Between The Lies

Chapter 18: The Showcase

LUCA

Saturday night arrives too quickly.

I'm backstage at the concert hall, warming up on the piano in the green room, but my mind is nowhere near the music.

All I can think about is last night's conversation with Stella.

We sat in her room after dinner, the door carefully propped open, speaking in whispers like we were planning a crime.

In a way, I guess we were.

"We can't do this again," she'd said, tears streaming down her face. "We can't, Luca. It was a mistake."

"I know."

"We have to go back to how things were. Before Thursday. Before everything."

"I don't know if we can."

"We have to try."

She'd been right. Of course she'd been right.

But sitting there, watching her cry, all I wanted to do was pull her into my arms and tell her we'd figure it out. That we'd find a way.

I didn't. Because there is no way.

"Five minutes, Luca." The stage manager pokes her head in. "You're up first."

My stomach drops. Right. The showcase. The performance I've been preparing for all semester.

The piece I wrote for her.

I stand, shake out my hands, try to focus. The concert hall is packed—I can hear the murmur of the crowd from here. Mom and Dad are out there. Stella. Half the music department. All waiting to hear what I've been working on in secret.

They have no idea what they're about to hear.

I walk onto the stage, and the applause feels distant, like I'm underwater. The grand piano sits center stage, spotlight illuminating the keys.

I sit. Adjust the bench. Take a breath.

And then I see her.

Stella is sitting in the third row between Mom and Dad. She's wearing a dark blue dress that makes her eyes look impossibly bright even from here. Her hair is down, falling in waves over her shoulders.

She's beautiful. She's always been beautiful.

And I can never have her.

Our eyes meet across the distance, and I see it—the same pain I'm feeling reflected back at me. The same impossible longing. The same grief for something we can never have.

I look away before anyone notices.

The audience quiets. Waiting.

I place my hands on the keys and begin to play.

STELLA

The first notes hit me like a physical blow.

It's beautiful. Heartbreaking. Raw in a way I've never heard Luca play before.

The melody starts soft, almost tentative—like someone testing the waters, afraid of what they might find. Then it builds, becoming more confident, more passionate. There are moments of joy, bright and soaring, that make my chest ache.

But underneath it all, there's sadness. A longing that permeates every note, every chord progression.

I know this piece. I know it because I've lived it.

This is us. Our story.

The tentative beginning—those first confusing feelings we both tried to ignore. The building tension—every stolen glance, every almost-touch, every moment we came too close. The passion—Thursday night, when we finally gave in to what we'd been fighting for so long.

And now, this section—dark and discordant, notes clashing against each other in a way that shouldn't work but somehow does. This is the aftermath. The realization of what we've done. The impossibility of it all.

Mom leans over and whispers, "This is incredible. I've never heard him play like this."

Dad nods, transfixed. "He's really matured as a composer."

They have no idea. No idea that they're listening to their son pour his heart out about his forbidden love for their daughter.

I can't look away from Luca. His eyes are closed now, his whole body moving with the music. His hands fly across the keys with a desperate intensity, like if he plays hard enough, he can somehow make this all okay.

The piece shifts again. The melody becomes softer, more resigned. There's acceptance in it now, but also profound grief. This is goodbye. This is him letting go.

This is him breaking both our hearts in front of a room full of people who will never understand why.

Tears stream down my face and I don't try to stop them. Let everyone think I'm just moved by the beauty of the music. Let them think I'm proud of my talented brother.

They'll never know the truth.

The final notes hang in the air—a single, sustained chord that slowly fades to nothing. The last sound is so soft you have to hold your breath to hear it.

Then silence.

For a moment, no one moves. No one breathes.

Then the applause erupts.

People are standing, clapping, some wiping their own tears. Mom is beaming with pride. Dad is shaking his head in wonder.

I can't move. Can't clap. Can't do anything but stare at my brother as he stands and bows, his face carefully composed even though I can see the pain in his eyes.

He looks out at the audience, acknowledging their appreciation. His gaze finds mine for just a second.

In that second, I see everything. The love. The grief. The goodbye.

Then he looks away and walks off stage.

