Author's Note: I, so this is an idea I've been working with for a while. It is a two-part story, but I don't want to give too much away. I wanted to experiment with different story telling styles, and I really, really like the book Flipped, so this story is going to be told in that style. For those unfamiliar, Flipped is told in first person and flips back and forth between the main characters each chapter, but what is really cool is that instead of going forward with each chapter, it goes forward every other chapter letting you see what happened twice but from a different perspective. Sometimes the dialogue is different, but that is intentional, because two people do not always recall a conversation the same way. I highly recommend the book. Anyway, this story gets its style from that book, but not the story line.

In his late teens, Wade and his band brave the big city in hopes of becoming stars. They try multiple record companies, one of which has a brunette, brown-eyed mystery girl who Wade can't seem to stop thinking about.

Zoe Hart is bored out of her mind. It's summer, and she's stuck sitting in her mom's PR office and going with her to multiple clients. She sits reading magazines in the hall of a record company her mom works with, watching pathetic hopefuls traipse in and out, not giving her a second glance. Until one does. Maybe this summer just got a little more interesting.

I hope you like it. Let me know what you think. And no, I am not abandoning my other stories. The truth is, I actually have a lot of stories that I am working on but have not been able to post yet. Oh, and I know the first chapter is kind of short, which I apologize for, but they should get longer as the story progresses.

New York Lights: Part I

Chapter One

Mystery Girl

Zoe Hart POV

Some summer vacation. This was hell. I was supposed to be spending this time with my dad, observing him at work. I have college in two years, and he promised he would help me pad my resume with all things medical, complete with a free hands-on tutorial at New York's best hospital. Then, he decides to up and go to Europe. Again. He's been spending a lot of time there. I get that he and mom split, but we didn't. He always promises to be around, but he never … okay, Zoe, breath, stop obsessing. This is not personal. Your dad is a world-renowned surgeon and people need him. It's not as though he's doing something dumb and meaningless like, oh, I don't know, trying to hype up a bunch of rock star wannabes. No, that's mom's job. My mother, Candice Hart, is a PR agent. Her agency handles everything from chart-topping music stars to people from The Food Network. It's great when you need to interview somebody you know for a school project, but spending the summer vacation between my sophomore and junior year of high school 'volunteering,' in her office was not my idea of fun. I had read every magazine in her waiting area twice as hopeful after hopeful waited to be told by her receptionist that Ms. Hart was ready to see them.

"Please, just give me something to do." I begged said receptionist. Her name was Liza, and she was an elderly woman with white-blonde hair and two much makeup. She sort of reminded me of that Estelle lady from Friends, except thinner and not as nice.

"Dahling, I told you, we don't need anything done. Just sit your tush down like a good little girl and wait for your mommy to give you something to do."

She was talking down to me like I was some child. I really hated that. Some days, I did stuff, like put up fliers or rearrange files, but the employees really do not like some teenager stepping on there toes. Of course, I hate doing those things, but doing something you hate beats doing nothing. With a sigh, I sat back down at picked one of the magazines back up.

"Anything interesting in there?" Somebody with a southern drawl said to me. I looked up and couldn't help but snicker. There was a guy standing there in what I can only refer to as country casual, holding a guitar and grinning at me.

"And who are you supposed to be? Wait, let me guess, you're a cowboy who's horse's shoe broke and you need to wait here until you can find somebody to fix it?" It came out a little meaner than she intended, but, come on, what sort of reaction did he expect walking into a New York office dressed like that?

His grin dropped slightly, "As a matter of fact, I'm here to audition with my band for the big cheese back there." He motioned to my mom's office with his head.

I nodded, giving him my wide, sarcastic eyes and picking up another magazine, "Yeah. Got that Billy Ray. Little tip though, drop the fake accent; she'll decide on your image if she wants to sign you, but you can't go in putting on an act."

"Hey. This accent is one hundred percent real. Courtesy of Bluebell, Alabama."

I couldn't help but laugh, "Bluebell? Is that even a real place?"

"Oh, it's real sweetheart, and you will never find a kinder, charminger, weirder small town if you looked your whole life."

"Is that so?" he nodded, I crossed my arms and sat up straighter, "Then why are you in New York?" I don't know why I was giving him a hard time exactly. I guess it was because I was bored, and him talking to me was the most interesting thing to happen to me all summer. I know, pathetic right?

He looked away awkwardly for a second, then grinned again, "Uh, small-town life ain't for everyone. Maybe I want to get out and make somethin' of myself."

There was a weird quality to his voice when he said it, "Sounds like you're running away from something." I said. I don't know why. Maybe it was because sometimes I felt like that.

He looked at me a little surprised, "Why would you say a thing like that?"

Good question, I thought. It was a little weird, since it was what I had just been thinking. I tried to come up with an answer, but I couldn't, so I just shrugged.

"So, what are you here for? Let me guess, actress, right?"

I smiled, probably a little more flattered than I should be, "Maybe."

"Well, you certainly got the diva attitude down."

Ouch, "You know that after talking to me for two seconds?"

"I'm good at reading people," he said, giving me a charming smile. I won't lie; it was a nice smile. "Listen, I ain't sayin' it's a bad thing. Girls who just bow down without puttin' up a fight are totally borin'. Besides, sass is way sexy."

I felt my face growing a little red in spite of myself, "What makes you think my goal is to be sexy? There are more important things in this world than sex you know."

He laughed, and his eyes lit up when he did. They were nice eyes, "Not in my world."

"Does everybody in your world dress like a cowboy?"

"Sweetheart, people in my world don't dress like anything at all."

I tried not to smile. It was crude, he was crude, but I'd be lying if I said his comment was not a little funny.

"I saw that," he said. I'd been caught, but I tried to pretend it didn't bother me.

"You always this crude with total strangers?"

"It's part of my charm," he said, shooting me another grin, " 'Sides, who says we have to be strangers," he sat down in the chair next to me and put out his hand, "I'm Wade."

I rolled my eyes, but I took his hand. It was definitely a musician's hand; it was calloused and rough, but strong and steady. My hand basically disappeared in it, "Nice grip," I said, "That'll serve you well in there. She likes people with firm handshakes. First impressions can make or break it for you."

"You met her before?" he asked, surprised.

I snorted, "You could say that."

"Well, can you put in a good word for me?"

"Wouldn't be fair," I said teasingly, "I've never heard you play."

"You can't just take my word for it?" he asked, but his tone was humorous.

"Sorry." I said with a shrug.

He smiled. It was not the same charming smile. It was gentler. His eyes caught mine, and for some reason I couldn't look away. Then, he looked up, "Well, that's me." he started to stand and grabbed his guitar, then looked down at me, "Hey, you never told me your name."

"No, I didn't." I said, picking my magazine back up.

"You gonna?" I shook my head and he chuckled, "Well then, mystery girl, I guess this is goodbye." I smiled as he left. Mystery girl, I liked that. The idea that I could be anybody I wanted to be; to this guy I was not Zoe Hart, I wasn't the stuffy bookworm from the snooty family, I was Mystery Girl. Mystery Girl could be anybody. I could be an actress or singer her to meet with Ms. Hart about getting represented, or somebody who worked here or just, just anybody.

I had thought he had left, but then I heard that southern drawl again, "Maybe I'll see ya 'round." I looked up and saw him walking off towards the office. He was not facing me, and he had not waited for a response. Maybe he never said it. I guess I could have imagined it. Oh well, I guess it's just one more mystery for Mystery girl.