Ethan was the last to finish his cereal that morning—not because he was slow, but because he'd stirred it exactly thirty-four times. Even dispersal, measured scoops, structured mornings. It helped his brain. What didn't help? Speaking. Especially not this kind of speaking.
"So," he said, eyes still on his spoon, "there's going to be a talent show at school."
Phil, halfway through a catalog of novelty socks, perked up immediately. "No way! That's amazing! You signed up, right? Please tell me you signed up."
Ethan didn't look up. "I did."
Claire, who had been reorganizing the spice rack alphabetically for the third time this week, paused. "Wait. You signed up? Voluntarily?"
"Yep," Ethan replied, voice flat but certain. "I'm performing Pompeii."
A beat of silence. Then Haley gasped from the couch, phone halfway to her ear. "You're doing Pompeii in front of people? Like with actual faces and opinions?"
Luke popped up from under the kitchen table wearing a tinfoil helmet and one sock. "Can I juggle meatballs in the background? I've been practicing. Only dropped one in the goldfish bowl yesterday!"
Alex glanced up from her book. "They lived, by the way. I checked."
Phil beamed. "Ethan, I'm so proud. You've got the gift. It's like watching Beethoven come out of his shell. If Beethoven was quiet, stylish, and very into sock symmetry."
Claire's face softened. "Are you sure you're ready for this? I mean, we know how talented you are—but getting on stage, that's a big step."
"I've been practicing," Ethan said. "The singing part too. It's not... great. But it's getting there."
"You sounded good yesterday," Alex offered, unexpectedly. "When you thought no one was listening."
Haley leaned over the couch arm. "Okay, if Alex is handing out compliments, you must actually be decent."
Luke tugged on Ethan's sleeve. "Do you want me to throw confetti during the chorus? I can fill a leaf blower with glitter!"
"No leaf blowers!" Claire and Phil said at once.
Ethan gave a small smile. "Thanks, but... maybe just be in the audience, Luke."
Luke nodded solemnly. "I'll bring my loudest claps."
Before things spiraled any further—Phil had just said "What if we train a dove?"—Ethan slipped upstairs to the calm of his room. He needed a breath. And maybe some affirmation.
He opened his group chat.
Group Chat: The Weirdos
Maya: Ethan! We just heard! You really signed up??
Gus: Please tell me you have a rehearsal schedule
Shawn: Please tell me you're performing with a trained lemur
Jane: If you're nervous, don't be. You've got this. And if someone heckles you, I'll handle it.
Cher: I. Am. OBSESSED. I'll bring glitter. Not to throw, just for morale ✨
Ethan: I don't know what I'm doing
Maya: That's fine. We'll figure it out together
Cher: Duh. We're basically your chaotic stage crew now
Gus: Please don't let it get chaotic
Shawn: Too late. I bought a smoke machine. For "vibe."
Jane: Ignore him. You're doing something brave. That's more than most.
Ethan: Thanks. Really. I just want to finish it this time.
He stared at the screen a moment longer, feeling something strange settle in his chest.
Support.
---
That afternoon, he sat down at the piano. But instead of practicing the keys, he took a breath and began to sing.
"And the walls kept tumbling down"
It wasn't perfect. His voice cracked slightly on a high note. He restarted.
"And the walls kept tumbling down"
The words echoed back at him in the quiet. Not polished. But real.
In the hallway, Claire paused mid-laundry-folding. Phil stepped out of the bathroom with shaving cream still on his ear. Luke froze mid-crayon drawing.
No one said anything. But everyone heard.
---
At dinner, the conversation circled back.
Claire spooned mashed potatoes onto Ethan's plate. "So... have you told the school yet what you're doing?"
"They know. I signed up for solo vocal performance. With original composition."
Phil looked like he was about to cry into the gravy boat. "Solo. Vocal. Performance. Original composition." He clutched his chest. "My son is an artist."
Haley looked mildly concerned. "You're sure you don't want backup dancers?"
"No, Haley."
"Laser show?"
"Still no, Luke."
"I could wear roller skates and light sparklers from my elbows!"
Claire pinched her nose. "Luke. Stop planning injuries."
Alex took a bite of broccoli. "He's doing this his way. Which is probably the best way. You've all heard Pompeii—it doesn't need backup dancers. It needs space."
There was another beat of silence.
Then Phil raised his glass of sparkling apple juice. "To Ethan. And to Pompeii. May the stage be yours."
They all clinked glasses—even Luke's cup of orange soda, which he promptly spilled a little on the table.
"Symbolic lava," he said proudly.
---
The next day at school, the lunch table was buzzing.
"Okay," Cher said, laying out fabric swatches. "What are we wearing? And yes, I said we. I'm not going to be on stage, but I need to color-match your emotional arc."
Gus pulled out a folder. "I made a list of warm-up exercises for your vocal cords. Humming scales, lip trills, and one called the 'siren swoop.'"
Maya was gently tapping out rhythm ideas on the table. "The bridge of Pompeii is so strong. You should hold back until the last chorus. Let it explode."
Jane gave a small nod. "Build tension. Release it all in the end."
Shawn was doodling on a napkin. "We should get fog machines and pigeons. You know, for drama."
Ethan looked up from his sandwich. "How would you even get pigeons?"
Shawn raised an eyebrow. "How is not the question. Why is the question. And the answer is 'because spectacle.'"
Everyone ignored him.
Ethan smiled. These people—this group—weren't always predictable. But they were steady. In their own chaotic way.
"Thanks, guys," he said. "I know I don't say it much. But I mean it."
Maya leaned closer. "We know. Now let's make Pompeii erupt."
Cher squealed. "Did she just nail the tagline?!"
Jane actually smiled.
---
Later that night, Ethan wrote a new line in his notebook under the Pompeii sketch.
"It starts small. But it doesn't stay small."
He stared at it, then underlined it three times.
And for the first time in a long while, he wasn't just hoping he could finish something.
He knew he would.