The kitchen table was a battlefield of notes—lined paper covered in scribbles, uncapped pens rolling around, and eraser shavings like snow across a history book. We were doing it the old-fashioned way. No typing, no digital shortcuts. Just ink, paper, and a whole lot of underlining.
Well—mostly.
I had my computer running in the next room, screen dim but open on a browser in case we needed to check dates or grab a source quote. Alex had already used it twice and complained both times about the keyboard layout.
Dylan was leaning across the table like he was carving treasure maps instead of taking notes. He kept adding arrows and sketches to the margins like our history project needed a dramatic flair. Tori sat next to me, quiet but engaged, her handwriting way too neat compared to the rest of us. Every once in a while, she'd look like she wanted to say something, then stop short and just smile to herself.
Alex, naturally, was running the ship.
Out in the backyard, I could still hear Luke yelling about "archer form" while Phil shouted encouragements that sounded more like motivational posters than anything helpful. Michael hadn't said a word in ten minutes, which meant he was probably still out there supervising quietly while pretending not to laugh.
Inside, though, it was finally happening.
We were making progress.
We had settled on a hybrid style—fact blended with a bit of storytelling. Alex had pushed for accuracy. I insisted we add something more engaging than names and dates.
"So Captain Flinn hears rumors about the hidden Spanish fleet and decides to go after them," I said, tapping the outline. "But it's not about stealing gold—he's trying to cut a deal. Get safe passage. A place where pirates aren't constantly hunted."
"Like a pirate haven," Tori added, eyes flicking between us. "A real home."
"Exactly," I said. "He wanted a place outside the flags. Somewhere the outlaws didn't have to keep running."
Alex didn't even look up. "It would have to be secret. And temporary. No place like that would last."
"Right," I nodded. "Which is why he sacrifices the location of the Spanish fleet. He gives it up to protect their haven."
Tori raised an eyebrow. "That part's real?"
"Kind of," I said with a shrug. "It's based on that story about Flint and the man-o'-war."
Dylan leaned back. "The one where Silver fires the first shot?"
I nodded. "Yeah. They were surrounded. Flint was out of options. The crew was falling apart, Dufresne had just shot him, and nobody wanted to fire on the Spanish ship. So Silver steps up. He takes the shot."
"Didn't that start the whole war?" Tori asked.
Alex finally looked up. "It's debated. But that moment—that's what made people follow Flint. He wasn't just about survival. He was about legacy."
"And Silver?" I asked.
She paused, then nodded. "He became the face of the story. The one who turned the tide."
There was a moment of quiet.
Then Dylan grinned. "Okay… yeah. That's actually cool."
Dylan leaned back in his chair, arms stretched behind his head like he'd just completed a marathon. "So… are we actually done with the project?" he asked, already halfway to relaxed-mode.
Alex didn't even look up from the final page as she nodded. "Yeah. We're done."And that was it—confirmation from the commander herself. We all knew better than to second-guess her when it came to schoolwork. If Alex said it was finished, there was absolutely nothing left to be done. Not a word, not a comma.
The mood shifted the second Alex gave her verdict. Pens dropped, papers slid across the table, and Tori let out a quiet breath like she'd been holding it in for hours. I leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms behind my head as Dylan reached for the nearest pencil and spun it between his fingers like it was a victory cigar.
"So," he said with a grin, "what do we do now?"He looked around the room like we were about to break into a heist or start a band. Typical Dylan energy—one project down, ten more ideas already loaded.
"Well, what do you guys like to do?" I asked, looking between them, half-curious, half-hoping someone would say "nap."
"Studying," Alex said instantly, deadpan.
The collective groan that followed felt automatic—like a group reflex. Tori chuckled behind her hand, Dylan full-on flopped back in his chair like the weight of Alex's personality just hit him for the first time.
Then he perked up. "I've always been kinda into cop stuff," he said. "You know, the whole mystery-solving part. Figuring things out, connecting clues, chasing down leads…"
He paused for effect, then added with a grin, "Like real-life detectives, not just the TV kind."
