Play Something Bad

I’m having trouble sleeping. My mom is downstairs, watching the latest episode of Lunar Lovers, and I can vaguely hear the sound of the characters fighting over something, but that’s not what’s keeping me up. I roll onto my side and bury my head into my pillow. I might as well practice.

I tap my wrist halfheartedly and find myself seated at the bench in my practice room—a black endless space with nothing but a sleek, white grand piano.

I was never very creative with server design.

But at least there are no distractions. No sound, no images, just me and my instrument. I lay my fingers on the keys and sigh. Then I play.

Piano Sonata No. 14, or “Moonlight Sonata” as some call it, has been my warmup song for years. It’s easy, beautiful, simple—comforting. The first real song I ever learned, if you don’t count “Chopsticks.” And it’s the first song I ever played for my dad.

Maybe I should text him. But… it’s late where he is on Earth right now.

I decide against it and continue playing until it’s done, the stiffness in my fingers finally starting to fade as I land on the last few notes. When I’m finished, I close my eyes and run some scales, my hands gliding up and down the keyboard blindly. Behind my eyelids, an incoming calendar invite for tomorrow flashes by in white text: 7 p.m., Tutoring?

I open my eyes, and my fingers stop in their tracks. I almost want to scream.

I could. No one would hear me.

Because why did Nicolas Silva have to happen to me?

Fifty hours. Fifty hours with a guy who has no boundaries and doesn’t care about mine. A guy who’s on his way to self-destructing and doesn’t seem to want to stop. A guy who has no problem dragging me into a mess that isn’t mine—a mess he should be dealing with on his own, or with his therapist, or with anyone but me, his unwilling tutor.

Why did Principal Adams have to cancel the booth?! Surely I can find another way to get my hours, because this is untenable. This is insane!

But then I feel it again and curse myself for feeling it: pity. Nico is so… lonely. So painfully lonely. I know he doesn’t care about the tutoring. And I know why he doesn’t care about school. Someone who goes into memories like that is not someone who could care about grades the way everyone else does. What he really wants… is someone to talk to.

And as much as I wish that wasn’t me, I can’t help but remember the times I’d wanted the same thing. When my dad’s absence felt like a weight on my chest, crushing me until I couldn’t breathe, when my mom’s checked out face made me want to burst into tears, to scream, to shake her, when even Tori and Zach struggled to give me what I needed, I had felt so utterly alone. And the pain had been unbearable.

Oh no.

I realize something terrible. I don’t just pity Nico. I sympathize with him. Worse yet, I empathize. I don’t want to save him, but I don’t want to watch him drown either.

So, against my better judgment, I accept the invite.

A few seconds later, it’s followed by a text.

You’re up. I thought you’d be asleep by now, rule follower.

I stare at it until it fades from my vision. Guess he’s back to normal. I’m not sure I am. I respond:

Yeah.

I don’t know what else to say, but he replies quickly.

Wow, you sure are a dry texter.

I barely have a chance to let out an annoyed gasp when another text comes in.

I’m sorry about today btw. I was in a weird mood, and I didn’t think about how that would make you feel. Let’s just do the tutoring and move on. I really am sorry.

An apology. Now that I didn’t expect. I take a deep breath. Alright, let’s start over then. I can do that. I’ll let it go—for now. I text back:

Don’t worry about that. How are you?

It feels like the right thing to say, and I feel a bit put on the spot anyway. The piano is forgotten, and I sit back on the bench, my hands steadying myself on the seat.

“Better now.”

I jump. He’s leaning on the piano, dressed in what looks like pajamas. All black, of course. He looks at the keys, at me.

“So this is you, huh? The real ‘PetraPiano.’”

“Can you stop sneaking into my private server?” I snap back, but it only makes him smile. I feel both unnerved and relieved to see him smile—it’s a stark difference from how he was earlier. But I’m still annoyed.

“I’m not sneaking. I’m right here.” He opens his arms invitingly, like he’s waiting for a hug.

“And this isn’t the ‘real’ me,” I continue. “The real me is in bed.”

“You’re so literal,” he sighs, then he joins me on the bench, which is too small for the both of us, but stretches out to accommodate him as he seemingly hacks that too.

“How do you do that?” I mutter, my eyes tracing the oddly extended bench. “You do it all with your head? Don’t you have to type?”

He shrugs. “I think the code.”

“You think… lines and lines of code?”

He shrugs again. “Yeah.” He puts his hands on the keys and plunks down on a C, a B, a G. “It’s not so different from this.” His eyes meet mine, a playful smile on his face. “Will you play something for me?”

I fight the urge to make a face. He really is acting like nothing happened today. “I…” I don’t just play for people on a whim. Especially not for people I don’t like.

“You have any original songs?”

“What? Yeah, but…”

“Let me guess. They’re ‘not good enough.’”

I frown at him. I don’t like that he can read me that easily. We aren’t friends—isn’t he the one who said that to me? “They aren’t good enough. They’re all missing something. But I don’t have time for original work anyway—I need to focus on performance pieces in case I get an interview at Nova.”

His smile turns lopsided, his eyes glittering with amusement, though I’m not sure what I said that’s so funny to him. And then I realize how close he is and am about to lean back when he says, “Play something bad. I don’t have any context, so I won’t judge you.”

Something… bad? A song comes to mind immediately. The first original song I ever wrote. “You’re not going to leave me alone until I do it, are you?”

“Got that right. So play, loser.”

I glare at him, but then, for some reason, I obey. I play. I play the song I hate. The song I wrote to get my dad’s attention, to prove something, and that feels embarrassing to even think—but I play it anyway. C minor, a bit of a Liszt ripoff, basic, lame. He listens all the same, and he doesn’t interrupt or say anything.

When I finish the song, we sit in silence for a moment. I glance at him. His brow is furrowed, a distant look on his face. “That was the end,” I say bluntly.

“I got that,” he replies without missing a beat. His eyes flick to mine. “Well, you’re right. It was bad.”

My face burns red. “Hey! You said you weren’t going to judge me!”

He grins. “I lied.” He puts his hands on the keys, and mine shrink away automatically before they can touch. He hits a few notes, and I realize he’s attempting a simple recreation of the main melody. He gets some stuff wrong, but he’s more accurate than I expected—he has a good ear. “Do you sing?”

“No. My mom does though.”

He nods, still puttering away slowly on the keys, working out the melody on his own from memory. “You should add lyrics. That’s what’s missing.”

I huff. “It’s not that kind of song.”

“Well,” he says, “maybe it should be.”

“I’m not going to add lyrics just because you think I should add lyrics.”

He puts his hand on my head, which silences me immediately. I blink in surprise. “Add lyrics because it’ll make it better.” He ruffles my hair then pulls his hand back, grinning. “And then sing them.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“That’s not very nice, nerd.”

“You make me mean.”

He can’t seem to stop grinning. “Give it a try. Then tell me what you think.”

“Why should I—”

He leaves. Just like that. And now it’s just me, alone again in the practice room. I let out an annoyed yell to no one in particular, then stare down at the keys. I’m not going to write stupid lyrics. No way. But my hands do find their way back to the notes, the melody, the simple version that he played. The parts he got wrong… they kind of work better. I find myself playing them, complicating them, incorporating them into the piece.

Outside of VR, midnight bleeds into morning, but I don’t notice. I just play all night.