Ethan was halfway through a shaky falsetto when he heard the unmistakable thud-thud-thud of Luke sprinting upstairs like a Labrador on hardwood floors.
"Ethan!" Luke burst in without knocking, arms flailing like he had just discovered fire. "You know what would make your performance epic? Smoke bombs and laser eyes. I already drew a diagram."
He held up a sticky note with a stick figure labeled "You" surrounded by red crayon lightning bolts.
Ethan blinked. "I said no lasers, Luke. That includes imaginary ones."
Luke groaned. "But the smoke could come out of your shoes!"
"I don't want to accidentally set the auditorium on fire."
"Okay, fine," Luke sighed, dramatically collapsing on Ethan's bed. "Can I at least beatbox behind you?"
"Can you beatbox?"
Luke tried. It sounded like someone sneezing into a bag of tortilla chips.
Ethan stared. Luke grinned.
"I'll... consider it," Ethan said diplomatically. "Like, very, very quietly."
Luke beamed like he just won a Nobel Prize.
Downstairs, the rest of the family was buzzing. Claire was vacuuming the same rug for the third time, Phil was crafting a faux stage light out of a colander and LED bike lights ("For ambience!"), and Alex was pretending to do homework but clearly eavesdropping on everything.
"So," Claire said to Phil as she passed by with the vacuum, "what do we do if he gets stage fright?"
"We support him!" Phil said. "With love, pride, and glowsticks."
"No glowsticks," Claire warned.
"Just light encouragement, then," he grinned.
In the living room, Haley lounged with a magazine. "Is he still doing that song about a volcano?"
"It's called 'Pompeii,'" Alex corrected. "It's metaphorical. Try not to ruin it."
"I'm not gonna ruin it," Haley said. "I just wanna know if he's gonna wear the black shirt or the soft-gray one. Y'know, the one that makes him look like a tortured poet with feelings."
Phil looked up. "Wait, we're doing outfits now? Should I get matching shirts for the family?"
Claire froze. "No. Just no."
---
Meanwhile, at school the next day, Ethan's friend group had commandeered the far-right corner of the library—now dubbed "The Situation Room." Maya was sprawled across a beanbag chair with a notepad. Gus was building a practice schedule on graph paper. Jane stood at the whiteboard drawing out lighting angles. Cher was holding fabric swatches. Shawn was... juggling apples.
"I say fog machine," Shawn announced mid-juggle. "Followed by a sudden blackout. Boom. Mysterious."
"No fog machines," Ethan muttered.
"Ugh, you and Gus with your anti-fog agenda," Shawn said.
Maya flipped a page in her notes. "Okay, Ethan, we need to figure out staging. You don't have to move around a lot, but we need to make sure you're not just frozen at the piano like a statue."
"I can emote with my eyebrows," Ethan offered dryly.
Cher clapped. "Okay, I love that, but also—wardrobe. I brought three shirt options. One says, 'Soul of a composer.' One has tasteful musical notes. And one just makes your jawline look amazing."
"I have a jawline?" Ethan asked.
"You will," Cher promised.
Gus slid a printed rehearsal calendar across the table. "If we use the auditorium this Saturday and Sunday, we can have two full run-throughs before the talent show."
"Wait," Jane said, tilting her head. "Does anyone actually know how many acts there are?"
"I asked the front office," Maya said. "Twenty-seven. You're act fifteen."
"Right in the middle," Shawn whistled. "The anchor spot. The pressure spot."
"Helpful," Ethan muttered.
Jane met his eyes. "That just means you'll be the turning point."
Somehow, that didn't scare him as much as it used to.
---
Later that evening, back at home, the Dunphy house was oddly quiet. Ethan sat at the piano in the living room, gently playing through the intro to Pompeii. His voice cracked on the high note. He stopped. Took a breath. Tried again.
This time it landed.
He didn't know if it was "good," exactly—but it was honest. And sometimes, that was better.
He didn't notice Claire watching from the hallway until she cleared her throat.
"You know," she said, "when you were little, I used to hum you lullabies every night. And you'd always hum them back. Off-key. Loud. But determined."
Ethan chuckled. "Sounds like Luke."
"No," Claire said softly. "It was always you."
He looked up.
"I'm proud of you, Ethan. Not because you're doing this show, but because... you're choosing to share something you love. That's brave."
He nodded slowly.
"Also," she added with a teasing smile, "if you want me to sit in the front row and mouth all the words like a crazy stage mom, I will."
"Please don't," Ethan said.
"No promises," she grinned.
---
That night, Ethan opened up the group chat again.
Group Chat: The Weirdos
Maya: So... how's the family reacting?
Ethan: Surprisingly normal
Gus: Like supportive?
Ethan: Like... Claire offered to mouth the lyrics during the performance
Shawn: ICONIC
Jane: I kind of want to see that
Cher: I'm ordering extra glitter. Just in case ✨
Ethan: You're all insane
Maya: And you love us
Ethan: ...a little
Gus: Saturday rehearsal?
Ethan: Yeah. I'm ready.
Maya: Good. Because you're going to be amazing.