The next morning, Ashleigh heard about the meteor while she was getting ready for work. Sundays meant a nine hour shift, so she also had to make sure she took her backpack with her, so she could work on her homework during her breaks.

She unlocked and rode her bike into town, and noticed what looked like a flashmob just down the street from Beanie's. They were singing and everything.

But she was already running a little late— by her own standards, even though she would still get there fifteen minutes earlier than her scheduled shift— so she decided to ignore it and keep going.

The first part of her shift was fine, except for having to learn an entire song for any time someone tipped, and how weird Nora and Zoey were acting. Not just the words and harmonies of a new song, but the choreography, too. Nora and Zoey had choreography for it. They made Ashleigh and Emma rehearse it.

It took up the entire first hour of her shift, learning the song and dance. It was upbeat, fast, and jazzy, and difficult to keep up with. Somehow, Ashleigh and Emma managed.

"Getcha cup of roasted coffee," the song went. The four baristas sang in harmony, with Ashleigh on the top part. "Your mornin' cup of joey. We'll make a jammin' cup of java, mocha lattae with the froth for you, Jack— frappachino! With the freshly roasted mung beans, it's a caramel drizzle mud in a cup. With a drip, drip— drip, drip— drip! And we'll bring it right up!"

Then Nora had a solo, while the other three sang 'ooh, ooh' in background harmonies.

"Hey, Mr. Business, how do you do? Can we get a triple for you? Decalf?"

"Whaaaaat?" The other three interjected, waving their arms in circles. Ashleigh tried not to seem as bored as Emma was, but it was difficult.

"Decalf!" Nora repeated.

"Whaaaaat?" The other three echoed again, then all four went back to their original quartet harmonies.

"Do dit, di do dit, di do dit, di do dit," they sang. "And we'll bring it right up! Oi, oi, oi!"

Then came the truly difficult part of the whole thing, the dance break. They had to pass out orders as they did it, too. Finally, the last section of the song.

"And we'll bring iiiiit," they harmonized. "And we'll bring iiiiiit—"

"Right—" Nora sang.

"Right—" Zoey added, a beat later.

"Right—" Emma jumped in another beat later.

"And we'll bring it right up!" Ashleigh finished the song by herself.

They had to actually perform that, twice, before Ashleigh's lunch break.

She ducked out back for a breather, exhausted from the "dumbass tip song" as Emma called it. The others were just starting up again. After a few moments of peace and quiet in that back alley, Ashleigh heard Emma shouting, terrified. Assuming the worst, that someone had pulled a gun (since this was America, after all), she ran.

She was ashamed of it, but Ashleigh never claimed to be brave. She ran until she was out of breath, and even then she kept running until she was almost home. She took note that the flashmob from earlier was still going, and getting bigger. Then she crashed into someone.

—

When Ashleigh turned eleven, Peter was the only one to show up to her birthday party.

It was Harry Potter themed, of course, and all the decorations and partywear were appropriate to match. There were going to be games, and contests with prizes. Everything was going to be so much fun. She knew she was growing up, and had intended for this to be her last real birthday party before her Sweet Sixteen. She wanted to go all out.

She had invited most of the classmates— Lex Foster, Ethan Green, Grace Chastity, Deb Hancock, Alice Johnson, Rachel Harris, Max Turner, Oliver Baker, and more— but only Peter had showed up.

He sat with her at her parents' dinner table, eating cake off a Ravenclaw plate while she herself picked at the slice on her Hufflepuff plate. The ice cream had begun to melt, making her cake soggy and less appetizing.

The following week at school, each of the no-show guests found a busted sandwich bag of melted ice cream in the bottom of their backpacks, ruining their things.

Ashleigh wondered if maybe Peter should have been in Slytherin.

—

"Shit, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you—" she paused, doubling over to catch her breath when she finally noticed who it was she had knocked over. Peter. "Fuck, what are you doing here?" She groaned.

