The Monday after the talent show was surreal.
Ethan had barely stepped onto campus when he heard it.
"Hey, it's the piano guy!"
"Dunphy! That was you, right? That song was fire."
"Yo, someone recorded it—check Insta. He hit that high note like—bam!"
Ethan blinked as a random sophomore gave him a fist bump in passing. He didn't even know the guy's name. The hallway—once a blur of background noise and bumping backpacks—now had an oddly cinematic feel to it. People glanced at him. Smiled. Whispered.
It wasn't bad. Just… strange.
He found Maya by their usual locker. She smirked when she saw his shell-shocked expression.
"Well, well," she said. "Look who's the resident rockstar now."
"I feel like I'm being watched," Ethan muttered.
"You are," Gus added, appearing behind them with his ever-present planner. "Three people filmed you. Two of those videos have over 300 likes. You're trending. A little."
Shawn leaned in from the other side. "Enjoy your fifteen minutes, Dunphy. Soon the public will demand a follow-up album and a scandal."
"I didn't ask for any of this," Ethan said, adjusting his backpack strap.
"Fame rarely knocks politely," Cher chimed in as she arrived, hair flawless, as usual. "But at least you're not spiraling like the magician kid who dropped his cards mid-act. Rumor is he's transferring schools."
"Let's just get to class before someone asks me to sign their forehead," Ethan sighed.
But it wasn't over.
At lunch, kids he barely knew asked to sit at his table. One student from the AV club asked if Ethan would let them use "Pompeii" in a school film. Another asked if he gave lessons.
He wanted to crawl into his piano bench and close the lid on himself.
His friends, though, kept him grounded. Shawn deflected with outlandish stories. Gus set up a rotating "fan interaction limit" rule—three per lunch. Cher gave him a pair of sunglasses "just in case you want to go incognito." Maya sat beside him the whole time, offering her presence like a quiet tether.
Ethan was grateful. But overwhelmed.
By the end of the day, he was zoning out during English, his hand twitching over the edge of his notebook, sketching chords more than taking notes.
That night at home, things were somehow even more chaotic.
Phil greeted him at the door with a homemade "TEAM ETHAN" T-shirt and a Bluetooth speaker playing his talent show song on repeat.
Claire had already printed the photos from the event and was halfway through assembling a scrapbook titled My Son, The Star.
Luke asked if Ethan had "merch yet" and showed him a design featuring a stick figure playing piano on a volcano.
Haley suggested a stylist. "Nothing too dramatic," she said. "But a little gel wouldn't hurt."
Even Alex offered a rare nod. "The tempo shift before the chorus was smart. You surprised them. Good technique."
"Thanks," Ethan said, finally sitting on the couch and sinking into the cushions like he'd run a marathon.
"You okay, hon?" Claire asked, noticing the way he rubbed his temple.
"I'm just… not used to this. Being seen."
Phil grinned. "Well, buddy, you can't put a spotlight on a star and expect it not to shine."
"Yeah, but maybe not so many spotlights all at once."
Claire sat beside him and smoothed his hair like she hadn't since he was ten. "It'll settle. People move on. And the people who really matter—they've always seen you."
"Even when I was folding napkins into perfect thirds?" Ethan asked, voice soft.
"Especially then," Claire said, smiling.
That night, Ethan sat at his piano but didn't play. He just stared at the keys, fingers twitching, but no melody coming.
He opened his sketchbook instead, and in the corner of the page, he wrote:"What do you write when they're already listening?"
The next morning, as Ethan slipped into the kitchen, he was surprised to see Jay sitting at the table, sipping coffee.
"Didn't know you were coming over," Ethan said.
"Claire asked me to help Phil fix the sprinkler system," Jay grumbled. "He watched one video and thinks he's Bob Vila."
Ethan poured a glass of orange juice. Jay eyed him.
"You did good at that show."
"Thanks," Ethan replied.
Jay hesitated a beat. "You know... when I was your age, the idea of singing in front of a room full of people? I'd have rather taken a line drive to the ribs."
Ethan chuckled. "Wasn't exactly my dream either."
"Still. You got guts. And you didn't do it for attention. That's rare."
Ethan nodded. There was a beat of silence.
Then Jay added, "Just don't let the applause get louder than your own gut. That's when people lose their way."
Ethan didn't reply. But he wrote that line in his sketchbook later that day.
At school, Ethan found Maya waiting by his locker.
"Ready to walk in together?"
Ethan gave her a small smile. "Yeah. Thanks."
"People are gonna talk," she warned gently. "But remember—you're still you. No matter how loud it gets."
And as they walked through the hallway, past admiring glances and whispered compliments, Ethan stood a little straighter.
Because it wasn't about being famous. Or being seen.
It was about being known.
And finally, he was starting to feel like he was.