Ethan stood outside the school auditorium, clutching his music folder like it was a parachute and he was already mid-fall. The Saturday sun lit up the concrete in front of the double doors, and for a brief moment, he considered walking away. Just turning around and saying, "Oops, missed the time slot. Darn."
But before the thought could settle, Maya appeared at his side, holding two coffees.
"You didn't think I'd let you flake, right?" she said, pressing a warm cup into his hands.
Ethan gave a crooked smile. "I wasn't flaking. I was... preparing for potential flaking."
"Which is exactly why you need us," said another voice behind them. Gus had arrived, followed by Shawn, Cher, and Jane.
Gus held a clipboard. "We have thirty minutes. I've broken it into three ten-minute blocks. Warm-up, run-through, feedback."
Shawn leaned against the wall. "Ignore him. He's drunk with scheduling power."
Jane opened the auditorium door. "Let's go before Gus starts color-coding the warm-up."
They filed in, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the high ceiling. The space smelled like old velvet and floor polish, with just a hint of expired stage makeup. A dusty piano sat near center stage, slightly out of tune but still loyal.
Ethan approached the microphone slowly. It was surreal, being up here. The rows of empty seats stared back like silent judges. He imagined them full—students, teachers, maybe even his family.
Definitely his family.
"You okay?" Maya asked, stepping beside him.
"Just... imagining the worst-case scenario," he said.
"Which is?"
"I hit a wrong note. My voice cracks. Luke sets off a confetti cannon and the janitor sues."
Cher popped her head in. "Would it help if I pretended to be the audience and clapped aggressively?"
"It would help if you didn't," Ethan said, adjusting the mic.
Jane pulled the piano bench into place, giving it a test press. "Ready when you are."
He took a breath. Then another. Fingers on keys, foot on pedal, eyes closed just for a second.
And then—music.
The first verse of "Pompeii" came out shakier than he'd rehearsed at home. His voice cracked slightly on the second line. But something about his friends—quietly attentive, fully present—anchored him. By the chorus, he found the rhythm again. His voice wasn't show-stopping, but it was honest. Clear. Even... warm.
By the bridge, he could see Cher swaying, Maya mouthing the words, Gus nodding in time, and Shawn pretending to conduct with a ruler.
When he finished the last note, the silence that followed wasn't empty—it was full. Full of something almost electric.
Jane was the first to speak. "That was good."
"You mean it?" Ethan asked.
"You're not Adele," Cher added, "but you've got something. And in case you haven't noticed, most guys at this school can barely carry a tune, much less write their own song."
"You should be proud," Maya said. "It's yours. And it landed."
Gus held up his clipboard. "Note: volume dipped slightly at the second chorus, but emotional delivery was consistent. Pitch—90% accurate."
"Only Gus would say 90% instead of 'great job,'" Shawn muttered.
"I'd take 90% over flattery," Ethan said. "That's... actually comforting."
They ran the song one more time, then again with minor tweaks. By the end of the half hour, Ethan was visibly looser, his shoulders less hunched, his fingers more confident.
When their slot was up, they gathered in the lobby. Jane was the one who broke the moment.
"You'll be ready."
Ethan gave her a small nod. "Thanks. All of you."
"Group hug?" Shawn offered, arms already open.
"No," said everyone else, nearly in unison.
---
Back at home, Ethan stepped through the front door just in time to see Phil attempting to mount a ring light onto a tripod in the living room.
"Hey, champ!" Phil beamed. "Guess what? I borrowed this from Mitch and Cam. They said it's top-tier lighting. We're turning the living room into a mini stage. Practice under pressure!"
"Pressure is a circular light with thirty LEDs?" Ethan asked.
"Yes! Stage fright hates good lighting," Phil said with conviction.
Claire entered, balancing a tray of snacks. "I figured if we're doing a home rehearsal, might as well have brain food. Apple slices, cheese, and... is that a banana Luke bit into and then put back?"
"I was testing its ripeness," Luke explained, shrugging.
Haley sauntered in, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. "I used to rehearse in here all the time. Trust me, nothing builds character like singing while your brother rides a tricycle through your performance space."
Alex followed with a notebook. "I'm observing. Strictly for documentation."
Ethan set his music on the stand and sat at the keyboard. It wasn't the auditorium, but the room buzzed with a different kind of energy.
Phil turned on the ring light. "Let's make magic!"
Ethan played the opening chords. This time, he focused not just on the sound, but on what it meant. Each note had weight. And when he began to sing, he could feel his voice balancing on the edge of nerves and pride.
Claire teared up by the bridge. Haley recorded part of it and whispered "Hashtag proud" to no one. Alex raised an eyebrow and jotted something down, muttering, "Surprisingly moving." Even Luke sat still, which was its own kind of miracle.
When he finished, the room went quiet. Not because no one knew what to say—because they were still in it.
"Wow," Claire said first, her voice softer than usual. "That was... really beautiful."
"I didn't even mess up the middle this time," Ethan said.
Phil clapped. "My boy. The next Mozart meets... John Mayer meets... someone with great posture!"
Alex added, "You still look awkward when you sit. But you sounded great."
"I'll take it," Ethan said, smiling.
Luke jumped up. "Okay, now I'm doing my version!" He sat at the keyboard and pounded out a version of "Twinkle Twinkle" that sounded like a broken printer.
"Please don't," Ethan said.
Too late.
---
Later that night, Ethan sat in bed, reviewing notes on a yellow pad. Most of them were musical. A few were about nerves. A couple were just doodles of exploding volcanoes with smiley faces.
His phone buzzed.
Cher: "I'm ordering glitter. Emergency backup. Don't ask why."
Maya: "You sounded amazing today. Just so you know."
Gus: "Final rehearsal Tuesday. Prepared slides and cue cards."
Shawn: "Can I throw fake snow during the chorus? Asking for a friend."
Jane: "Remember: you're not performing to impress. You're performing to express."
Ethan stared at that last message for a long time. Then turned off the light and closed his eyes.
He didn't know how the show would go.
But for the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to finding out.