This took me a bit longer than I expected lol But I hope you guys enjoy this update. I had a lot of fun writing it, even though there were parts that were quite difficult to write.

As always, thanks to all the readers and especially to those who leave me feedback:

Jeff: Yup, Luan is not used at all to having people worry about her like this. And being a good person is always gonna do good for everyone in the long run, but yes, I assume that having her crush notice that she's kind is always a nice thing.

STR2D3PO: Absolutely agreed. If only she could get past her fears…

TristPHT: You don't have to apologize for not commenting! It's okay lol 3 Regarding the costume changes, it's a possibility that, eventually, some of them will get some upgrades in their costumes, though I'm not entirely sure about it. Their powers won't change too much, but they will get better at them, allowing them to do more things. And Ronnie Anne won't be a main character in the Heroverse, but she may have some cameos somewhere along the line.

Meowloudly15: You give me way too much credit lol

Burtonfan422: You should never apologize for not reading a story. Your time is yours and you spend it however you want. Don't worry about it! I'm just glad that you got around to it and that you seem to be enjoying it.

Imagaco: Precisely, let everyone get some character development on their own, so when they get together, we understand how their dynamics work. And regarding your theory… oh boi I can't say anything can I? Lol It's a very solid theory.

Chapter 7:
What I've been looking for (reprise)

Practice went much better than I expected, considering this was the band's first time playing alongside the drama club guys. They did their parts pretty well. I'm by no means an expert, Sam often reminds me that I'm terrible at acting, so I don't know how correct my assessment is, but most of the guys made me believe in what they were doing. There was some lack of coordination between the members of the drama club and us when it came to the music, but it was to be expected. In some cases it was necessary to repeat the musical numbers so that we were all more synchronized or that the singers adjusted the key in which they sang. Still, I was surprised by how well everything turned out, all things considered.

I paid special attention to the role that Luan played in the story. She was the king's jester, entering the scene every time he was angry and about to have the protagonist executed for his romance with the princess. Her dialogues were brief, barely pulling off a few bad jokes to lighten the King's mood. It was nothing to write home about, but it seemed to me that she did her role well. The only questionable element was that her laughter sounded extremely forced and not authentic at all, but the drama teacher didn't make any comment, so I assumed that maybe it was that way on purpose.

Or perhaps, by now, she had resigned herself to not being able to extract something better from Luan. Either option seemed possible to me.

I don't like being overly self-referential or trying to sound conceited, but when it came time for the romantic song with a cello and piano duet, Carol and I raised the bar. Everyone experienced it. The actors did a wonderful job with their voices, but the reality was that the perfection of our music and even how we made small arrangements to better harmonize with their voices created an epic moment.

I gotta admit, I was a bit distracted when, hearing the boy's singing, I sensed that he was actually in love with his partner. I didn't get the same emotion from her, and I felt bad for him, but I didn't allow myself to miss a single note. I could also feel Carol's ever-present determination, and that inspired me to give my all and do my best to make the song come out flawless.

I can safely say that we delivered because as soon as it was over, everyone in the rehearsal room stood up to applaud the actors and us. I allowed myself a glance at Carol, and she, with a slight smile, nodded gently in my direction, as if congratulating me. My heart began to beat stronger and faster.

That number was the second to last in the play, so after a couple of scenes and the final number —which, while not as intimate and wonderful as the duet, was a worthy closing for the play— the actors bowed, and the formal rehearsal was over.

Both teachers congratulated us all with a few tears escaping their eyes. They told us that the play was going to be a success and that they were looking forward to the premiere. And to tell the truth, I was looking forward to it too.

After the rehearsal was over, we all started packing up and leaving. I had barely arranged my sheet music when I tried to find Luan to congratulate her, but couldn't find her. I looked around, but she was nowhere to be found. It was as if it disappeared completely.

I did manage to spot Carol, who I saw as she was approaching me at a steady pace. My mind went blank, and a thousand thoughts were bottled up in my head, preventing me from functioning clearly. I felt like a library computer trying to download a movie.

Carol also looked somewhat distracted, but unlike me, she had no problem continuing to walk to a stop next to me, and when she spoke, she was at least able to say a full sentence.

"Hey, Luna."

"H-Hey, Carol," I greeted her, trying and failing miserably to sound calm.

"You were great today," she complimented me. "It never ceases to amaze me how skilled you are at the piano."

At that moment, I felt that a meteor could fall from the sky and end my life, and I would probably wake up in paradise satisfied with the universe. Carol's compliment filled my stomach with butterflies. Nah. Rather, she filled it with a swarm of demonic locusts that ate everything in their path like a living hurricane, leaving nothing untouched.

"T-Thanks a lot. You were fantastic too." I propped my elbow on the piano and rested my chin on my hand, trying to look casual. "So what's up? How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you," she said softly, bringing her hands behind her back and rocking gently on her feet. She seemed… slightly nervous, which was weird coming from a person as stoic as her. "I just wanted to… Well, I found out that your friend was one of the girls who got attacked."

"Oh," I said, feeling foolish for believing that she might have approached for another reason. "Yeah, Mazzy was there. Your friends were also there."

She nodded, but I noticed she didn't seem particularly concerned about them.

"Yes, it's all very strange. But, well... I noticed that two of your best friends were attacked these days, and uh... I wanted to check on you, see how you were holding up," she admitted, looking away at the last moment.

