up when the bell rang at the end of chemistry. How could she go to lunch now? Knowing that Tessa would want to talk about—

Her foot caught on a stray chair leg. The unexpected tug skewed her momentum and sent her careening toward the floor. She landed painfully on her butt.

Great. Just great.

Her books had at least landed in somewhat of a pile. She gathered them together. Then glanced up at the chair responsible.

Eli Leonger blinked down at her, his chair at an angle, arms still folded. Part of his hair stuck out to the side.

He'd been sleeping.

Shaking her head, Nora scooped up her books. "Chemistry's over. You might want to get to your next class."

He blinked a few times. "What?"

Man, this guy slept like a log. And where was his gaggle of friends? Surely, they should be the one waking him up. Not some quiet zombie-fied clumsy songwriter.

She pushed her glasses up her nose. "Class? It's over. Time to mosey to your next one. Unless you want to sleep for a couple more years."

His mouth twitched. "Why are you on the floor?"

"You—" She blew out a breath. "Forget it."

Massaging her sore pride and an aching hip that'd caught the edge of Eli's desk, Nora went to lunch.

❅❅❅

The announcement was a big banner at the top of Musetunes. Right on the homepage in big block letters.

DAXTON CAVENAUGH WANTS TO WORK WITH YOU.

Me! He wants to work with me!

He wasn't retiring. The euphoria formed bubbles in her chest. She felt lighter than air—like she'd float to the ceiling if her feet weren't tucked under the bar of her metal-legged chair.

She'd have to be comatose not to click on the bright ad. She dreamed about his kind of success. Having artists—successful artists—seeking out her work ... It was an amazing thought.

The ad opened up to a contest page listing details of entry. The prize, in big letters, was a chance to work with him on the production of a song the contestant entered.

It was everything she had dreamed of. She wanted the chance with a hungry ferocity that tightened her gut.

"Can you believe it?" Tessa bounced once in her seat. "We have to enter!"

They did.

She took one more glance at the contest rules. It would be amazing to have a chance to enter. And no doubt thousands of excited teens would do so. How could she possibly distinguish herself from the crowd?

Then... reality set in.

At the rate she had to churn out songs... when could she possibly create an entry? As it was, she barely had time for schoolwork.

Maybe on the side though? She could put in five minutes here and there and have a recording by the deadline.

Nora bit the side of her thumb. A month. She had a month to come up with a finished song for Mr. Cavenaugh. It would be plenty of time.

Right?