Chapter 4: "Between Classes and Chords."

After deciding to pursue his dream, Ethan started to organize his day. It was 6 a.m. when he stepped out of his bedroom, which felt small and cluttered compared to his old home in Los Angeles. The walls were painted in a pale white, decorated with a few childhood drawings, and a wardrobe overflowing with stacked clothes. Though it lacked the glamour of his previous room, there was a warmth that made the place feel like home.

He headed to the only bathroom in the small apartment, noting its simple decor: worn-out tiles, an old shower, and a mirror in need of a clean. As he adjusted the hot water, a strange sense of familiarity washed over him, as if he had used the thermostat a hundred times before. The steam filled the room, and his mind wandered back to the song he had written in his notebook. He began to hum it softly as he showered.

Once he was done, he got dressed and made his way to the kitchen. The aroma of fresh coffee and the sound of the toaster filled the air. His mother, Clara, stood at the sink, washing dishes. The kitchen was small but cozy, with sunlight streaming through the window, brightening a corner where potted plants thrived.

Without turning from the dishes, Clara sensed his presence and said, —Good morning, honey. How did you sleep? I know it's not like what we had in L.A., but it's kind of charming, isn't it?—

Ethan nodded as he sat at the table, a slight smile playing on his lips. —Yeah, it's fine, Mom.— A moment passed before he confessed, —Actually, I had that nightmare again... about stage fright.—

At the mention of nightmares, Clara froze, her hands still submerged in soapy water. She turned to face him, her brows furrowed with concern. —Again?—

—But something good came out of it this time,— Ethan continued, a spark of pride in his voice. —I wrote a new song—an original.—

Clara's expression shifted from worry to surprise, and then to joy. —Wait, is that what you were singing in the shower?— she asked, her eyes lighting up.

Ethan nodded, his chest swelling with pride. Clara couldn't contain herself—she rushed over and pulled him into a tight hug.

—My love, that's amazing! But tell me, how did you get a song out of a nightmare?—

Ethan smiled, explaining the dream as Clara listened with wide-eyed admiration. When he finished, she laughed softly, shaking her head in disbelief.

—Maybe I need to sleep more if I want to write songs like that.—

Ethan chuckled before shifting to a new topic. —Can I bring my guitar today?—

Clara, assuming it was just for show, smiled and nodded. —Sure, but be careful with it. We can't afford to replace it. And don't forget, I'll be at work later, so you'll be alone for a couple of hours after school.—

Ethan gave a confident nod. —I'll be fine, Mom. I know how to take care of myself. I'm almost thirteen, you know.—

Clara shot him a playful, but serious look. —I know you can, but still... This neighborhood isn't as safe as L.A. No shortcuts, no alleys, and if a stranger tries to talk to you?—

Ethan grinned. —Only if they let me pick the music.—

Clara tried to suppress a laugh. —You know the drill—run.—

—Got it.—

—Alright, let's get going. We don't want to be late for your first day.—

As they left the apartment, Ethan took in the quiet street, lined with small houses and modest gardens. There was a peaceful simplicity to the neighborhood, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of Los Angeles, but it brought a sense of calm.

When they arrived at school—Bakersfield Junior High—Clara turned to him and said, —Ethan, I heard this school has a really good arts program. Maybe you could sign up; it might help with your stage fright.—

Ethan gave a noncommittal nod, though the thought stayed with him as he grabbed his guitar and stepped out of the car, a nervous knot tightening in his stomach. Unsure of where to go, he approached the gate, where a janitor stood.

—Excuse me, I'm new here. Do you know where I'm supposed to go?—

Without looking up, the janitor asked, —What grade?—

—First,— Ethan replied, feeling a little anxious.

The janitor pointed to a building nearby. —First-years are in there, first floor. Find your name on the list by the door.—

Ethan thanked him and walked towards the building, feeling the weight of the guitar strap on his shoulder. As he entered, he noticed clusters of students chatting, some glancing curiously at him and his guitar. He tried to ignore the stares, keeping his head down as he searched for his name on the classroom list.

Once he found it, he stepped inside and took the first empty seat he saw. The classroom was bright, with large windows letting in the morning sun, casting a golden hue over the wooden desks. Posters of geometric shapes and vibrant colors adorned the walls. At the front of the room, a chalkboard stood next to a worn-out teacher's desk.

Ethan sat next to a red-haired, freckled boy who wore a black t-shirt with the logo of a club Ethan had never heard of. The design on the shirt looked like an old camera surrounded by strange, abstract shapes. The boy flashed a mischievous grin as he eyed Ethan's guitar

—Hey, I'm Ethan, Im-…— he started, but the boy cut him off with a smirk.