To say that the question took me by surprise doesn't do my emotions justice. It was like ingesting three pounds of sugar in an instant, feeling an exponential increase in energy and adrenaline, and even though it was still the early afternoon, I could feel that I wouldn't be getting any sleep that night.

Carol Pingrey was worried about me? Me? Was I dreaming? I felt my jaw clench, and my heart muscles showed their strength and tenacity by not giving me a sudden death from the violent rhythm of my heartbeat. I felt like I was floating through the clouds, but I knew she had just asked me a question, and the right thing to do would be to answer. So I tried to hide the fireworks exploding inside me and forced my brain to remember how to speak English.

Right then, I felt that I could speak in tongues.

"Well... I can't say I'm not a little worried. A little bit scared."

"Of course. We all are."

"But… Now that the police are here, I assume the attacks will stop… right?"

Carol's face looked extremely concerned.

"I sure hope so."

We shared a brief moment of silence. I felt like that topic of discussion was over, so I tried to think of something new I could say to keep the conversation going, but nothing came to mind. I tried to force my brain to work and think of something that might keep me in conversation with Carol.

As it often did, my brain didn't deliver when I needed it most, but I was fortunate enough for the Fates to answer my prayers.

"Oh, precisely who I was looking for!" Mr. Budden said, walking over to Carol and me. "Girls, you were amazing this afternoon. Words are not enough to explain how happy it makes me hearing you both play."

"Aw, thank you so much, Mr. B," I said.

"We couldn't do it without your direction," Carol replied respectfully.

It was clearly a lie, but Mr. Budden seemed to take it at face value.

"Oh, you! Why thank you. It is a teachers' job to guide our students to advance beyond us; so that they may surpass us. And that's why I need to talk to both of you."

Carol and I exchanged a look, raising our eyebrows.

"What do you want to talk to us about, sir?"

"It's with great regret that I must admit that I underestimated you two at the beginning of the semester," he said, looking at us with a gleam of pride in his eyes. "I knew you were good, it was clear to me after talking to other teachers, but I never imagined that you would have such a level that could easily allow either of you to develop a professional career. And the truth is that, when I wrote the score for the play, I tried to limit the complexity. I didn't want anyone in the band to feel forced to reach an unreasonable bar, but what was a relief to others, I feel like it turned into chains for you. Like cutting the wings of a beautiful eagle that aspires to fly high between the clouds!"

"Oh come on, it's not like that," I said with blushing cheeks.

"Yes, it is. You're fabulous, girls. You've nailed the song and made them your own. Just today I noticed the little notes and arrangements you added to improve the harmony with the singers. Notes that weren't there in the music sheets, but that were rather born from your understanding of music, notes that belong to you and that elevated the piece. That's why I have a proposal for you."

I took a breath and didn't let it escape my lungs, feeling the anxiety and anticipation skyrocket toward the moon.

"If you're comfortable with it, I'd like the two of you to meet outside of class to compose an instrumental section between you to replace the current one," he said with a smile as broad and bright as the sun.

"Us? Composing?" I asked, wanting to make sure my ears weren't fooling me.

"Precisely. As I said, the current instrumental break is twenty-four bars with but a few simple scales and chords. Which is fine as an accompaniment… but here between us," he said, leaning closer and whispering the following words, "the truth is that the main leads are great at singing, but not so… ductile with their little choreography."

Carol let out a small laugh, so I was quick to follow suit, though my forced laugh sounded more like a burping frog.

"It's the perfect moment for the music to be the one that elevates the scene so that the audience focuses for a second on what they hear and they're more… let's say… benevolent with the choreography that is not quite as polished. Feel free to do what your hearts tell you. I want your duet to be the perfect time for you to spread your wings and fly. Be as ambitious as you want. I don't want either to eclipse the other, I want both of you to be able to demonstrate your skills. Are you two up for it?"

For a few seconds, I didn't dare turn to see Carol. I was too busy trying to keep my face from glowing as red as burning-hot metal. I couldn't believe this was happening. Composing my part for the school musical? The one who would be played in front of the entire school? With an explicit request for me to feel free to be ambitious and stand out?

And he wanted me to write it along with Carol?! Meeting outside of class?!

Luckily, Carol had the clarity of mind to speak first and shake me out of my stupor.

"Mr. Budden, that's a very generous offer. I appreciate this vote of confidence you place in us," she said, bowing her head slightly as if accepting a tiara. "I'd be honored to do this! But isn't it too risky, what with the musical being only two weeks away?"

"Oh, yes it is, and I apologize for that," the professor admitted. "But I trust you girls. I know you can do it! What do you say, Luna? Are you up for the challenge?"

I gulped to help the metal sphere in my throat drop to my stomach and allow me to speak, and rubbed my hands against my pants to wipe away the sweat that was starting to collect on them.

"Yeah, sure," I finally said. "Like Carol said, it's very kind of you to let us do this. I promise you we won't let you down, Mr. B."

"Oh, I know you won't! It'll be fantastic!" He assured us, twirling around. "Wonderful! Can't wait to see what you bring!"

And just like that, he said goodbye to us, wished us luck, and walked away.

"Wow. So unexpected," Carol said.

"Y-Yeah, crazy, right?"

"But it sounds like fun."

"Y-Yes, it does."

