Chloe rushed through the wings, trying to get to her class on time. She bound into her class just as the bell rang. "Just in time!" she proclaimed. The class giggled a bit at her eagerness. "Okay, so today we're going to talk about jobs within the music industry," she stated, taking attendance. A phone buzzed and Chloe looked up. A couple of students stared at their devices. "Hey guys, phones away for now," she reminded them. "Ms. Beale, there was a plane crash close to here," A girl told her. "Hopefully there aren't any injuries," she said, turning back to her lesson.

"So, jobs, let's make a web," she instructed. A a small brunette raised his hand. "Braeden?" "An artist," he answered as she scribbled it down. "Music producer, I want to be one when I grow up," he added. Chloe scribbled that down to, mind flashing to Beca Mitchell, off being a big music producer and an artist at the same time. When they finished the web and the meaning of the jobs she handed out worksheets. "Find a person for each job," she instructed. Chloe settled behind her desk, planning her next class. Within minutes whispers echoed around the class. "Find any songwriters?" "Who did you get for DJ?" The talked among themselves. Chloe rubbed her face. Beca had left that day, three years prior.

Three Years Ago

"I'm sorry Chlo. I've got to go. My dreams are in L.A." Beca apologised. "You could come with me," she suggested. "I've got the teaching job here," Chloe protested. Chloe wrapped Beca in a hug before she boarded, then deleted her number.

Present Time

"Ms. Beale? Are you okay?" an Asian girl asked. "Perfectly fine," Chloe replied. "I was wondering if we could put the same person more than once. For example..." she handed Chloe her phone, her hand accidentally pushing on a link. Chloe stared at the screen, her eyes going glassy and she paled considerably. "Ms. Beale, are you sure you're okay?" the girl asked again, turning the phone to look at the screen. Chloe snapped out of her trance. "Yeah, fine, excuse me," she said quickly before walking out of the class, leaving her students confused.

Chloe rushed to the staff bathroom, fumbling for her keys. "Shoot," she muttered, realising her keys were still in the classroom. She leaned against the wall trying to wipe away the tears falling. "Hey, you okay?" A dark blonde woman asked her. "Do you need to go inside?" she asked, motioning to the bathroom. "Yeah thanks," Chloe answered half crawling through the door. "Are you sure you're okay?" the woman asked, following her in. Chloe didn't reply, she just walked into one of the stalls. "I'll send someone else in," the woman told her as Chloe sobbed.

Chloe rejected anybody else's help, staying in the stall for a good twenty minutes. After the last bell rang Chloe returned to her classroom, seeing Braeden waiting for her, headphones on. "You okay Ms. Beale?" he asked. God, he looked like a guy version of Beca, Chloe thought to herself. "Yep, just needed some alone time," she reassured him, packing her things. "Bye." he said before leaving.

"Bree, could you grab Stacie and pick me up from work?" Chloe asked, sitting in her car as it rained. How fitting. "Didn't you drive this morning?" Aubrey wondered. "I did but I don't want to drive," Chloe replied. "Okay, I guess, we'll be there in ten."

"Why were you crying?" Aubrey asked, concerned. "I haven't been crying." Chloe said, sniffling. Stacie drove Chloe's car back to the house the trio owned together. "If you hadn't been crying you wouldn't have called," Aubrey stated, parking her own car. "No reason," Chloe mumbled before retreating to her room.

"Hey Chlo?" Stacie knocked on her bedroom door. When she didn't answer Stacie opened the door, walking in with Aubrey right behind. The redhead was fast asleep, still clutching her phone. Aubrey placed the blanket on top of her as Stacie unwrapped the fingers off the phone. The girls looked at the screen. A news article on the plane crash earlier today. "Twenty-four year old artist and music producer in plane crash in Georgia found..." Stacie read out loud, glancing at the sleeping redhead, who looked so vulnerable, so broken. "Beca."