Austin:

I sit in the tour bus, idly strumming a guitar. I miss Ally. This tour…was meant to be for us. All together, the rocker, the manager, the filmmaker, and the writer. It doesn't mean I'm angry at Ally. I know she did the right thing. Making a record is a huge deal, especially for her. She has only gotten over her stage fright months ago, but she's already made huge strides in her career. She's been singing solo, making demos, juggling songwriting for me—and herself, and now a RECORD. It means a lot to me that she has always been there for me, and I think she always will be, even if she's not my songwriter anymore. I think we'll always be something more than friends.

"Um…buddy…I know you're bummed about Ally, but why do you keep strumming that guitar at two in the morning?" Dez comes out of the back, where the bunks are, wearing funky striped pajamas, and a checked sleeping cap, complete with a pompom.

I knew I couldn't fall asleep tonight. Not when we just said goodbye to her six hours ago. I didn't even try. I just sat there, in my seat, and I hadn't moved since. "I'm sorry, Dez," I say, "I'll try to stop now." I even put the guitar down to prove my point. But he doesn't turn to go back to his bunk; instead he just stands there and stares at me.

"Only 93 days left now, you know." He yawns, and turns then. "Don't stay up too long." And he leaves me to my thoughts.

But, instead, I grab a pencil from Dez's backpack, and my songbook from my luggage, which I left on a shelf in the front, because of Brooke. Who knows where that girl is? She's a creepy girl ninja, I tell you.

And I sit back down, and begin to write, before I forget. 93 days is at the top, and soon, my feelings fill the paper.

. . .

Ally:

It's bright and early the next morning, and I feel a smile across my face, and nothing is fake about it. Not like a day like today. It's the day I start recording…but also the morning after. My friends are on a bus, making their way up the coast, and I am here. But I have the card. It was on my nightstand while I slept—or didn't sleep, I was too excited to—and now I'm grabbing it out of my purse, which is sitting on the couch, in a recording studio, in RAMONE RECORDS. I breathe in again, trying to avoid freaking out.

But Ronnie Ramone is right behind me! Me, Ally Dawson! And now he goes: "Ally, let me get right to the point: Why are you taking a card into the studio?"

"It means something to the song." And I'm not lying. It's part of a presence I thought I'd never had if I never went on tour with my friends: Austin. But he's here. Inside the studio, with me. He's in the card. I set it standing up on the piano, a baby grand, just like the one at Sonic Boom downstairs. The one Austin got for me, when we first became partners. When I was the shy Ally, the world seemed small, and my dream impossible to achieve. But now, here in Ramone Records, the world seems so much bigger—and brighter. My goal is suddenly right here, and all I have to do is touch one key. As I begin, I feel Trish, and Dez flash through my mind, and I think about them. But my smile gets brighter, as I think of Austin. And I open my eyes, and look at the card, and the blue cover. "Thinking of You". And my thought from last night comes back. Only 93 days now, and my feelings are not going to change.