"We don't have much time, though, and to be honest, I don't have much experience writing my own music," she admitted, putting a hand to his chin. "I'm more into studying something someone else wrote already. Do you have any experience writing this kind of music?"

My room had tons of notebooks filled with songs, passages, lyrics, and sheet music that I had written over the years. My connection to music, my natural understanding of the theory and the rules that govern it, and especially how my feelings were mixed with it, were all a perfect combination for me to write songs almost without realizing it. Especially when I had strong emotions, and writing songs turned into a way of venting and getting those feelings out of my chest.

"I've written a bit," I said. I didn't want to sound smug or dismissive of the importance of what we had to do.

"I see. Well, surely we can use your experience." She struck a thoughtful pose for a few seconds before looking at me. "We don't have much time to do this. We have to write it down and get sufficient practice before the musical. I know it's very sudden and that you might already have plans for tonight, but do you want to come over to my house so we can start brainstorming?"

"Uh… I… Y-Your house?"

"Yeah. My mother has a piano in the studio, so we could practice there. We can go there in my car and I'll drive you over to your house later. Obviously, if you already have something to do, I understand."

I could have been invited to play at the White House and I would have still called to cancel it, but of course, I didn't tell her that. Or at least I wished I hadn't said it, because at the time my mind was too shocked to function properly. I wasn't entirely sure there wasn't smoke coming out of my ears, to tell the truth.

Judging from her silence, I didn't seem to say anything out loud. Which meant I hadn't responded either.

"Uh, I don't… I-I don't have anything going on, I just, you know… Uh, what I mean is… If you want to, I-I could go to your h-house, yeah."

She smiled. "Perfect. I'll wait for you in the parking lot, getting the cello to fit in my car is not as easy as one would think."

And without further ado, she walked away, leaving me alone, my heart pounding like a bass drum. Was I really about to go to Carol's house? In her car? To spend some time alone writing music together? Romantic music that the two of us were going to play in our duet? My heart felt like it was about to burst, pumping enough blood to feed a family of vampires for a week. This was everything I had dreamed of since I realized I had a crush on Carol. For someone like me, that was the very definition of a date. I couldn't believe my luck.

Another part of me, however, was terrified. Until now, I had always managed to ruin my conversations with Carol. This time we had a common goal, something to accomplish and to which we had committed ourselves to Mr. Budden. I couldn't allow myself to trip over the same stone. Even though my feelings were raging wild inside me, I had to act mature and not let them get the best of me. I needed enough mental clarity not to screw it up. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I had to seize it.

It was much easier said than done, however, and my hands shook as I packed my sheet music and notes in my backpack. I was so distracted as I walked toward the exit that I didn't even notice Sam waiting for me at the door, and I would have walked past her if it weren't for her grabbing me by the elbow.

"Uh, hello?" Earth to Luna?" She called me, laughing. I shook my head and smiled at her.

"Sorry. I'm a bit off right now."

"You don't say. I was about to put my leg out to trip you."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Of course I would."

"I'd punch you in the face if you did."

"You would have to catch me first."

"Carol invited me to her house."

She stopped abruptly, letting go of my elbow and gaping at me. I didn't mean to blurt it out just like that, but I needed to say it as soon as possible because the more I kept it inside, the more likely it was that my nerves would consume me. Sam looked dumbfounded, and for the first time in a long time, she seemed to be at a loss for words, without any witty and funny responses to make.

"How…? Huh?" She asked, shaking her head.

I explained everything Mr. Budden had told us.

"And... well... she told me I could go to her house now in her car," I admitted, allowing myself to blush now that only my best friend was there. "Sam, this is awesome! It's like a dream come true! Right? Sam? Hello?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry," she said after a pause. "It's... Wow, I wasn't expecting that. That's awesome! I'm very happy for you, Luna!"

"Thanks. I'm a little nervous though… Oh, who am I kidding? I'm dying inside. What if I screw this up?"

"Hey, that's not the Luna I know," she said, placing both hands on my shoulders and forcing me to meet her eyes. "The Luna I'm friends with knows that music is her kingdom. Don't worry. You'll be in your comfort zone. Just focus on showing her how wonderful you are with music and… and I'm sure it'll all work out."

For someone who claimed to be sure, I sensed a strange tone in her voice. Nervous, hesitant, even conflicted. I assumed she was trying to support me, but like me, she was afraid that I would mess up and ruin any chance I had with Carol. I appreciated her support. It was a relief to have a friend who cared so much about me.

"Thanks, Sam. And I'm sorry we can't hang out today. But it's just... well... I wasn't expecting this."

"Pfft, don't worry about me, girl," she said, winking at me. "Come on, go get her, tiger. I know you can do it."

I gave her a quick hug before saying goodbye and heading toward the parking lot. It wasn't hard to find Carol's sports car, with her already closing the back door, her cello case set in. She sighed and stretched her back, as if she'd just finished a workout, before turning and looking at me.

"Oh great, you're here," she said, heading to her seat. "Hop in."

I had never been in such an expensive car. Chunk's van was… more utilitarian than good looking, so to speak. So, not without a certain modesty, I climbed into the passenger seat, having a mini-panic attack as I closed the door, afraid that I would close it too strong or too soft. It seemed to close just fine and Carol didn't say anything, so I assumed I got it right. We put on our seat belts and she started driving to her home.

