The gym had been transformed.
Strings of cheap fairy lights tangled above the folding chairs. A PA system buzzed like an anxious mosquito. Half the school was packed into the audience — phones out, Snapchats rolling, eyes glued to the makeshift stage like it was Coachella.
From backstage, Elias stood in shadow, hoodie zipped, arms crossed.
Alex stood a few feet away, expression neutral.
Jenna Ortiz was center stage, soaking up the spotlight like it owed her money.
She was dressed like a pop star: leather jacket, glitter eyeshadow, one knee-high boot for edge. Her dancers moved like backup singers from a touring Netflix special.
> "Westridge!" she shouted, mic raised. "Are you ready?"
Screams.
Lights flashed.
She launched into a choreographed mash-up of Dua Lipa, Olivia Rodrigo, and her own original bridge that might've just been three Instagram captions glued together.
The crowd ate it up.
Elias didn't move.
Alex glanced at him — he was still. But his knuckles were white against his sleeves.
Then Jenna slowed it down.
The lights dimmed. The dancers stepped off.
She walked forward with the mic and said, "This last one... is inspired by a mystery artist who's been blowing up the internet."
People cheered.
Alex's stomach dropped.
Elias tilted his head, only slightly.
Then Jenna started singing.
And the song—
The melody was nearly identical to his.
But faster. Brighter. Sanded down into something shinier. Marketable. Safe.
She'd taken his quiet ache and turned it into background music for prom night.
> They asked me what I'd wish for / and I said "a little more spotlight."
Elias didn't flinch.
Didn't speak.
But Alex saw his throat move once, like he swallowed something sharp.
The crowd applauded like they meant it.
Jenna bowed. Blew a kiss.
"Thank you, Westridge!"
The lights came up.
Backstage, Elias turned away.
Alex followed him down the hallway, her voice quiet.
"She stole it."
"She polished it," he said.
"That was your song."
"No," Elias said flatly. "That was the version the world wants."
Alex stepped in front of him. "And what do you want?"
Elias didn't answer.
He just looked down the hallway, toward the stage.
Where the crowd still echoed, louder than he ever wanted to be.