Piano Boy
My neighbor, Ethan, was a piano prodigy.
Awards piled up before he even turned
sixteen. But then he met Sarah, a girl from my
class. He let her sit, giggling, on his beloved
Steinway while she kissed him. For her, he
ditched practice, trashed the piano, and
spiraled. So, I told his parents.
Ethan was shipped off to a music
conservatory in Austria. Years later, he
became a huge success, a shining star in the
entertainment industry. And me? I landed an
internship at his company, hoping to break
into the music scene myself. He barely
glanced up, pointed at me, and said, “Her.”
That night, my manager got me drunk and
delivered me to the hotel rooms of various
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investors. Ethan stood in the doorway, a
cigarette dangling from his lips, a smirk
playing on his face. “Consider this a thank
you for your little tip–off all those years ago.”
I didn’t survive that night. The assault was
brutal. I woke up, back in my junior year of
high school, before any of it happened.
“Wouldn’t it be awesome to bring a guy like
that down a peg or two?” Sarah, my best
friend, mused, chin resting in her hand. “He’s
got such a serious look about him. Wonder
what he’s like to kiss?”
Across the street, silhouetted against the
window, sat Ethan, all of eighteen years old.
My breath hitched. I looked at Sarah, that
same look of predatory amusement in her
eves like she was about to bag herself
eyes, like she was about to bag herself a
prize. Back then, I’d thought she was all talk.
Then, that very night, I’d seen her perched on
his piano, kissing him.
I was back. I slammed the window shut, my
heart pounding against my ribs. “I need to
study,” I said, trying to sound normal. “You
should probably head home.”
Sarah pouted. “Aren’t you curious? I thought
you had a crush on him.”
My stomach twisted. Seventeen–year–old me
had made two monumental mistakes:
crushing hard on Ethan without ever saying a
word, and then ratting him out for dating
Sarah. He’d hated me for it, for six long
years. Hated me enough to destroy me as
payback.
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The memory of that freezing night flooded
back. I clenched my fists, biting my lip hard
enough to draw blood.
“No,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ve never had
a crush on him.”
Sarah grinned, a sly, knowing look in her
eyes. “Good. ‘Cause, you know, Ethan and I
are kinda a thing now. Didn’t want to, like,
freak you out or anything.”
Déjà vu. Sarah was playing her usual games.
She was infamous for it. Every cute guy in
school had been through the Sarah cycle. She
was loud, rebellious, everything a good girl
wasn’t supposed to be. But that kind of girl
had a pull on guys like Ethan, the quiet, rule-
following type.
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I remembered my dying moments, my hand,
scarred with cigarette burns, clutching at
Ethan’s crisp white shirt. “Even if you hate
me,” I’d choked out, “you shouldn’t do this.”
He’d looked down at me, a cruel twist to his
lips. “And how should I deal with it, Quinn? If
it wasn’t for you, Sarah wouldn’t have married
that loser, wouldn’t have died in childbirth.
Why should she be dead and you get to live?”
“It’s not fair, Quinn.”
Because of my interference, Ethan had been
forced abroad. Sarah, her dreams of art
school dashed by the pregnancy, had married
some deadbeat who quickly abandoned her.
She’d died alone in a back–alley clinic. Ethan
blamed me. He believed that if I hadn’t
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interfered, none of it would have happened.
I looked down. “That’s…great. I wish you
both the best.”
Sarah gave me a strange look and then
shrugged it off.
The days crawled by. Ethan and Sarah’s
relationship played out like a bad teen movie.
Secret dates, matching tattoos, stolen kisses
on the Ferris wheel, late–night motorcycle
rides. They were so wrapped up in each
other, they forgot they were supposed to be
students. I watched it all unfold, a silent
observer, focused on my studies. I’d switched
from the arts program back to the academic
track. No more chasing Ethan’s shadow. It
was a tough road, but I was determined to
make it work.
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Then, one day, I overheard Sarah bragging.
“Ethan’s such a dork. Clueless. If it weren’t
for the whole piano prodigy thing, the fame,
who’d want him?”
“Girl, please,” another girl scoffed. “He’s way
out of your league. He’s probably just playing
you.”