We chatted casually for a few minutes, but Carol soon led the conversation into an interesting topic.

"I saw you talking to Luan," she mentioned, her eyes fixed on the road.

"Do you know her?"

"Not personally, no... but I know about her," she admitted, and I noticed her face looked sad. "I don't know what you two were talking about, but I saw how you cheered her up. She looked very happy."

"She seemed to need some words of encouragement," I said, shrugging it off. "I hardly know her, but… well, I don't know. I don't wanna sound like I'm a saint or anything, but I felt like she needed a little pick-me-up."

Carol was silent, stopping at a red light and drumming the steering wheel for a few moments.

"She's going through some tough times."

"What do you mean?"

"Her dad… Doctor DiAngelo has always been very prestigious here in town. He was one of the best in the private clinic where he worked. Everyone wanted him to work on their cases and stuff. My father used to go to his office all the time, and he thought he knew him well. They weren't friends at all, but still… he never imagined what happened."

Her dark tone made me uneasy. "What happened?"

"He… well, it turns out he worked for Tetherby, from Tetherby Industries," she finally said. "After the new Ace Savvy exposed them, authorities began investigating and found out that Dr. DiAngelo was in charge of research of certain drugs and biological weapons. Super illegal stuff. They arrested him and his wife, who was also reportedly involved in another area of shady research. From what I know, Luan is living with her grandparents, but her dad once told my father that they don't love... appreciate her too much."

"What the hell? How can they not love their granddaughter? What kind of people would feel that way?"

"It's because they think her parents should never have adopted her."

"Adopted?" I repeated, chills running down my spine.

"Yeah, she's adopted. I don't know if that affects her or not, but finding out that your parents worked for a villain, seeing them being sent to prison, and having to go live with people who don't love you… I can't even imagine what that must feel like."

"Oh my God… No, me neither. It's... terrible... I had no idea…"

"I thought you knew," she admitted. "I thought that's why you were so nice to her."

"No, I… I just treat people how I'd like to be treated," I said simply. "I saw her looking a bit depressed, but I would've never imagined that she was going through something like that."

Carol sighed. "You're a good person, Luna. I wish I could be more like you."

The compliment filled me with joy, but it also worried me a bit.

"Oh come on, don't say that. You're a good person, too."

"A good person would stop her so-called friends when they're bullying other people," she murmured.

I didn't know what to say. I didn't have an answer to that. I chose to remain silent, and she interpreted it as an invitation to continue speaking.

"I recently found out about all this, regarding Luan. But what happened the other day… It's not the first time Roger and the others have picked on her. Or other people. And I never stopped them. I don't like that they're like that, but I'm not brave enough to stand up to them. I wish I was… but I'm not."

There were many things I wanted to say to her. To ask her why, if she was against how her friends behaved, she just wouldn't walk away from them. She was incredibly popular, she must've had a lot of friends besides those bullies, right? I also wanted to ask her if she had been aware that one of her friends was sleeping with Sully. If she knew they were cheating on Mazzy. I wanted to ask her these questions, but two things stopped me.

One, the fact that if I went there, I risked overstepping myself and ruining everything once again. We were there to work, the last thing I wanted was for us to fight because I said the wrong thing. Although she was opening the door to the discussion, I was feeling pretty confident that she wouldn't take it very well if I said "Hey, why don't you walk away from all your friends? Is it that you're not consistent with what you think or does your reputation matter more to you than your ideals?" I could be pretty stupid when it came to conversations, but even I understood that that was neither the place nor the time to say something like that.

And the second reason, much more selfish, was that part of me didn't want to know the answers to those questions. If I didn't, it was easy for my heart to make excuses for Carol. I could come up with reasons that explained why she was still with her friends even though they were terrible people. If I got an answer, however, that process would be much more difficult, and I ran the risk of smearing the ideal image of Carol that lived in my mind.

I wasn't willing to risk that.

"I can't speak for your friends or your relationship with them," I said, "but from how little I know you... I think you are a good person."

I didn't feel the need to add anything else. Carol sighed and gave me a brief, forced smile, as if to say "I wish I could believe you," but kept driving. The houses I saw passing through the car window were getting prettier and bigger, with immense lawns, metal fences out front, and two or three stories tall. It was a part of the city that I didn't usually visit.

Eventually, Carol slowed down and maneuvered up onto the sidewalk. I'm not sure where I imagined she would live. I guess I was expecting some kind of Disney castle or a Victorian mansion with marble columns and Renaissance statues.

The house was nothing of the sort, but it was still impressive. It was two stories tall, and it looked like a large square box that contained two smaller boxes. One was a rectangle that occupied the entire ground floor, and on top of it, another square box rested, coming a little out of the square frame of the entire house. There was a space where another similar box could have fit, but judging by the metal railings and the vegetation that was seen, I assumed it was a terrace.

She reached for her keys and pressed a button on a small plastic rectangle, and the garage door opened. She drove and parked the car inside. I got out and helped her get the cello out of the backseat.

"My parents insisted on giving me a car for my sixteenth birthday," Carol commented as we did so, "and it didn't occur to them that this might not be the best model for taking my cello places."

I didn't say anything, although I thought to myself that I would have gladly accepted any car that someone wanted to give me for my birthday. I would have settled for a bike to be honest.

