The auditorium lights buzzed faintly as the stage crew set up the microphones. The scent of dust, sweat, and adrenaline filled the air — a typical small-town talent show, but to her, it felt like something bigger. This was supposed to be her and her boyfriend’s big moment. A duet. Their chance to show everyone what they could do together. Except lately, “together” hadn’t meant much. His texts had gone cold. His smiles were fake. And the rumor about him and that other girl had been enough to make her stomach twist for days.
Still, she stood beside him under the stage lights, guitar in hand, the crowd blurring into soft colors as the music started. The opening chords of “I Don’t Wanna” echoed from the speakers. The song wasn’t random — she’d picked it on purpose.
His voice came in sharp and clear: “I don’t wanna talk to you—”
She added her backup, “What did you say?”
His jaw tightened, and he pushed the next line with more force. “I don’t wanna walk with you!”
“Outta my way!”
Each lyric became a release — anger disguised as rhythm. She strummed harder, the strings biting under her fingertips. He looked uneasy now, glancing sideways as if realizing the message wasn’t just part of the act.
“I’m not gonna fight with ya!”
“Don’t wanna play!”
“I don’t need anyone else— yeah, yeah!”
The crowd began clapping along, feeding her energy. She felt her pulse matching the tempo — loud, fast, alive. The whole time, he tried to keep up, his forced grin faltering as she spun toward him, eyes blazing.
“I live my life for myself— yeah, yeah! I can’t stand a thing that you say— yeah, yeah!”
By now, the crowd was hooked. They thought it was all part of the performance — but Rodrick, leaning against the wall with Löded Diper waiting for their turn, knew better. He could see it in her expression, the way every word came from something real and raw.
Her boyfriend strummed his last note and started to sing, “I’m not listening anyway—”
But she cut him off, stepping forward, her voice echoing through the gym: “YEAH, YEAH, YEAH!”
The whole place erupted — laughter, cheers, whistles. She stood there, breathing hard, chest rising and falling under the stage lights. For the first time all week, she smiled — not for him, but for herself.
When the music faded, she didn’t wait for applause. She handed him the mic and walked offstage, her sneakers squeaking against the polished floor.
Rodrick met her halfway down the hall, smirking slightly, his drumsticks tapping against his palm. “That was… brutal,” he said, a flicker of admiration in his tone. “But kinda awesome.”
She laughed, still breathless. “Guess I just found my solo moment.”
He nodded, pushing open the door to the backstage lot where the night air hit cool against her flushed skin. “Good. ‘Cause next time, maybe you should be on stage with us instead.”
The stars were faint above the parking lot lights, but they felt like a promise — that she’d finally stopped performing for someone who didn’t deserve the song.