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Summary
Blake Belladonna looks exactly like the music she plays: heavy beats and low bass lines and a voice that sounds like a caution sign. Yang rolls the ball of her tongue piercing against the roof of her mouth, watches Blake sing with her lips against the microphone, a calling, a turning point. Blake falls into her arms with a laugh; Yang's more pop-punk but now she's getting into love.
I figured out what I believe in, Yang says.
Music? Blake asks.
You.