There wasn't much to see in the garage. I saw a laundry room, with a washing machine and a basket of clothes to one side. What did catch my attention was that there was a lot of free space, but Carol had parked her car almost against a wall, so I assumed her parents would park theirs on the other half of the garage.

"Alright, let's go."

I followed her through a door that connected to a kitchen —which was almost as large as the living room in my house— and then to a large hall with a fancy stair with wooden steps that came right out from the wall and were hanging by cables on the other side. I was a little scared, but after seeing that Carol climbed safely and that no steps moved or wobbled, I followed her.

As I went upstairs, I noticed that every corner of the house looked neat and shiny. And also that the decorations and furniture seemed to be very, very expensive. Once upstairs, I noticed that this was where the living room was. I saw a large L-shaped sofa on a circular rug with a glass coffee table pointed to a stone wall, where a large television was suspended. On the other side, large windows and sliding glass doors opened onto the terrace that I'd seen from the sidewalk, with a few lounge chairs, an outdoor barbecue, and hardwood floors.

"The study is on the other side," Carol told me, and I followed her to a door at the other end of the room. We walked in, and she began to set up her cello while I scanned the room with my eyes. The wall facing the terrace was, like the living room, almost entirely made of glass. The wall that faced the back of the house had a window running up to my head, allowing me to see the back garden, with some trees and many flowering plants of all colors.

The other two walls were occupied with cases full of books and a large desk with two computers. Further to the corner, right where Carol was standing, there was a space reserved for her, with a chair and a music stand.

And to one side of it, an upright piano leaning against the wall. I went over to see it. I assumed it wouldn't be a grand piano like the one at school, but I had envisioned a slightly more basic one, maybe even a digital keyboard. This one looked very high quality. The brand was top tier, and it looked flawless.

"Alright," Carol said, and I turned to see that she had already set her cello ready against the wall. "I'm going to the kitchen to get some drinks and something to snack. What do you want? Tea, soda, coffee, a milkshake?

"I'm fine," I told her, not knowing how to respond. It was a simple question, but I didn't know what kind of things she liked or what she usually drank. What if I said something that made me look weird?

"Come on, we just got out of school, you must be thirsty. Just tell me, it's not a bother, really."

"Uh, I… I don't know, I guess… Just bring me one of whatever you have," I offered, and she seemed content with the answer.

"Alright, cool. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. Try the piano, if you want," she invited me, before walking away.

As soon as she was gone, I let out a sigh and covered my face with my hands. Everything felt unreal. I couldn't believe I was at Carol's house, having ridden in her car, and that she was about to bring me a drink. I felt blessed by the Olympian gods, and at the same time, I felt that they would be watching from the clouds, betting to see when I would ruin everything.

Emotions began to swirl inside me, and that wasn't a good sign. So, wanting to distract myself, I took Carol's invitation and sat in front of her mother's piano. With some shyness, I pressed the first key delicately, as if it were made of glass. A C note flooded the study, and I breathed in relief that nothing had been broken. Then I played a chord, enjoying the vibration of the notes. Then an arpeggio, then a simple accompaniment.

Before I knew it, I was improvising a jazz session, closing my eyes and shaking my head like a Hawaiian doll on a long-distance truck. I let my fingers dance over the keys, creating unexpected rhythms and sequences, trying to break patterns every time I detected them. Unbridled music, free from ties, without constraints, authentic.

I focused on those emotions and used my powers to direct them towards me. I let them free me, and because of it, my emotions calmed down. I wasn't so scared anymore. I was ready to talk to Carol and be myself.

"Oh wow," I heard behind me and stopped playing to see Carol approaching with a metal tray carrying what appeared to be two cups of coffee, with a sugar bowl, and a plate with cookies. "Luna, that was really good!"

Any other time, I might have been too embarrassed about being caught improvising to respond, but the effect of my music was still there, filling me with courage.

"Thanks. I love improvising," I admitted. "It's very… liberating, you know? To be able to play without worrying about missing a note or keeping up with the rhythm."

"I totally get that," she said, setting the tray on one of the desks and inviting me to come closer.

For a few minutes, we chatted casually about our routines in practicing and playing our instruments, which I found fascinating and a comfortable topic for me to talk about. I felt like I was in my comfort zone, in my field, my area of expertise. I could speak without feeling like I was walking a tightrope.

Eventually, we moved to our respective instruments and began to take incipient steps in building a new instrumental break in the song. We decided to start with the basics: the base chords. It didn't make much sense to make too many changes to the current chords, but we both agreed that if there was ever a point where the I-V-VI-IV chord progression could be broken, it was there. As Mr. Budden put it, the sequence was a safe bet, something easy to play that could be heard in most popular songs. It sounded great, yes, but we agreed that we could allow ourselves to make a slight change to the key and add a chord from outside the progression to emphasize the emotions of that instrumental pause.

Once that was defined, we also agreed that each of us would have moments where we played the melody and others where we would be in charge of the harmony. That way we both would have a couple of bars to carry the song. With these ideas in mind, we began to work on combinations of arpeggios and other more basic resources, giving each other constant feedback, always aiming to improve and produce a beautiful sound.

It was a wonderful experience that, honestly, I had never shared with anyone else. Sam, Mazzy, and Sully were good with their instruments, but they didn't have refined theoretical knowledge. They had learned to play by ear, or by going to a few music classes to learn the basics and then let the experience guide them. The times we met to play jam sessions, it was difficult for me to explain ideas to them in the terms I knew, having to resort to a much more colloquial language. Carol, on the other hand, had really impressive academic knowledge, and therefore it was easier for us to understand each other when describing sequences, notes, or techniques.

