"Welcome to the great singer of the Hidden Leaf — Siren."

I stepped onto the make-shift stage in the middle of the candle-bright tavern. The room was filled with the hooting and hollering of civilians and the smells of rice wine and grilled meat.

But there was something else. I felt chakra that didn't belong, hot and alert - nothing like the relaxed farmers and miners cheering and drinking sake. My gigs were filled with average folk. It was rare a ninja came. But that's what this had to be. A rabbit-instinct in me begged me to run.

These shinobi are stronger than you. They've come for you, finally. My own chakra seemed to say.

My eyes shot in the direction I could feel the energy. Past the shouting farmers, and the bar, until they rested on a group of figures staking out the back corner by the door. They were meant to look like travelers, packs slung over their shoulders. They were no ordinary travelers, though. They weren't road-weary. Their forms belied their disguise; they jittered with trigger-happy muscles, their backs to no one. I'm sure most onlookers wouldn't notice, but my job is to watch people. Lots of them.

One looked up at me. I only caught the glint of a single black eye through the shadow of his hood. The other eye was covered.

Could it be?

I shook off the idea as I plastered a smile on and stepped forward into the candle light. The hollers grew louder, the energy hotter.

I tapped the center of my right hand, ignoring the hiss of pain it promised. "Come," I whispered. Moments later, a small guitar shot handle first from backstage into my hand. The neck up to the frets were plated in a worn silver metal that still managed to shine. The head was adorned with a twisted point, the width between a senbon and kunai, just pretty enough to look decorative. My fingers caught the neck expertly, avoiding the sharp end - not my first rodeo.

This only made the audience whoop more. A bit of spectacle never hurt no one. I didn't chance a look up at the hidden Shinobi, Lord only knows what they'd make of it.

"Thank y'all for having me," I smiled. My long black hair was decorated with wooden beads. I tossed my locks over one shoulder in a way I knew would make the front row blush. I peeked down, and indeed, a big red farmer looked nearly about to faint.

It was best to win folks over immediately - especially if you weren't in your home village, you never knew what kind of nasty people might show up. Best to take them off-guard right away, and a pretty smile wasn't a bad way to do it, I'd learned.

"My name is Siren," I amplified my voice with chakra—who needs a mic? "And this is 'The First Day of My Life.'"

I strummed the guitar, twanging out the first chords of the folk melody. "This is the first day of my life…" I nearly whispered, the notes hiding beneath.

When I looked back up, the once-rambunctious room had gone silent and was filled with slack jaws and wide eyes. That reaction never gets old.

"Swear I was born right in the doorway. I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed — They're spreading blankets on the beach…"

The blanket of my own music laid down over the room, calming everyone's energy at once. I felt the chakra in the back of the room quiet, too, even.

When I chanced a glance up at the cloaked figures they were as still as everyone else. Even the man with one eye, who rested a chin on his palm. His gaze attached to mine.

I looked right back, ignoring every sense that told me I was a bunny in the crosshairs of a wolf. No, my voice only hitched louder and warmer. The glow of chakra burned in my chest. I had to release it and I only knew one way.

"Yours was the first face that I saw. I think I was blind before I met you…"

Maybe it was the firelight, or the electric energy in the room, but I swear that that one eye crinkled up in a smile that only I saw.

I closed my own eyes, giving into the rhythm.

"And I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been… But I know where I want to go."

In that moment, everyone in that room belonged to me.

Even you.

#

TWELVE YEARS EARLIER

(or several thousand later, depending on how you look at it)

"You're special, love. When you sing, your soul alights — warmin' the rest of us from ear to heart." That's what my mama said, anyway, when I was little. She might've been biased, though.

I always loved singing. It felt like I was just supposed to.

Growing up in the middle of nowhere, I didn't get to Hollywood until I was 20. By then everyone told me it was too late. I didn't have proper training, or connections, I didn't have that special "something" — even if I was able to memorize a song just from listening.

My soul really did feel like it was made of music. But that didn't seem to be enough.

People say they can't feel their soul. Well, I can. And it thrums to the beat of Michael Jackson, and Queen, and, heck, Black Pink. If there's a good beat, that's all I need.

So, I tried for years to get my break, be a real singer. But every time I pushed, I hit a wall that seemed to be growing taller and taller… as did my stack of bills.

I took a job doing the only thing I knew how. I became an elementary school music teacher. For a decade the kids taught me about cartoons, and toys, and fashion, and heck, dance fads. I had lost my dream, but at least I'd gained the love of a new kind of audience.

That'd have to be enough, because once your chance passes it never comes back.

At least that's what I thought.

"It's called the Draggle Pop!" A voice shrieked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"I'm sorry… the what now?" I turned to the little girl, flummoxed by her jerky movements.

"The Draggle Pop!" Candace replied as she danced, her knees dipping in toward the ground while she wiggled her butt behind her. "Duh," she continued, now popping her elbows in and out, "it's, like, really cool."

