Chapter 10 The Prank
897 Words
I spent the entire week trying to convince myself that the competition wasn't real.
It sounds ridiculous.
But every time I thought about standing on a stage in front of hundreds of people, my brain immediately rejected the idea.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Find someone else.
Unfortunately, reality didn't seem interested in my opinion.
The competition posters were everywhere.
Hallways.
Classrooms.
Bulletin boards.
Everywhere I looked, there was another reminder waiting for me.
Another reason for my anxiety to spiral.
The worst part?
People had started talking about it.
Not because they believed I could win.
Because they thought it was funny.
By Friday, I had heard every joke imaginable.
Some original.
Most not.
All painful.
I was grabbing books from my locker when I overheard two girls nearby.
"Did you see the contestant list?"
"Yeah."
A laugh followed.
"I thought it was fake at first."
My stomach sank.
The girls continued.
"Can you imagine Abigail Hart on a stage?"
More laughter.
I closed my locker harder than intended.
The sound echoed through the hallway.
Both girls looked up.
Immediately embarrassed.
Good.
I walked away before they could say anything else.
For the first time in years, I felt angry instead of hurt.
Maybe Ryder was right.
Maybe I had spent too long letting everyone else's opinions become my own.
The thought stayed with me through lunch.
Through classes.
Through the final bell.
Eventually, I found myself standing outside the principal's office.
My heart pounded.
I had made a decision.
A terrifying decision.
I was withdrawing.
Enough was enough.
I couldn't do this.
I wouldn't do this.
The secretary looked up as I approached.
"Can I help you?"
I nodded nervously.
"I need to speak with someone about the competition."
A few minutes later, I found myself sitting across from Vice Principal Henderson.
A kind woman in her fifties.
Strict.
Professional.
Surprisingly compassionate.
She listened patiently while I explained.
Then she sighed.
"I'm afraid that's not possible."
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
"The registration has already been finalized."
"But I never signed up."
"I know."
I blinked.
"You know?"
She nodded.
"That's actually why we investigated."
My pulse quickened.
Investigated?
"What do you mean?"
The vice principal opened a folder on her desk.
Then turned it toward me.
A registration form.
My registration form.
Except...
My handwriting wasn't on it.
My signature wasn't on it.
Nothing belonged to me.
The realization hit instantly.
Someone had entered me.
Deliberately.
Without permission.
A mixture of anger and confusion crashed through me.
"Who did this?"
The vice principal hesitated.
Something about her expression made my stomach twist.
"We aren't entirely sure."
"What do you mean?"
"The registration came through an anonymous recommendation."
I stared.
Certain I'd misheard.
"A recommendation?"
She nodded.
"Someone submitted recordings of your music."
My heart stopped.
The room suddenly felt very quiet.
Very small.
"What?"
"Several recordings, actually."
I couldn't breathe.
Recordings?
Nobody had recordings.
Nobody.
I barely shared my music with anyone.
The vice principal continued.
"The competition committee reviewed them."
I stared.
Still trying to process what I was hearing.
"And?"
A small smile appeared on her face.
"They loved them."
The words landed like lightning.
Not because I believed them.
Because I didn't.
Not yet.
"They specifically requested your participation."
My mind raced.
Who would do something like that?
Who had access to my music?
Why would they submit it?
And most importantly...
Why me?
The vice principal leaned forward slightly.
"Abigail."
I looked up.
"You don't have to win."
Her voice softened.
"You don't even have to place."
A pause.
Then:
"But someone heard something special in your music."
My throat tightened.
Because those words sounded suspiciously similar to something else.
Something Ryder had said.
Something the mysterious notes kept saying.
Someone believes in you.
I left the office twenty minutes later with more questions than answers.
The hallway felt unreal.
Students moved around me.
Conversations echoed.
Life continued normally.
Yet everything had changed.
Someone had listened to my music.
Not once.
Not twice.
Enough times to submit it.
Enough times to believe it deserved a stage.
The realization felt overwhelming.
I barely noticed where my feet were carrying me.
Until I found myself outside the music building.
Of course.
Some habits were automatic.
I entered the piano room.
The familiar sight calmed me instantly.
The old piano waited in the corner.
Silent.
Patient.
Faithful.
I sat down slowly.
My thoughts still racing.
Who?
The question repeated endlessly.
Who?
Then I noticed something.
Another note.
This one rested directly on the piano keys.
My heart began pounding.
Slowly, I unfolded it.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
The same mysterious handwriting.
The message was short.
Only one sentence.
"Sometimes the world hears your song before you do."
My hands trembled.
I stared at the words.
Then at the empty room.
Then back at the note.
A thousand questions filled my mind.
Suddenly, a sound echoed from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Approaching.
My pulse jumped.
For reasons I couldn't explain, I knew.
I knew this was it.
The moment.
The answer.
The person behind the notes.
The footsteps grew louder.
Closer.
Closer still.
I stood.
Heart hammering.
The doorway darkened.
A figure appeared.
Tall.
Familiar.
My breath caught.
And then I saw who it was.
The note slipped from my fingers.
Because the last person I expected to find standing there...
Was Ethan Brooks.
End of Chapter 10
- Writer