For forty minutes, we brainstormed ideas, trying different combinations to start diagramming what we thought would be best for the piece. We didn't come to any definitive arrangement, but we were beginning to have an idea of the direction we were going to take.

"This is a lot more than I thought we'd accomplish tonight," Carol admitted after we finished a section, jotting down the changes to a new music sheet she'd brought. "I think you sold yourself short when you said you only wrote a little bit of music. It seems like you've been composing your whole life."

"Well… I suppose in a sense I have been composing forever," I commented, stroking the surface of the keys. "My dad has a video collection with all the songs I made up when I was a kid. I wrote the first one when I was five years old, I think."

"Aw, that's adorable. Any chance to show it to me?" She asked mischievously.

"Not in a million years. It's a love song that I wrote to Ace Savvy. No one will see it while I'm still alive."

"Oh… my… God," she said, laughing softly. "Now I really have to see it."

"Pfft, no, forget it. Zero chance of it happening."

"When I was a kid, I too had a little crush on Ace Savvy. I mean, I guess most of us have had it at some point, right? What girl doesn't dream of being rescued by a hero?"

"...I suppose."

Without realizing it, I hit the E-flat key, letting the sad note vibrate in the air around me.

"You... don't agree with that?" She asked me with some caution.

"No, no, it's just… Well… Ace Savvy was great, don't get me wrong, but… Let's just say I don't have the best opinion on metahumans."

"Oh," she said, sounding confused. "Well, you're not the only one, that's for sure. Many people aren't… fond of them. Is it because of, uh, religious issues, maybe?"

I shook my head, understanding where she was coming from. Since the appearance of metahumans, many groups of different religions rose against them, calling them false prophets or heralds of the Day of Judgment. After a while, the situation calmed down, but there were still extremists who continued to hate metahumans.

"No, it's nothing like that. And I'm not one of those who believe that they are coming to replace us, or that they are mutations caused by aliens, either. I'm not crazy."

"I wasn't implying that," he said quickly. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's okay, I get it. If you really want to know… My mom died because of a metahuman," I admitted, biting my lower lip.

Carol stopped jotting down on her sheet music and propped her cello bow to the side of her chair.

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

I shook my head, trying to smile but failing miserably. "Don't worry. Like I said the other time, it was a long time ago."

"Was it a… supervillain attack?"

"No," I replied, clenching my fists on the edge of my shirt, wrinkling it completely. "No, it was a run-of-the-mill mugging. But there was a metahuman there, and…"

It had been eight years, but every time I remembered that night, the dagger would turn inside of me once more. Even when I thought there was no more pain to be had, reality showed me how wrong I was.

It always hurt. Every time.

"Oh, Luna, I'm so sorry," she said, her soft voice laced with pity.

I nodded and unconsciously began to play a tune. Minor chords, a soft base, slow notes that seemed to crawl on the ground, as if struggling to be heard.

Everyone felt sorry when they heard me talking about it. The poor orphan girl who'd also lost her adoptive mother. A life filled with pain and loss. Poor Luna Morrison. What a cruel fate. You don't deserve everything bad that happened to you. Boohoo.

Only they were wrong. Everybody was wrong. It wasn't their fault, of course, but their emotions weren't aimed at who really deserved them. Tabby was the girl who deserved to be pampered and comforted. She was the one who had lost her biological mother one night when she hadn't even been present. Tabby was the one who never got to say goodbye to her, who saw her world turned upside down without understanding how or why, who had no choice but to witness the tragedy with nothing to do.

I wasn't in that situation. I didn't deserve that sympathy. I didn't deserve people feeling sorry for me and the pain caused by my mother's death.

Not when I was to blame for it.

Eight years had passed since that fateful night, but the scene was burned into my mind. I remembered even the tiniest details, things that weren't relevant, but that for some reason I didn't think I would ever forget.

It was a winter afternoon, with the sun setting on the horizon. It had snowed all day, and the streets and roofs of the businesses were covered by a beautiful white blanket, reflecting all the colors of the Christmas lights that decorated every corner of the city and the orange tones of the sky. I remember the bakery on the avenue with a life-size gingerbread man in the window, smiling and inviting us to buy fresh-baked cookies. Eight dollars and fifty cents for a bag of them. They looked delicious, with chocolate chips sticking out all over the place. I remember the smell of freshly cooked dough, coming out of a grate that pointed towards the street, probably so that it would make little seven-year-old girls hungry.

At that time I had long, straight hair, with a little more volume at the bottom, reaching the height of my shoulder blades. I was wearing a wool hat Chunk knitted for me, blue pants, brown fringed boots, and a knee-length purple sheepskin jacket, my favorite.

I leaned my little freckled face against the window, and my breath condensed on the glass.

"Mom, mom! Can we buy some cookies?"

Next to me, my adoptive mother walked with some wooden paper bags that carried our groceries. She was a not-too-tall young woman. Her skin was pale and delicate like porcelain. Chunk used to joke that she looked like a geisha, with her black hair and small eyes with just a hint of Asian heritage from her father's family. It was an exaggeration, but it was hard to deny how beautiful and delicate she looked.

