The final bell echoed like the end of a particularly well-scored movie scene. Ethan stood by his locker, sorting books with precision—Science to the left, English notes alphabetized behind it, his color-coded planner tucked safely beneath. Everything exactly where it should be. And yet… his mind was still at the lunch table, replaying moments like the fadeout of a good melody.
Cher had called them "refreshing." Maya had smiled more than usual. Gus had carefully straightened the pineapple's sunglasses before leaving, and Shawn had declared that the cafeteria needed a spotlight and theme music.
It had been chaotic. Disorganized. Loud.
It had been good.
Ethan didn't know what to make of that.
He was zipping up his backpack when Maya appeared beside him, her steps light, almost a bounce in them.
"Hey," she said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Still coming to the arcade?"
Ethan hesitated. "I was going to practice piano..."
Maya raised an eyebrow.
"...but I guess fifteen minutes won't kill me," he added quickly. "Routine can be... flexible."
Maya smiled. "Spoken like someone growing."
Ethan didn't say it out loud, but part of him had only agreed because Maya would be there. And because he'd caught himself smiling at something Shawn said—unprompted. A few weeks ago, he would've fled from this kind of social storm. Now? He was cautiously curious.
"Alright," he said. "Meet you at the food court entrance?"
"See you there."
Maya left with a wave, and Ethan watched her go for a second longer than necessary. Then, shaking himself back into motion, he headed out.
Claire was waiting in the minivan, already halfway into a phone call about a parent committee disaster involving mismatched tablecloths and a rogue clown booking. Ethan nodded along at the right times, tuned out at others.
When they got home, he beelined to the piano.
Just for fifteen minutes.
He sat down, adjusted the bench by exactly three notches, and placed his fingers gently on the keys. His shoulders relaxed at the familiar touch. No pineapple. No Shawn. No cafeteria overload.
Just music.
He played a few warm-up scales, then drifted into the chords he'd been sketching earlier. The Pompeii-inspired piece was still in fragments—a melody here, a progression there—but the feeling behind it had taken shape.
What many thought the citizens must have felt. Urgency. But Ethan heard something different in it: not the sound of collapse, but of aftermath. Not panic, but the quiet realization of change.
That's what today had felt like.
He began layering the melody slowly, letting each chord breathe. The left hand kept a steady rhythm—like footsteps, like routine—while the right danced lightly, offbeat, a little unpredictable. He thought about Shawn's jokes, Gus's structure, Cher's sparkle, and Maya's grounding presence. All of them colliding into something messy and warm.
He shifted into a minor chord, soft and thoughtful. His fingers lingered. Then he moved back into a hopeful major, lifting the tune into something brighter.
He played it through again, smoother this time. His foot tapped the pedal gently, holding the last note like a breath held just a second too long.
Then silence.
He pressed stop on his voice recorder.
That was it.
Not finished, not perfect—but real.
The door creaked. Claire peeked in.
"You okay?"
Ethan nodded. "Just... working through something."
Claire smiled softly. "Well, it sounded like something beautiful. Just remember—your ride leaves in five minutes."
"Right," Ethan said, glancing at the clock. "Thanks, Mom."
He packed up quickly, stuffed the sketch into his notebook, and headed out the door with a weird twist in his chest. Excitement? Nerves?
Growth.
The mall was buzzing with the early rush of Friday evening. Kids ran past the fountain, a guy in a hot dog suit posed for a promo photo, and someone was handing out free samples of scented candles near the entrance. It smelled like vanilla chaos.
Ethan spotted Maya first, leaning against the food court sign with her hands in her jacket pockets.
"You made it," she said with a half-smile.
"I had to," he said, holding up his phone. "Gus texted me seventeen reminders."
She laughed. "Sounds like Gus."
A moment later, Shawn and Gus arrived—Shawn holding a large soda and Gus clutching a folded schedule he'd made for their time in the arcade. "Efficiency is fun," Gus insisted as Shawn tried to crumple it playfully.
Then came Cher, hair perfect, eyes sparkling, holding a milkshake and a shopping bag.
"Sorry I'm late," she said. "Got distracted at Sephora. Do you know they're selling glow-in-the-dark eyeliner now? I need a moment just to emotionally process that."
Ethan blinked. "That's... intense."
"You say that like it's bad," Cher said with a wink.
The group made their way toward the arcade. Inside, the lights flashed in every direction, sounds collided like a storm, and Ethan instinctively reached to straighten the paper score in his bag—but then paused.
Let it be.
He followed the others to a row of racing games. Maya picked out a neon pink car, Shawn grabbed the motorcycle seat, Gus took a go-kart, and Ethan slid into the one furthest right. Cher hovered behind them, cheering and commentating with the flair of a sports announcer.
Ethan pressed start.
The screen counted down. 3... 2... 1...
And then it began.
He drove too carefully at first, trying to understand the controls. Maya zoomed past him. Gus muttered something about fuel efficiency. Shawn hit a banana peel and shouted like it was a gunshot.
"Drive like your social life depends on it!" Cher yelled. "Which, honestly, it kind of does!"
Ethan started laughing. Actually laughing.
By the time the game ended, he was in third place—right between Maya and Gus. Shawn declared himself victorious anyway, pointing out that he hit the most bonus targets.
They moved from game to game—air hockey, pinball, basketball hoops. Cher won every prize in the claw machine. Shawn convinced a teenager to trade him his plastic ninja sword for a pineapple keychain. Gus disinfected his hands between every game. Maya kept score on a napkin that somehow became an impromptu scoreboard.
And Ethan?
Ethan kept smiling.
Later, when the group collapsed into a booth at the food court with slushies and soft pretzels, Shawn tapped Ethan on the shoulder.
"Hey," he said, nodding toward Ethan's bag. "You bringing that sheet music tomorrow?"
Ethan hesitated.
"I want to hear it," Shawn added. "No jokes. Just... I think you've got something cool."
Maya nudged Ethan's foot under the table.
Cher leaned in. "If you ever need a violinist, I took four weeks of lessons before quitting. But I still remember how to hold the bow, which is the important part."
Gus raised his drink. "To future concerts."
Ethan looked at them all. Then nodded, slowly.
"Yeah," he said. "I'll bring it."
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I still have quite a few chapters in the drafts. Should I publish them tomorrow or the day after tomorrow or should i publish only one or two chapters per day?