—New, huh? Kinda obvious,— the boy said, nodding towards the guitar. —Nobody brings a guitar on the first day. You planning to join the school band or something?—

Ethan wasn't sure if the boy was mocking him or just being friendly, but he replied anyway. —Uh... maybe. Is that a bad thing?—

The boy shrugged nonchalantly. —Only if you don't wanna be the laughingstock. Name's Jake, by the way. And hey, I like you, so here's some advice—skip the music stuff. Trust me.—

Ethan, unsure how to respond, just muttered, —Thanks... I guess.—

Before the conversation could continue, the teacher walked in. He was tall, middle-aged, with graying hair and a stern expression. His glasses rested low on his nose, and his faded brown jacket looked like it had seen better days. He set his briefcase down and addressed the class.

—Alright, class. We've got a new student today. Is Mr. Graves here?—

Ethan raised his hand timidly. —Here, sir.—

The teacher nodded. —Come up and introduce yourself.—

Ethan's stomach flipped. His nightmares of stage fright flashed through his mind, but he stood up, moved his guitar aside, and walked to the front of the room, feeling every eye on him.

—Just tell us your name, your likes, dislikes, and hobbies,— the teacher instructed, crossing his arms.

Ethan took a deep breath. —My name's Ethan. I like music...— He hesitated, then added, —I like how it makes people feel something without needing words.—

The class went silent, some students exchanging glances. Ethan, feeling vulnerable, decided to push through. —I don't like... not being able to face a crowd.—

There were a few murmurs, but he continued, —I play guitar, piano, drums... and I sing. Oh, and I do sports.—

The teacher raised an eyebrow, impressed. —Quite the musician, I see. You can leave your guitar here at my desk during class if you want.—

—Did you see his eyes?— one girl whispered excitedly to her friend.

—His eyes? Did you see his face?— the friend responded with a giggle.

From behind, a voice snickered. —Bet he thinks he's special, bringing that guitar and talking about feelings.—

—Shut up, Nate,— another girl shot back. —You're just jealous. Bet he sings better than you —

—Whatever,— Nate muttered.

Ethan did his best to block out the voices, his mind already drifting to the park, imagining himself performing. He could almost feel the guitar in his hands, hear the music echo through the crowd.

Just as he lost himself in the daydream, the teacher called out, —Ethan, what's the formula for the area of a triangle?—

Pulled back to reality, Ethan blinked, unsure at first. Then, from somewhere deep in his mind, the answer came. —Uh... base times height, divided by two?—

The teacher, caught off guard by the correct answer, nodded. —That's right. Well done.—

Ethan let out a small sigh of relief. As the class continued, his thoughts wandered back to his plans for later. The bell rang, signaling the end of the lesson, and before he could stand, three girls approached him.

The one in the middle, clearly the leader, flashed him a confident smile. —Hey, I heard you play guitar. Is that true?—

Ethan, feeling a bit overwhelmed, nodded. —Yeah, I love playing.—

The girl's eyes lit up, and she bounced on her heels. —Could you play something for us? Please...— She gave him a playful pout, her straight dark hair falling around her face, accentuating her mischievous smile.

Ethan watched her, unsure of how to handle the situation. —I can't right now,— he said nervously. —The teacher has my guitar… and besides…— He paused, feeling like he should say something more but not wanting to sound rude. —I don't even know you that well…—

The girl, realizing she hadn't introduced herself, quickly corrected her mistake with an even wider smile. —That's true! I'm Sarah. So, when you get it back, could you play something for me?— she insisted, this time with puppy-dog eyes that only made Ethan more uncomfortable.

Before he could respond, Jason appeared like an unexpected savior. —Hey, Ethan! We're going to the store, remember you promised to buy me something?— he said, pointing toward the door with a playful gesture.

Ethan didn't waste a second taking the opportunity. —I'm coming,— he replied immediately, not breaking eye contact with the girls. Then he turned to them with a rushed apology. —Sorry… I've got to go, it's a promise.—

With those words, he quickly got up and walked away, joining Jason who was waiting by the door. As they headed toward the store, Ethan muttered a quiet thank-you under his breath. —Thanks… you saved me.—

Jason let out a laugh. —Saved? Nah, dude, you owe me a Slurpee.—

As Ethan and Jason walked toward the school store, the sound of laughter and conversations from other students slowly faded away. The excitement he had felt in the classroom was starting to turn into anxiety as he thought about what was coming next. Just one more class, and then he could head to the park, his place of escape. He couldn't stop thinking about which song to play first. The sun was high, and though it was hot, the idea of playing under the trees calmed him.

With still-sweaty hands, Ethan bought the Slurpee Jason had asked for, grateful for the escape from the awkward conversation with the girls. But in his mind, the image of his fingers sliding across the strings of his guitar took over everything. It was his way of forgetting what worried him, of not thinking about the stares, the comments, the recent change of schools, and everything that could go wrong.

The bell marking the end of the school day rang, and Ethan hurried to retrieve his guitar from the teacher's desk. Without stopping to talk to anyone, he left the classroom with a single goal in mind: to reach the park, find his spot under the trees, and let the music cover him like a blanket of tranquility.

He didn't realize someone was following him.

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*"Do not fear failure, but rather fear not trying." — Roy T. Bennett*