"I already bought you the sweets you asked for in the other store, Loony," she said, coming over to pay my head with one of his delicate hands.

"But the other store didn't have cookies," I said, and using one of the fingers of my woolen-gloved hand, I drew a sad little face against the vapor of my breath. "Tabby loves chocolate chip cookies. She'll be very happy if we bring her some."

"I think she'll be happy with the things we've already bought for her. But nice try, getting into big sister mode. You almost got me. Almost."

I let out a small groan but realized it was a losing battle, so I gave the gingerbread man one last look of pain and desire and continued to walk beside my mom, jumping a little to avoid touching the lines of the tiles.

"Mommy, can I go to Sammy's house tomorrow?" I asked, determined to get at least one win that day.

"I don't know, darling. They say it's going to snow a lot."

"But we're going to be in her house. Nothing's gonna happen, we'll be warm and cozy. Her mom bought some new movies and Sammy says there's one that I'm going to like a lot."

"Hmm, I don't know," she said, putting a finger against her chin. "I need to be with my Loony to be happy. Just thinking about you leaving for an afternoon makes me sad... If only there was some way to make me feel happy…"

Of course, I knew exactly what she was implying, and my face lit up. I walked over to her and grabbed the hand she offered me, squeezing it tightly. I still remember feeling her wedding ring pressing on the side of one of my fingers. It hurt a little, but I didn't care.

I slowed down and cleared my throat. It was cold, but I didn't care. My mom loved having me singing to her, and I was more than willing to sing whenever asked. Luckily, she was very open about her favorite music, so I had a good idea of what I could sing to cheer her up.

Our house it has a crowd
There's always something happening
And it's usually quite loud

While singing one of her favorite songs, I focused on the upbeat rhythm and passed it through my hand to my mom. At that point in my life, I had developed some control over my powers, and I knew that I could share emotions with other people, but I needed to be able to touch someone to do so.

"Ooooh, my Loony is in an eighties mood," she said, squeezing my hand tighter. "She always knows what her mommy likes."

Yes, I knew it, and I loved being able to make her happy. She was the one that taught me how to sing, she always played songs so that the two of us could do improvised duets. When she was pregnant with Tabby, she would ask me to rest my cheek on her belly and sing to my baby sister. She said that it would make her feel more comfortable and happy. That she would get used to my voice by the time she was born.

Our mum, she's so house-proud
Nothing ever slows her down
And a mess is not allow—

"Hands up and stay where you are."

It all happened too fast, but even in my memories I relive it in slow motion, each moment stretching for an eternity, allowing me to take a close look at all the details, analyze each frame to understand where I messed everything up, how my gift became a curse.

A man had stopped a few feet in front of us. I hadn't seen him arrive, I wasn't paying attention. He interrupted my song, and eight years later, the verse was still left unfinished. I'd never sung that song again ever since.

Unfortunately, I also remember every detail of that man. His worn-out jeans. His dark green jacket. His brown beard with some gray hairs here and there. His red nose, probably from a cold. His round, wrinkled eyes fixed on my mother. And above all, I remember his hands. One of them extended towards us with the palm pointing up. I remember the hair on the back of his hand, the black motor oil stains on his fingers, the white mark from where a ring had been long gone. And the other hand, also pointing towards us, holding a gun.

My blood ran cold, and my lungs ached when I inhaled the late-afternoon cold air. For some reason, it took me a while to recognize that it was a gun. I don't know how I didn't understand it right away, but the truth is that for a few moments, I didn't understand what was going on. Why had this man approached us? Why was he looking at us so anxiously? Why was my mom squeezing my hand so hard, couldn't she tell it was hurting me?

I understood the situation only after my mom tugged on my arm to try to get me behind her. As I lost my balance and tried my best not to fall, I heard her begging the man to point the gun somewhere else, and the man asking her to give him her wallet. Only then did I understand what was happening. They were mugging us, and what was pointing at us was the barrel of a gun.

Since then, I have read countless stories of people who found themselves in the same situation. The vast majority of people describe being paralyzed. Feeling that their body wouldn't respond, that they become witnesses to a situation in which they have no agency. As if their mind goes into a pause, and they only begin to understand what happened to them after it's all over.

Since then, I've stayed up countless nights, wondering why I wasn't like the vast majority of people. Why couldn't I stay paralyzed, still, quiet? Why didn't fear leave me incapacitated, harmless? Why, when my mind understood the danger we were in, I didn't run away.

I screamed.

A scream of fear, of terror, like when I went to the bathroom at night and I thought I saw a shadow in the hall, or when Sammy jumped from behind a bush when I least expected it. Only this time, it wasn't just a scream.

The air in front of me began to vibrate, and everything became blurry as if we were underwater. The windows of the cars parked next to and in front of me shattered, and both my mom and the man covered their ears. For the second, or two, or maybe three that my scream lasted, the man struggled not to lose his balance, as if an airplane turbine was pushing him away from me. His hair and jacket flapped like a flag in the wind. My mom dropped the shopping bag, and all the objects flew away from me.

I didn't have time to process what was happening. I didn't figure out at the time that I was the cause of that sonic boom, or that it was happening in the first place. What I did see was how the man, in desperation, moved the hand of his gun from his ear and pointed it at me.

