#idk…..

I follow her gaze to the character playing some flashy keyboard. She lingers on the channel for an extra moment, watching the musician’s scaley arms fly across the keys. My attention quickly refocuses on her – it’s still jarring to see her here, in my house, on my couch. Her presence is as out of place as it is familiar.

“I guess,” I mutter and offer the ghost of a shrug.

“She said you took classes and everything.”

“Yeah.” She doesn’t notice my reluctance. More likely, she just doesn’t care.

“And you were actually good at it?”

“Yeah.”

“Who even taught you?”

“Your mom.”

Her next question is cut off by one of her loud, growly laughs. I keep my expression controlled, but can’t help the warmth in my chest. Susie resumes rapidly flipping though channels as she nudges me. “I mean it, loser!”

Before I can suggest we change the subject, I spot my mom in the doorway. She’s giving up on her pretense of minding her own business by stepping into the room and answering for me.

“It was a family friend,” she says. “Kris complained at first, dragging themself around the house in all sorts of little tantrums~”

“Mom…”

The last thing I need is Susie regretting her camaraderie with me. I’ve finally found people who didn’t know me when I was stumbling after them on tiny feet – I wince as mom’s tone reminds us that I’m always be the baby to her, and to everyone else in this damned town.

At least Susie isn’t buying it. She shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Crumbs fly as she muses, “I get it. I’d hate doing extra classes on top of school...”

“Oh, I don’t think they minded the lessons themselves. Piano just wasn’t flashy enough.”

“Eh?”

There’s that grossly sweet smile of hers, and I know she isn’t looking at me anymore – she’s seeing me and Asriel from half a decade ago. “It’s adorable… Kris had big dreams of being in a rock band.”

“A rocker? You?” Susie’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s badass! What made you wanna do that?”

I bend my head to let a fringe of hair hide the way my eyes dart away from the question. I try to ignore the rapidly surfacing memories of discordant plucked strings, of frustrated tears wiped away, of another’s hands guiding my own into the right shapes.

But Mom is smiling, with that unreadable shade of emotion she gets caught up in the same kind of memories. “There was always a lot of music over at the Holiday’s place. I caught Kris trying out the guitar a few times. Maybe… one day… you can take lessons. How does that sound?”

I clench my fists in my lap. I could never survive something like that. Each hour would be agonizing, letting someone else teach me instead of who it should have been. I’d be utterly miserable.

“I’d love that!” you say.

I tense, but no one notices. Mom nods, satisfied, and Susie is shifting positions on the couch. She speaks up before I can blurt out that you sure do need lessons, if your piano skills are any indication of your musical talent. She reclines across the cushions, purposefully smushing me into the arm with her legs.

“You want more classes? Nerd.”

“Tch. Weirdo.”

“Freak.”

“Dumbass.”

“You’re the dumbass!”

“Language, children,” mom warns. Then, “Well… I’ll, um, leave you to it. If you need anything, you know where to find me. Goodnight, dears.”

She flashes a smile laden with confusion as she leaves. At least she understands the concept of giving someone privacy when they’re hanging out with their friend.

“Goodnight!” you call.

---

Mom isn’t the only one clinging to a younger memory of me, though. Later that night, we discover that Mr. Ant Tenna doesn’t really see me, either. He’s seeing someone smaller, with a headband tousled in their hair and hands pressed up against the fuzzy static of the screen. He’s presenting games to that Kris, with a glossy cheeriness that covers his cluelessness.

I know for a fact he’s misled when the curtain rises, and the three of us stand decked out in wild outfits. A crowd roars, ten times the size of the previous studio audience we were facing. I gape at them.

Susie spins, checking out her new leather and spikes. Ralsei’s gentle expression clashes with his flashy makeup and mohawk. My eyes flick over my own changes: colored bangs drape over my face, a glint of silver highlight in them. Shining leather pants meet with reflective heels. A bedazzled jacket frames my figure in startling shapes. An angular guitar crosses my chest.

It would be perfect if it wasn’t straight out of a nightmare.

Even without any sort of recitals in my life, I’d dreamt of performances without any sheet music. Not only am I unsure what to play now, I don’t know how. This new instrument feels clunky in his grasp. Regardless of the darkness over the stadium, I can feel the thousands of eyes on me.

My throat squeezes. All of my muscles are aching to run. I think about bolting backstage and giving that stupid television a piece of my mind about these games. Despite it all, my feet remain rooted in place. I can’t tell if it’s you or if I’ve already been consumed by stage fright.

Chords echo onto the stage to lead in the performance.

To my right, Susie sits down at her own instrument. Without a second of hesitation, she slams down on the drums. Bitterly, I wish I could find that same sort of carelessness. My music-trained ear picks up on my upcoming cue, but my fumbling hands remain trembling.

Why is the universe so determined to mock me? Rubbing it in my face, reminding me of yet another childish dream that isn’t realistic?

I shut my eyes tight.

Then, my fingers move with ease. The instrument sings out with a beautiful, rich distortion through the amplifiers.

I jerk my head down to watch the strings – you play each chord with clean movements. You strum with my right hand, using my left to slide across the frets and shape into various sounds. I can’t help my jaw from loosening.

You hold out a note, fluttering in a way that vibrates the sound before continuing on. How the hell did you learn something like this? I finally allow myself to look up at the audience.

They roar with a fresh wave of cheers. Hands and hats wave in the air. Camera flashes sparkle over the mass like light over the ocean. The spotlights swing around to join in the dance of light and catch on the iridescence of my jacket.

Hesitant at first, then gaining confidence, I lean into your playing. You attack the notes, and I go after the crowd.

I take on a new stance in my heels, something comfortable but intense. Recalling an old photo of Noelle in dark makeup and hair dye, I flip my bangs with a new confidence. I sway and lean. I tip my head back, and hunch over the guitar. I’m not Hometown’s quiet baby. I wink at the audience.

The subsequent squeals sent me stepping backwards in embarrassment. I’m getting carried away. I shouldn’t be having this much fun. I can only do this because of you, and even so, it doesn’t change anything.

But then Susie pauses her drumming just long enough to shove a thumbs-up my way. Her hair once again flies around in a wild, fiery halo as she beats on the drum set like she’s trying to break it.

Ralsei flashes me an encouraging grin through his singing. I wasn’t paying attention to the song before, but now that I listen, it sounds like something I would have sang back then, with everyone. I can picture them now, just over my shoulder – I can see those antlers bouncing along with the heavy rhythm.

She never saw me as someone young, or weak, or lame, even back when I was. Even without you giving me an extra edge, she always looked at me like she was proud.

The thought hits me amid the dazzling lights and music that vibrates through my very bones. It’s glamorous. It’s ridiculous. It’s the most fun I’ve had in forever.

My chest heaves from the effort, half of which isn’t my own, but I’m not angry about it this time. I would never go so far to say I’m grateful, but when you jump on the next verse, I smile.