I continued to watch, nodding. It looked anything but "really cool."

I sighed as the whole class of five-year-olds joined in, dipping knees and popping elbows. I guess this was the next biggest dance craze, like the Dougie or the Stanky Legg.

"Do it Ms. Lee!" The kids chorused. "Do it!" "Yeah, please!";

"Ahem." I enunciated, clapping loudly once. "I believe this is a music class, not a dance club. It's time to take our seats again for the final song of the day." They groaned, sitting back in their chairs slowly. "BUT, if y'all remember the lyrics to 'We Will Rock You' I promise to Draggle Pop before we leave today."

They erupted in cheers and I smiled. Perhaps a silly dance wasn't so bad if it kept the classics alive.

I sat at my drum set and punched down the kick drum, eliciting low thumps in rhythm.

"Buddy, you're a boy, make a big noise - playing in the street, gonna be a big man someday! You got mud on your face, you big disgrace... kicking your can all over the place, singin'-"

It was instant. Energy rushed through the room. Maybe I didn't have that special "something" record companies wanted, but no one could say this country girl couldn't start a hootenanny with one verse.

They were electrified, screaming with me -

"We will, we will rock you! We will, we will rock you!"

We sang, and we stomped, and kicked up heat. Some of the girls got up dancing again, feeling the rhythm in their bones. I couldn't blame them. Who doesn't feel like moving when they hear Queen done right?

By the end, we were all in sync, my voice carrying just above theirs. The drum replaced with a guitar, thourougly shredded in a way that seemed a bit much, I admit, for a group of kindergarteners. But they loved it.

"We will, we will rock you!" The final line coincided with the final school bell.

I looked up, the class screeching with approval and applause. But my eyes were on the back of the room.

Jay Phan's dad was here. He not only was the hottest dad in my class, by far (a fact I should be ignoring, I thought), but I knew he was also a music agent. Teaching at a school in Beverly Hills always promised some famous parents, and I had dreamed about performing for them one day…

I looked down at my dirty school dress, my old guitar, and my sweat – my out-of-shape breathing coming out in huffs.

But not like this.

I looked back up at him with an embarrassed smile and a soft blush. "Ah! Mr. Phan! Here to pick up Jay?"

The kids rushed from the room, all but Jay who stalked up to his dad, clearly embarrassed that his old man had come in.

"Ms. Lee, is it? Jay's been telling me all about you and your 'amazing singing,' I had to see it for myself!"

I blushed hotter, looking at Jay with mock annoyance. Jay's ears turned red; he buried his face in his dad's knees.

"I see, what a little trouble maker. Well, we appreciated your attendance." I replied, trying to gain some composure.

"What'd you think?" Jay's said, muffled.

"I think you're right! She's a shooting star!" Mr. Phan said. My heart fluttered for a moment. Maybe I have a shot. "If only she was fifteen years younger and blonde, right Ms. Lee?" He laughed, as if we were all in on the same joke.

It's me, I'm the joke. I realized, my heart sinking right down to the soles of my feet.

"Right," I croaked.

"Dad!" Jay shouted, mortified.

Mr. Phan ruffled his hair. "Oh, don't worry, Jay, just us adults talking."

I nodded, not sure what else to say as they left.

Then I sighed. Picking up the room while getting ready to leave, myself.

What a day.

#

I shuffled out into the parking lot, pulling on my Spanx and trying to tiptoe in my high heels to avoid blisters.

Then I stopped as a shriek pierced through the crowd of kids.

"MS. LEE! YOU NEVER DRAGGLE POPPED!" It was Candace. It seems everyone had forgotten about our little deal except for her.

I cringed, turning to face her, very aware of all the parents looking on amused (even Jay's dad who was climbing into his fancy car).

"Oh... maybe next week, Candace?" I couldn't take more mortification.

"B-but you promised...? I thought you said you never break a promise."

I closed my eyes, sighing deeply. I did not like to break promises.

"Fine." I gave in, deflating as she clapped. Let's get this over with. Not like I have dignity left to lose, these days.

"Draggle Pop! Draggle Pop! Draggle Pop!" She chanted as other students milling about joined in.

More and more nervous, I tried to remember how the dance looked. Bending my knees in, elbows out, butt wiggling. I could hear giggles from not only kids but parents. Anxious, I moved faster. I could only imagine how old and "not blonde" I looked to Jay's dad now.

Then, something popped wrong. I felt a pain shoot through my back.

"Ah!" And I stumbled backwards off the curb. I couldn't straighten my spine, so I continued to back peddle, frantic to get footing. Apparently the kids thought it was part of the dance, so they cheered louder.

That is, until Mr. Phan's Tesla pulled through - right where I was standing.

SLAM!

The cheers turned into screams as I rolled over the top of the car. Then everything went black

Is this how I die? I thought, vision going dark. ...Draggle Popping?

And it, friend, unfortunately was how I died. One Draggle Pop too far.

But death, it turns out, is much sillier than even a stupid TikTok dance.