Raphina thought she had it all—no school, no parents to bother her, pretty appearance, older boyfriend, potential to become a model and a chance to leave the hellhole that is Synge Street, Dublin.

But she didn't. Not at all.

Those things, now that she looked at them, weren't the best to have. No school? No parents? A twenty year old boyfriend while she was fifteen? Yeah, not good. At all. Maybe the potential and her appearance could be considered okay, but she was starting to realise that he life was pretty fucked up.

And you had been there for only a couple of weeks and she already felt better around you. You were some girl in a Catholic all-girl's school. St. Mary's she was pretty sure. You were a friend of Conor's, a member in their small band as a guitarist, but Conor let you sing alongside him too as you were pretty good. That's how she met you.

Conor told her that you were a street musician, which was half true. You wrote, you sang, you played, but you didn't play aloud. Not until now. Not until the band gave you confidence to do so. She met you when the band—Sing Street (*get it? Singer Street? Sing Street? They sound the same, just different spelling? Okay. It was Eamon's idea anyway.)—were filming your first music video with her, "The Riddle of A Model". Some song conor wrote about Raphina, but she could only focus on you.

But she pushed you away when you got close. When her journey to London and become a model failed, when her junkie boyfriend dumped her in a bed and breakfast and slapped her.

She didn't want you to see her like this. The vulnerable Raphina and not the confident, 'everybody look at me' Raphina. But now, sitting in her room and listening to you and Conor sing on tape and watching the old music videos while you and the band were out at his school, performing your first gig for a dance, she regretted it. Deeply.

So what did she do?

She threw on her shoes, did her makeup and hair, fixed her outfit and she went to that dance for the CBS—(all-boy's school) down Synge Street. She came in and her eyes were glued to the stage where Conor sang a song. "Drive It Like You Stole It," she hadn't heard that one yet. Eamon was playing the guitar, Larry on the drums, Gary on another guitar. Acoustic. Ngig was on the keyboard and Darren was helping things backstage. Even Barry, Conor' bully, had somehow switched up and even threw a lad offstage to prevent him from hopping up, laughing about it to himself.

And there you were, at the microphone beside Conor. Your usual long hair now cut short to a wolfcut, dyed black and eyeliner neatly applied in protest against your principal, Sister Crones, for her strict, abusive and sexist rules. Raphina grinned, a small disbelieving laugh leaving her lips. Conor noticed, his own hair and makeup done in protest against hsi principal, Brother Baxter in protest for his abuse and sexist rules.

He let you take the lead, which surprised you, but you went along with it. He drifted off to the side, whispering to Raphina.

"She wrote it, isn't it great?" He asked, glancing up at you.

Raphina nodded, still in awe. "Yeah... Yeah—it's amazing."