The applause still echoed in Ethan's ears even after he stepped offstage, slipping into the dim backstage corridor where the stage lights didn't reach. The rush of adrenaline had yet to fade, but now it was fighting with something quieter—something warmer. Like the feeling of taking a deep breath after holding it for too long.
He leaned against the wall and pressed a hand to his chest, just to feel the rhythm of his own heart. It was pounding. But for once, it wasn't from anxiety. It was... pride. Not loud, not overwhelming. Just a calm realization.
He'd done it.
Behind him, the door creaked open, and Maya appeared first.
"You absolute maniac," she whispered, then beamed. "That was beautiful."
"Did I sing too quietly?" Ethan asked, suddenly self-conscious again. "I thought I might've gone flat on the bridge—"
"Ethan," Maya cut him off, her voice both sharp and fond. "You made half the front row cry."
"I can confirm that," said Gus, appearing behind her. "Phil was openly sobbing. Cam was using someone else's sleeve. And Cher offered tissues to strangers."
"I always carry tissues for emotionally pivotal moments," Cher added, stepping forward in heels that somehow made no sound. "You were like a baby Elton John—but without the weird sunglasses."
"I thought I was more like a moody Ben Folds," Ethan murmured.
Shawn strolled in, dramatically slow-clapping. "You, my friend, just made every kid with a kazoo act feel deeply inadequate. Bravo."
Ethan smirked. "You're ridiculous."
"I know. But so was that performance—in the best way," Shawn said, pulling a mini pineapple sticker from his jacket pocket and slapping it onto Ethan's shoulder. "You've been initiated."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Into what?"
"Into the sacred order of Weirdos Who Wow," Cher said solemnly.
"You can't just invent clubs," Gus muttered.
Jane appeared last, her walk precise, her expression unreadable—until she stopped in front of Ethan.
"I hate talent shows," she said.
Ethan blinked. "Thanks?"
"But that," she continued, "was worth sitting through a flute solo and three failed magic tricks."
Coming from Jane, it was practically a standing ovation.
Back in the auditorium, the show continued. Kids juggled. Someone did an interpretive dance to a Coldplay song. There was a short skit involving two chickens and a rubber fish. But Ethan wasn't really listening. He sat with his group in the back row now, finally able to just... watch.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A group chat message from the family:
Claire:You were INCREDIBLE. Seriously. I am SO proud. And I'm not just saying that because I carried you in my body for nine months.
Phil:I haven't cried like that since the last Toy Story movie. 😭
Alex:You sounded amazing. I'm only saying this once. Don't make me say it again.
Luke:Bro. That. Was. 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥(Also, do you want me to design merch?)
Haley:You're a star now. Don't forget us when you're famous.
Jay:Real good, kid. You played with your back straight and didn't mumble. Proud of you.
Gloria:I have so many videos!!! I sent them to all my cousins already!
Mitch:Very moving. Cam cried. I think someone else's dad cried too. You might've started a trend.
Cam:When you hit that chorus... I almost proposed to Mitchell again.
Ethan grinned and tucked the phone away. His fingers still buzzed with the muscle memory of the song. His voice still felt warm from singing.
He had performed in front of his family.
And they had listened.
The next morning, Ethan sat in the kitchen in pajama pants and an old T-shirt, nursing a mug of warm milk. Claire was at the stove, humming. Phil wandered in wearing mismatched slippers.
"You look like someone who conquered a small kingdom," Phil said, ruffling his son's hair.
"I feel like someone who survived a lightning storm," Ethan answered. "And liked it."
Claire smiled and handed him a plate of toast. "Everyone's still talking about it."
"Great," Ethan muttered, chewing slowly. "Nothing makes me more comfortable than being the center of attention."
Phil sat across from him. "Hey, I get it. But you should be proud. You did something that most adults are too scared to do."
Ethan didn't say anything at first. Then: "It didn't feel like I thought it would. I thought I'd be... terrified. But it felt kind of right. Like I was where I'm supposed to be."
Claire reached over and squeezed his hand. "That's called finding your place, sweetie."
"And I didn't even need lasers," Ethan added, sipping from his mug.
"Luke's still trying to pitch the idea for the next talent show," Claire said dryly. "With smoke machines."
Phil perked up. "Ooh, what if we got those indoor-safe fireworks?"
"No," both Ethan and Claire said in unison.
Later that afternoon, the Dunphys hosted a backyard lunch to celebrate. The whole family showed up—Jay in his sunglasses and sandals, Gloria in an explosion of color, Cam in a floral apron, Mitchell carrying three kinds of dip, Alex already half-bored, Haley already Instagramming, and Luke trying to build a mini stage out of lawn chairs.
Ethan mostly kept to the shade near the patio, watching as everyone moved through the chaos like they were dancing to music only they could hear. It was overwhelming. It was noisy. It was home.
Alex wandered over with two sodas, handing him one wordlessly.
"You know," she said, "I hate most talent shows."
"Jane said that too," Ethan replied.
"She's smart," Alex said. "But... you were really good."
"Thanks."
Alex hesitated. "You've always liked music. I just didn't think you'd put yourself out there like that."
"I didn't think I would either."
She nudged his shoulder lightly. "You're braver than I thought."
"Don't tell Luke."
She smirked. "Please. He's already trying to book you as a guest on his 'vlog.'"
"Dear God."
Ethan watched Haley posing for photos with the family dog, Jay bickering with Phil about grilling temperatures, Gloria trying to teach Cam a dance move he clearly didn't understand, and Luke showing off a notebook filled with "Ethan Tour Ideas."
It was ridiculous.
It was everything.
It was his.
That night, he sat at the piano one last time before bed. Just him and the keys.
He played a few soft chords. Then, slowly, let his fingers settle into a new melody.
Something slower.
Gentler.
But bright.
Because now, he didn't just write songs about uncertainty.
He could write about connection. About courage.
About finding your voice—and using it.
And maybe, just maybe, about what came next.