LUCA

The rest of the showcase passes in a blur.

I sit backstage, barely listening to the other performances. Jake finds me after his piece and pulls me into a hug.

"That was incredible, man. I knew you were talented, but that was..." He pulls back, studying my face. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just coming down from the adrenaline."

He doesn't believe me, I can tell. But he doesn't push.

When the showcase ends, I have to go out front and face everyone. Accept congratulations. Smile and nod and pretend my heart isn't shattered into a million pieces.

Mom hugs me so tight I can barely breathe. "Luca, that was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Where did that come from?"

"Just... inspiration, I guess."

"You've really grown as an artist." Dad claps me on the shoulder. "We're so proud of you."

Stella hangs back, arms wrapped around herself. When our parents turn to talk to Professor Chen, she steps closer.

"That was..." She can't finish the sentence. Can't seem to find the words.

"I know."

"Did you write it—"

"Yeah."

People are watching us. We can't talk here. Can't say what needs to be said.

"Congratulations, Luca!" Vanessa appears, pulling me into a hug before I can react. "That was absolutely stunning. I had chills the entire time."

"Thanks, Vanessa."

She's standing too close, hand on my arm, looking up at me with something hopeful in her eyes. "A bunch of us are going to Miller's to celebrate. You should come."

"I don't know—"

"Come on. You deserve to celebrate. That performance was incredible."

I glance at Stella. She's staring at Vanessa's hand on my arm, her expression carefully neutral.

"Yeah," I hear myself say. "Yeah, okay. I'll come."

Stella's face tightens, but she says nothing.

"Great!" Vanessa beams. "See you there?"

After she leaves, I turn back to my family.

"You're going out with friends?" Mom asks.

"Just for a bit. To celebrate."

"That's nice, honey. You deserve it." She kisses my cheek. "Don't stay out too late. Stella's recital is next Saturday and we're having brunch with the Hendersons tomorrow."

"I won't."

As our parents head to the parking lot, Stella and I are left standing in the lobby.

"So you're going out with Vanessa," she says quietly.

"It's not like that. It's a group thing."

"She likes you."

"Stella—"

"You should go." She's not looking at me. "You should go and have fun and maybe... maybe it would be good. To be with someone who isn't—" She stops. "Someone you can actually be with."

The words feel like a knife to the chest.

"Is that what you want?"

"What I want doesn't matter. What I want is wrong." Finally, she looks at me, and I see tears in her eyes. "We have to move on, Luca. We have to try."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know. But we have to." She takes a step back. "I'm applying to that summer intensive in New York. Isabella Moretti's program. Eight weeks away. I think... I think I need the distance."

"New York?" The thought of her being that far away makes me feel sick.

"It's a really good opportunity. For my dancing."

What she means is: it's a good opportunity to get away from you.

"When would you leave?"

"End of June. If I get in."

Two months. I have two months before she disappears for the summer.

"Stella, I—"

"Don't." She holds up a hand. "Please don't make this harder than it already is. Just... go to your party. Be with your friends. Try to have a normal life."

She walks away before I can respond.

I stand there in the empty lobby, watching her go, feeling like I just lost the most important thing in the world.

STELLA

I cry the entire drive home.

Mom keeps asking if I'm okay, if something's wrong. I tell her I'm just emotional from Luca's performance, overwhelmed by how talented he is.

It's not entirely a lie.

That piece. God, that piece.

It was everything we can't say out loud. Everything we're trying to bury. He laid his heart bare in front of hundreds of people and no one understood except me.

And now he's going out with Vanessa and his friends, and I'm going home alone to my room where we—

I can't think about Thursday night. Can't let myself remember how it felt, how right it seemed in the moment, how completely wrong it is in the harsh light of day.

When we get home, I go straight to my room.

I pull out my laptop and open the email from Isabella. The application for the summer intensive stares back at me.

Eight weeks in New York. Eight weeks away from Luca. Away from these impossible feelings. Away from the constant temptation of something I can never have.

I start filling out the application.

My phone buzzes. A text from Maya.

