Ethan sat at the edge of the auditorium stage, his feet dangling just above the polished floor. He held his sheet music in one hand and a pencil in the other, tapping it rhythmically against his knee. It was quiet—peaceful, even—which was unusual for school, but also oddly appropriate. This was his first real rehearsal. His first step into doing something that scared him. A real something.
Maya sat cross-legged nearby, eyes closed, softly humming along to the melody Ethan had been practicing. Her voice wove easily into the air, casual and comfortable. Nearby, Gus was seated in the second row, flipping through a three-ring binder titled Ethan's Rehearsal Plan. Shawn sat beside him, dramatically pretending to conduct with a chopstick he had found in his backpack.
"You know," Shawn said, waving the stick like a wand, "this place could use a fog machine. Maybe some pyrotechnics. Something with flames, but tasteful."
"No flames," Maya said firmly.
"Minimal flames?" Shawn tried again.
"No," Ethan added, not looking up from his music. "This is a piano ballad, not a KISS reunion tour."
Jane was leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, silently observing. Cher, of course, was already in the wings with a notebook, jotting down wardrobe suggestions and murmuring things like earthy tones convey artistic suffering and ethereal lighting is non-negotiable.
"I just think you need presence," Cher said as she joined the group. "You have the talent, Ethan. We just need to make sure the audience feels it."
Ethan sighed and adjusted his posture. "What if they don't?"
"They will," Maya said softly.
"Okay," Gus stood up, clearing his throat. "Let's do a run-through. We've got the space for twenty more minutes. Ethan, take your place."
Ethan walked over to the piano at center stage. He took a deep breath and sat down on the bench. The keys felt familiar beneath his fingers—cool, slightly worn, just the way he liked them.
"Alright," he murmured. "Let's go."
He started playing the intro of Pompeii, his version—slower, more haunting. His fingers glided smoothly over the chords, the music rising in delicate swells.
And then, for the first time in front of them, he began to sing.
"I was left to my own devicesMany days fell away with nothing to show..."
His voice wasn't perfect—it cracked slightly at the top of the first phrase—but it was full of feeling. It wasn't the voice of a showman; it was the voice of someone who meant it. Someone trying to make sense of the world in a melody.
"And the walls kept tumbling downIn the city that we love..."
Jane tilted her head, watching intently.
"Great clouds roll over the hillsBringing darkness from above..."
Shawn stopped tapping his chopstick. Cher's pen stilled. Even Gus lowered the binder into his lap.
"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?"
He eased into the chorus, letting the piano fill the space with its low, resonant chords.
"How am I gonna be an optimist about this?How am I gonna be an optimist about this?"
Ethan closed his eyes for a moment as he played the instrumental bridge. He imagined the chaos of a world turned to ash—and the quiet hope of starting again. He let that feeling guide his hands.
When he reached the final verse, his voice had steadied.
"We were caught up and lost in all of our vicesIn your pose as the dust settled around us..."
His hands struck the last chords with deliberate force, then softened, the sound dissolving into quiet.
Silence. Just for a second.
Then came the applause—soft, sincere.
"That," Jane said, breaking the silence, "was beautiful."
Ethan opened his eyes. "Really?"
"It was raw," Gus added, closing the binder. "And honest. Like a journal entry."
Cher nodded thoughtfully. "You felt it. That's what matters."
Maya just smiled. "I told you."
"I didn't even throw in the smoke effects yet," Shawn muttered. "And it was still good."
Ethan let out a breath. His shoulders eased. "Thanks."
Later that day, back at the Dunphy house, Claire was peeling carrots in the kitchen when Ethan walked in, humming softly. She turned just in time to catch a real smile on his face—not forced or polite, but earned.
"Hey," she said, rinsing the peeler. "How did rehearsal go?"
"Good," Ethan said. Then, after a moment, "Better than good, actually."
Claire dried her hands and leaned against the counter. "Did you sing for them?"
"Yeah. The whole thing."
She looked at him carefully. "How did it feel?"
Ethan shrugged, but the corners of his mouth curled. "Like I didn't mess up. Like I got through it. And maybe... like they understood it."
Claire walked over and gave him a quick hug. "I'm really proud of you. You know that, right?"
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Thanks."
Just then, Luke burst into the kitchen carrying what looked like a cardboard robot head. "Guess who's got a surprise opening act planned?"
"No," Ethan and Claire said in perfect unison.
"But it's going to be so cool," Luke protested. "There's LED lights and everything!"
"I swear, if you blind the audience," Claire muttered.
Haley walked in, phone to her ear. "He sang? He sang? OMG, someone record this, I need proof Ethan has vocal cords."
Phil entered right behind her with a drumroll on the back of the fridge door. "How'd it go, champ?"
"Good," Ethan said, smirking slightly.
Phil fist-pumped. "Yes! Proud dad alert. I always knew you had it in you. You got the Dunphy drama gene."
"Is that a good thing?" Ethan asked.
Phil winked. "When it comes to stage lights? Absolutely."
Alex strolled in, headphones around her neck. "I listened to your rehearsal. Maya sent a clip."
"You did?" Ethan looked shocked.
Alex nodded. "You weren't half bad. If you keep this up, you might even get invited to join my study playlists."
"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Ethan replied, deadpan.
Luke was now moonwalking with the robot head on. "I call this move 'The Megabyte Slide.' It's the future of talent shows."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "I need to practice in peace."
"Too late," Luke replied, sliding into the hallway.
Ethan turned back to his family. "Just… no glitter. No lasers. No robot heads. Let me just have my thing."
Claire nodded. "Of course. We're just here to cheer you on."
"And maybe embarrass you a little," Phil added.
Ethan smirked again. "I'd expect nothing less."
That night, as he lay in bed, Ethan replayed the chorus in his head.
"But if you close your eyesDoes it almost feel like nothing changed at all…"
For once, the idea of performing didn't terrify him. It excited him. Just a little.
He turned off the light, one hand drumming quietly on the mattress in rhythm.
This was just the beginning.