"Looking for you," he said, but there was a strange unfamiliarity to his voice. Like it was him, and yet it wasn't him. It gave Ashleigh a bad feeling down her spine.

Suddenly frightened, she took a step back. "What the hell do you mean? Can't get enough torturing me at school and at my work? Now you gotta track me down at home, too?"

"I'm not here to torture you, Ashleigh," he said. "I'm here to invite you to the Hive."

"The what?" She took another step back as he got up off the sidewalk.

"The Hive!" He replied enthusiastically, taking a step toward her. "We're like a family, but better— we can hear each other all the time, no matter how far apart we are! It's a lot of fun. Just let me start your apotheosis and you can join us."

"Okay, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Peter, but I have to go— hey!" He lunged for her, and she shoved him away. He fell on his ass, but looked unfazed.

To Ashleigh's growing horror, Peter started to sing. He'd always been pretty good at it— they'd frequently had karaoke parties just the two of them, growing up— but this was some next-level skill.

"I know lately we haven't been very close, but you've always known me better than most—" he got up and tried again. They grappled for a moment, before she ducked away. "And I know I haven't been a very good friend, but if you'll just join us until the very end—"

He lunged one final time, and this time Ashleigh was actually ready for it. She shoved right back, pinning him to the ground.

This time when he fell, he hit his head on the concrete and didn't get back up. Panicking, Ashleigh checked for his pulse, and didn't calm down even when she found it. Looking around and finding no one else, she grabbed Peter's arms and started dragging him the rest of the way to her apartment.

—

When they were thirteen, he kissed her.

Everyone at school was talking about crushes and getting boyfriends or girlfriends, first kisses and dates. Some were speculating that Peter and Ashleigh were already together, or would end up that way. They always denied it— they were best friends, nothing more!— but it always left a small ache in Ashleigh's stomach. For as long as she could remember, she'd wished that he felt the same way as she did, but it never happened.

When he kissed her, it was because she'd asked him to be her first. She wanted someone she trusted not to hurt her, and he'd agreed to it. He kissed her gently, cupping her cheek with one hand like they'd seen in all the movies. It's soft, not much more than pressing their lips together, but it lasted several moments before he pulls away.

Then Ashleigh had thanked him, of all the things to say after a first kiss. She'd actually thanked him, and they never spoke of it again.

—

When they got there, she tied him up with some paracord she'd found in her dad's old things. She bound his feet together, and his arms to his sides. Then she locked and barricaded the front door and waited.

Ashleigh grabbed the baseball bat she'd bought for self defense.

"Shit," she moaned. "Fuck, what the fuck is going on?" She scrambled for the TV remote, hoping there would be some answers on the news.

She tuned in just in time to hear the phrase "musical riot", and then she blanched. She glanced back at her former best friend, tied up on her sofa, thinking about the day's events.

He sang to her, but even before that, there was the flashmob down the street from Beanie's, and the way Zoey and Nora were behaving about the tip song.

Peter's nose looked like it was bleeding, but there was something off about it... his blood was a bright bluish-purple color.

"What the fuck?" She exclaimed, grabbing some paper napkins and a plastic sandwich bag. The moment she started dabbing at the not-quite-blood, Peter woke up.

—

When Ashleigh was fourteen, less than six months after her first kiss, her dad died.

A car accident. A hit and run from a drunk driver. Her father was dead before he hit the ground.

When she first found out, the first person she called was Peter, but before she could get a word out, he was yelling at her to leave him alone. He hung up on her. Ashleigh cried even harder every night for the next several weeks.

School started up— ninth grade! High school! Ashleigh should have been ecstatic, spending time with Peter to study. Instead, he avoided her, and she returned the favor. Their teachers started pitting them against one another, letting them compete for the top grades. He typically won in math and chemistry. She usually beat him in english, history, and biology. Both came in close second in the ones they didn't win.

Ashleigh sat alone at a lunch table.

Peter sat surrounded by people, all chattering animatedly every day.