Hey! Saw videos from Luca's showcase on Insta. That piece was INSANE. Your brother is crazy talented! You must be so proud! ❤️

I stare at the message.

If only she knew.

I type back: Yeah. Really proud.

Another text comes in. This time from a number I don't recognize.

Hi Stella. This is Vanessa. We met at the showcase? I just wanted to say your brother is amazing. We're all out celebrating if you want to join?

The invitation is friendly. Genuine.

She has no idea that the thought of watching her flirt with Luca makes me want to throw up.

Thanks but I'm tired. Have fun though!

I toss my phone aside and go back to the application.

Why are you interested in the Vivian Arts Academy Summer Intensive?

My fingers hover over the keyboard.

Because I need to get away from my brother before I destroy both our lives.

I delete it and type instead:

I want to challenge myself as a dancer and work with world-class choreographers. I believe this program will help me grow both technically and artistically, and prepare me for a professional career in dance.

Professional. Distant. Exactly what I need to be.

I finish the application and hit submit before I can second-guess myself.

Then I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling, trying not to think about Luca at some bar with Vanessa. Trying not to imagine her touching his arm, laughing at his jokes, looking at him the way I wish I could look at him in public.

My phone buzzes again. I grab it, hoping irrationally that it's him.

It's not. It's Derek.

I'm sorry for how I acted. I was out of line. Can we please talk?

I delete the message without responding.

Derek. Luca. All these boys who want me for different reasons. One who tried to use me. One who genuinely loves me but can never have me.

And me, stuck in the middle of it all, trying to figure out how to be a normal girl with normal problems when nothing about my life is normal anymore.

I pull up my messages with Luca. The last text is from this morning: I'm sorry, Stella. For everything.

I start typing a response, then delete it. Type again. Delete again.

Finally, I just write:

Your piece was beautiful. I understood every note.

I stare at it for a long time before hitting send.

Then I turn off my phone and try to sleep.

Try not to think about the fact that in less than forty-eight hours, everything changed between us.

Try not to think about how much I miss him even though he's only a few miles away.

Try not to think about how I'm in love with the one person I can never have.

LUCA

Miller's is crowded and loud.

Everyone's congratulating me, buying me drinks, asking about the piece. Vanessa hasn't left my side all night, her hand on my arm, her shoulder pressed against mine at the bar.

She's pretty. Talented. Nice. Everything a normal guy would want.

And I feel nothing.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, see Stella's name.

Your piece was beautiful. I understood every note.

I read it three times, my chest tightening.

She understood. Of course she understood. It was for her. All of it.

"Everything okay?" Vanessa asks, leaning in close to be heard over the music.

"Yeah. Just my sister."

"She seemed pretty emotional tonight. The piece really got to her, huh?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

"It got to all of us." Vanessa's hand slides down my arm to my hand. "You're really talented, Luca. I hope you know that."

She's looking at me expectantly. Hopefully. This is the moment where I'm supposed to kiss her. Where I'm supposed to start moving on like Stella said.

But I can't.

"I should probably head home," I say, pulling my hand away gently. "Early brunch tomorrow."

Disappointment flashes across her face. "Oh. Okay. Well, it was really great celebrating with you."

"You too. Thanks for coming."

I say goodbye to Jake and the others, then escape into the cool night air.

The drive home is quiet. I keep thinking about Stella's text. About her in her room right now, probably lying in bed, thinking about the same things I am.

About Thursday night. About what we did. About what we can never do again.

When I get home, the house is dark except for a light in Stella's room.

I stand in the hallway outside her door for a long time, hand raised to knock.

But I don't.

Instead, I go to my own room, lie on my bed, and stare at the ceiling.

My phone buzzes. A text from Stella.

Are you home?

Yeah. Just got back.

How was it?

Fine. Boring, actually.

A long pause. Then:

Did Vanessa kiss you?

My heart stops.

No. Nothing happened.

Oh.

Another pause.

Goodnight, Luca.

Goodnight, Stella.

I stare at the phone screen until it goes dark.

This is our life now. Texting through walls. Wanting what we can't have. Trying to move on from something we can't move on from.

And somehow, we have to survive it.