The next moment is the most confusing of all, and the one I remember most closely. Many things happened simultaneously, my brain processing them in slow motion. The movement of the weapon until it was in my direction. My mom's arm taking me by the shoulder and pulling hard on it. The man closing his eyes and clenching his teeth. Me losing my balance. My mom jumping in front of me, even as I continued to scream.

And suddenly an explosion, after which my memories go back to regular speed.

I fell sideways onto the sidewalk, ending my scream. There seemed to be a few seconds of silence, except for a very high-pitched ringing in my ears. The man fell to his knees and our eyes met. He was just as terrified of me as I was of him. He staggered to his feet and ran away, his soundless footsteps getting him away from me.

I stared at him until he disappeared, and then I turned to my right. My mom was on the floor next to me. The ringing in my ears faded, and the sound came back. Car alarms wailed like sirens, the breeze moved through the trees, but I could hear my breathing over everything else.

"Mommy?"

My voice cracked like I was sick.

She didn't respond or move. My mom never ignored me.

"Mommy? Ma?"

I crawled and knelt next to my mom. The heavy jacket she wore was thick and made of dark material. It saved me a disgusting image. Not even when I started to shake her by the shoulders, calling her to wake up, did I get to see the gunshot wound or the blood. It was as if she fell asleep.

I was young, but even I knew deep down what had happened. Still, I refused to accept it, and when people from the nearby stores came out to see what was going on, they had to drag me to let her go. I had clung to her as my mind clung to that night.

I opened my eyes when I began to feel them burning. I clenched my fists, stopping the tune I hadn't noticed I was playing and shook my head. I was a big girl. Eight years had passed. I would never quite get over it, but by then I should have been able not to break down every time I remembered what had occurred that day. Especially if I wasn't in the privacy of my room, where I could allow myself to be as sentimental as I wanted. Right then I was a guest at Carol's house, and we were supposed to be composing music together.

I cleared my throat to make sure my voice didn't sound cracked and turned to see Carol. I was going to apologize, but the words died in my throat when I saw that she had her hands crossed over her chest, as if feeling her heartbeat, and she was looking at me with tears falling from her eyes.

"Carol? What's wrong?"

She opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to say something. She had to rub her eyes with the back of her hand to wipe her tears before she controlled herself enough to speak.

"L-Luna, I… Wow… I'm sorry, I don't know what…"

"Are you okay?"

"I… Yes, but… I'm so sorry about what happened to your mom," she admitted, rubbing her eyes once more. "I know we don't know each other that well, but for some reason… It makes me so sad. Like I knew her."

It took me a few seconds to understand what had happened, but when I did, I felt my pressure drop. Without realizing it, I had been playing the piano as I remembered that night, and my powers had been unconsciously activated. Without meaning to, I had conveyed to Carol all my sadness, all my pain. And seeing her cry without understanding why she was doing it filled me with guilt.

I stood up and I approached her.

"Carol, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bring down the mood like that. It was a long time ago, you don't have to feel sorry for me."

"I'm sorry, I don't know why it affected me so much," she admitted, standing up as well to grab a napkin and use it as a handkerchief to dry her cheeks. "I suppose… I suppose it seems unfair to me that someone like you had to go through something so terrible."

There was a strange implication in the way she referred to me, and had it not been for the misuse of my powers that had put her in such a vulnerable position, perhaps I would have allowed myself to blush.

"Terrible things happen to everyone," I told him. "Life isn't fair."

"Even so ..."

"Seriously, sorry if I made you feel bad. I feel like... I always end up ruining our conversations."

Carol looked up at me. "Luna... That's not true. At all."

"No, it's okay, I get it," I said, rubbing one of my arms nervously. "I know I talk too much or ask uncomfortable questions. Or I get into personal matters. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, just… I'm a bit bad at talking to people I don't know. I get anxious."

We were silent for a few moments. I wondered if I had screwed it up again, but she asked me a new question before I plunged into a pit of insecurities.

"And what about Luan?"

I tilted my head, not understanding. "Huh?"

"You didn't know anything about her, but you did your best to help her and make her feel better. You didn't look nervous or anything with her. Why would you be anxious with me?"

Because I love you, you idiot, I wanted to say, but even I wasn't clueless enough to say it out loud. Talking about Carol would force me to lie about my feelings, and I didn't know how that could turn out. It was better to focus on why I wasn't feeling nervous around Luan. And after taking a little pause that Carol respected with her silence, I thought I was reaching a reasonable argument.

"Because Luan reminds me of myself," I admitted, earning a surprised look from Carol. "I mean... I got the impression that she's not... not happy with herself. She doesn't think she fits in with everyone else. She feels like she's different, and in a bad way. I feel all that too, but I have my friends who make me feel better. Without them... I don't know where I would be."

"Luna… You're not—"

Whatever she was about to tell me had to be left on hold, for we heard the sound of the front door opening, and a few seconds later, footsteps approaching from the stairs. Carol sighed and took a new napkin to wipe the tears from her face. She then adjusted her skirt and blouse, making sure to remove as many wrinkles as possible to look presentable.

"Carol, are you in there?"

"Yes, mother," she answered aloud. "I'm in the studio with a friend."

I had to blink, and I would have pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming and that she had indeed called me "friend," but Carol looked at me with an uncomfortable grin.

"Get ready," she warned me with some annoyance. "My mother can be… a bit too much, sometimes."