Ethan stood behind the curtain of the school auditorium, palms slightly damp, sheet music clutched in one hand and a water bottle in the other. The school's first official talent show rehearsal was underway, and today… it wasn't just friends. It was everyone. Every performer. Every voice. Every instrument. Every opinion.
He was next.
"Ethan Dunphy?" the drama teacher, Ms. Langford, called into the wings.
Maya gave him a gentle nudge from behind. "You've got this. Seriously."
Ethan exhaled slowly, like he'd practiced. "Okay. Chaos. Embrace the chaos." He muttered it like a mantra and walked out onto the stage.
The auditorium wasn't packed, but a good twenty or thirty students sat in the first rows—other talent show participants, a few helpers, and a cluster of skeptical onlookers who'd finished their own rehearsals early and decided to hang around. Some were chatting. A couple whispered. One girl scrolled on her phone.
Ethan sat down at the upright piano, placed dead center, and adjusted the bench. His fingers hovered above the keys. His heart thumped—not from fear, exactly, but from sheer adrenaline.
Ms. Langford's voice echoed from the side of the stage. "Go ahead when you're ready."
He gave a small nod, closed his eyes briefly, and started to play.
The first chords were soft. Tentative. His original composition, inspired by Bastille's Pompeii, built slowly—low notes rumbling like the distant tremor of a volcano. His voice joined the piano, steady if still a little raw.
"I was left to my own devicesMany days fell away with nothing to show…"
The room quieted. Conversations stopped.
"And the walls kept tumbling downIn the city that we loveGreat clouds roll over the hillsBringing darkness from above…"
His voice wasn't flawless, but it was full of soul—gentle, haunting, and emotional. He wasn't trying to impress. He was trying to say something.
"But if you close your eyesDoes it almost feel like nothing changed at all?And if you close your eyesDoes it almost feel like you've been here before?"
Cher sat a few rows back, eyes wide, mouthing the words in sync. Maya gave her a knowing glance. Gus, seated with a notepad, scribbled a quick "Strong entry. Stage presence: understated. Voice: improving. Song: chills."
Shawn leaned sideways in his seat and whispered, "He's brooding. I respect it. Feels very 'haunted pianist with a past.'"
Jane sat with arms crossed, but her expression was one of silent approval. She didn't give praise easily—but Ethan had earned her attention.
Ethan's fingers danced into the bridge of the piece, layering melodies with new improvisation. He added flourishes, key changes he'd worked out the night before, riffs that made the piece feel fresh. Personal.
And then, the final chorus:
"Where do we begin, the rubble or our sins?Oh, where do we begin, the rubble or our sins?"
A voice from the back muttered a little too loudly, "Okay, drama."
It drew a few snickers.
Ethan flinched—but only slightly. He kept playing.
Because another voice immediately followed: "Shut up, Chad. You lip-synced to Call Me Maybe."
That one got a ripple of laughter, and Ethan caught Maya's proud smirk in the crowd. Even Jane cracked a half-smile.
He reached the last refrain:
"And if you close your eyesDoes it almost feel like nothing changed at all?"
Then silence.
No notes. No ending flourish. Just that final chord suspended in air, resonating.
He took his hands off the keys.
Applause broke out. It wasn't thunderous, but it was genuine. A few classmates clapped slowly at first—then louder, then more joined in.
Ethan looked up. A few faces showed surprise. Some were impressed. A few were unreadable. One or two, like the guy who'd made the snide comment, clapped without much enthusiasm—but they clapped.
He stood and gave a quiet nod, eyes scanning the group. Maya gave him a double thumbs-up. Cher held her hands in a little jazz-hands wiggle. Gus gave an approving nod. Shawn? He stood and did a full bow in Ethan's direction, ignoring everyone else.
Backstage, Ms. Langford met him with a clipboard. "You've got a good tone. Your original work is evocative. Keep working on projection—but honestly, Ethan? This was strong."
"Thank you," he said, quietly stunned.
Jane appeared beside him and handed him his water bottle. "Good job. And I liked the modulation at the end. Unexpected."
"You were watching that closely?"
"I don't do things halfway," she replied. "Neither did you."
In the hallway afterward, Ethan and the gang regrouped near the lockers.
"I am so proud of you," Maya said, giving him a soft punch to the shoulder. "You didn't even pause when Chad tried to be a jerk."
"Who's Chad again?" Ethan asked, still coming down from the performance high.
"The walking pile of Axe body spray," Cher said sweetly. "Ignore him. You were magnetic."
"You think so?" he asked, voice unsure.
"Absolutely," Gus chimed in. "Your rhythm control was solid. And you didn't over-sing. You trusted the song."
Shawn swung an arm around Ethan's shoulder. "And let's not forget the emotional turmoil. You practically made me weep, and I don't even cry at animal rescue commercials. Mostly."
Jane crossed her arms. "You didn't let the nerves show. That's not easy."
Ethan looked down at his hands, flexing them. "They're still shaking."
"Doesn't matter," Maya said. "You did it. And you were you. That's the part people remember."
They walked out together, Ethan in the middle of his little storm of chaos, each friend orbiting in their own strange way. He'd thought performing in front of strangers would crush him. Instead, it had cracked something open.
Maybe chaos wasn't always destruction. Sometimes it was transformation.