Chapter One

"I'm a fraud," I say as I slam my notebook closed and lay my head on top of it.

"No, you're not," my best friend, Willow, says as she grabs the notebook out from under me and turns to the page I was just on.

I lift my head up and watch her face as she reads. Her long, wavy brown hair falls into her face as she scans the page.

"Yes, I am," I huff. "I'm a singer who writes songs about love who's never actually been in love." I slowly slide my guitar down my legs until it hits the floor.

"Ali, this is great. I think this could be your next big hit!" Willow exclaims as a smile starts to take over her face causing her big chocolate-brown eyes to light up. "These lyrics are genius!"

"Yeah, but it's not my story. I've never experienced that," I say, gesturing to the notebook she's holding with my glittery green guitar pick.

"That doesn't take away from the talent that you possess that allows you to turn someone's story into this lyrical masterpiece," Willow responds, pointing to the words on the paper. "That's not something everyone has."

"Wil, I appreciate what you're trying to do here, but . . ." I start, but she cuts me off.

"There's no but. I'm not trying to do anything. You need to realize that you have pure talent. It doesn't matter that you haven't experienced this or that you haven't truly been in love." She pauses. "Or even close for that matter."

"Hey, wait a second. I've been close to love before."

"Ali, thinking you're in love with someone when you're twelve because he ate lunch with you everyday and would carry your backpack to class isn't love," Willow points out as she grabs a chip from the bowl on the table and takes a bite.

"Hey, he gave me a friendship bracelet for my birthday, too!" I shout, grabbing the chip from her hand and shoving it in my mouth.

"That's just infatuation . . ." she says through a mouthful of food. " . . . or hormones. You take your pick."

I throw my hands up in the air and slam them down on the table. "Okay, fine. I've never even been close to love. Which only adds to my point. I'm a fraud."

Willow rolls her eyes at me. "Okay, so you're a fraud then. Now what? Stop going on tour? Stop writing music? Stop writing songs that your fans love? Songs that they constantly tell you help get them through things. Just because you haven't experienced love?"

I shrug at her as I reach for a can of Pepsi off the table. "Maybe," I say, as I pop the lid open on the can, relishing in the satisfying sizzle of the liquid inside. "I'm tired of feeling like I'm pretending to be someone that I'm not."

I take a sip of the dark cola and let the bubbles tickle my throat as they go down.

"Okay, fine. Then quit. Never write again. Be done with it," Willow states, her determined eyes staring me down.

"Maybe, I will," I say as I stand up, grabbing my can of pop and snatching the notebook from her hands.

"Oh my gosh, you're impossible," Willow exhales as she stands up, puts her hands on her waist, and pops her hip out to the side. "What would've happened if every well known person in history stopped doing what they were doing because they were feeling a little bit of imposter syndrome, huh? What if George Washington decided to give up because he realized he had never been president before? Or if the Beatles broke up because they realized this was the first time they had written record breaking albums? Or if JK Rowling decided not to finish writing the Harry Potter series because she couldn't do magic with a wooden stick? Last time I checked, she isn't a real wizard," Willow finishes as she raises her eyebrow at me.

I stare at her for a second, mid chew, before I start busting out laughing. Like full blown hysterical, gut wrenching laughter. Willow just looks at me, eyes wide.

"Is this some kind of mental breakdown? Do I need to call someone?" she asks, reaching her arms out towards me but still standing a few feet back as if closing the gap between us would cause me to completely meltdown.

"No, no, I'm good," I say, waving her off through fits of laughter.

"You don't look so good right now," Willow whispers. I'm not sure why she's whispering, but it makes me laugh more.

"This whole thing is just so stupid." I giggle a few more times. "Why do I always do this to myself?"

Willow finally takes a few steps towards me. "Because you're human? Because you're you? Either of those answers would work."

I nod my head and finally straighten up, wiping the tears from my eyes. "Good point. I need to stop doing this to myself. I'm a successful singer-songwriter. I've had a great career so far. I have amazing fans that always cheer me on. Why do I let myself get into my own head so much?"

"I wish I knew," Willow starts, "but I guess that's why you have me. You overthink everything, and I put it all into perspective for you."

Willow smiles at me. I reach over and wrap my arms around her, squeezing as tight as I can. I rest my head on the top of hers. She hates when I do this, but it's not my fault I tower over her. It's the perfect mixture of her being quite shorter than average and me being quite taller than average. The perfect match. Bestie soulmates.

"What would I do without you?" I say, as I start to pat the top of her head.

"You'd probably still be on the floor laughing until someone had to cart you off," Willow answers as she untangles herself from my arms, steps away, and tries to smooth out her hair.

"Hmmm, probably." I laugh as I grab my guitar off the ground and strum it a few times.

"So back to writing?" Willow asks.

I nod. "Back to writing."