I grinned. "You know my uncle's joining the LAPD, right? As a helicopter pilot."
Dylan's eyes lit up like I just told him Batman was real and lived next door. He practically launched out of his seat and rushed toward the back door. "Wait—seriously?! I gotta ask him stuff!"
And just like that, he was gone—already mid-question before the screen door even finished sliding shut.
That just left Tori.
I'd already noticed it at school—Tori was quieter than I remembered her being on TV. On screen, she always had that effortless energy, like she belonged under a spotlight. But in real life, she was more reserved. Not timid exactly, just… thoughtful. Softer around the edges. The kind of person who waited for the right moment to speak, not the one who barged into conversations.Now, watching her sit there with her hands folded and eyes on the table, I realized she wasn't the person she thought she had to be. Not yet.
Then, without much prompting, she glanced at me and said softly, "I like music. Always have." She hesitated, then added with a small shrug, "But my sister got all the talent, so... I just mess around with it."
That's when it clicked. Of course. Her sister—Trina. The one who could turn ordering a sandwich into a Broadway audition. She was loud, theatrical, always the center of attention, whether anyone wanted her to be or not.
Tori had never really been given room to shine—not with someone like Trina taking up all the oxygen. It wasn't a lack of talent. It was a lack of space. And now that I'd seen her like this, quiet and real, I was sure of one thing—Trina was never the star. Tori just hadn't had her spotlight yet.
And honestly, how could I forget? I still remembered that Chicago performance. It was burned into my memory like a bad dream with jazz hands. Probably the worst song I'd ever heard—and I'm including the jingle from that 2000s annoying alien. To this day, whenever someone says they're from Chicago, I can still hear Trina's voice echoing in my brain like a curse.
"I mean… I can't believe she has all the talent," I said, turning to Tori. "If you want, I could help out a bit. Y'know—if you're up for it."
That got both Alex and Tori's attention. They looked at me like I'd just offered to teach someone how to fly.
Tori tilted her head. "What do you mean? How can you make me more talented?"
I laughed, raising my hands. "I'm not saying I've got a magic trick or anything. I've just written a couple songs. Nothing major. But maybe we could mess around with them a little—see if you really have no talent."
Tori blinked. "Wait… you write songs?"
Alex looked just as surprised, her eyebrows arching as she turned fully toward me.
I hesitated for half a second. I couldn't exactly tell them the truth—that the songs I had were from the future, downloaded on a phone filled with thousands of tracks this world hadn't even dreamed of yet. That'd go over great.
So I kept it casual. "Yeah. Just some stuff I mess around with in my free time."
"I can play a bit of piano," I added with a small shrug.What I didn't say was that the skills came from another life. Two full years of teaching—not here, not now—but the memory of it clung to my fingers like it never left.
"If you want, I can jot down some lyrics. Something simple. Then you give it a try, and Alex and I can tell you honestly what we think. See if there's something real there."
Alex immediately perked up. "Oh, I love judging. Let's definitely do this."
Tori, on the other hand, looked unsure. She tugged gently at the end of her sleeve, eyes flicking between us like she wasn't sure if she was being set up or invited in. A tiny shrug, a hesitant smile—caught somewhere between wanting to try and wanting to disappear.
"I just need like… ten minutes," I told Alex and Tori, standing up and stretching like it was no big deal. "I want to reread the lyrics real quick, maybe clean them up a bit before we try anything."
They both nodded, and Alex leaned back with a smirk. "Ten minutes. I'm setting a timer."
I smiled and headed upstairs.
In reality? I wasn't reviewing anything—I was listening. I popped in my earbuds the moment I hit my room, pulled up the track on my phone, and hit play. A soft, familiar melody filled my ears. I closed my eyes, letting it wash over me for just a second before snapping into focus.
Okay. Listen. Memorize. Write. Fast.
I grabbed a pen, flipped open a notebook, and started scribbling down the lyrics line by line—hoping muscle memory and sheer panic would get me through this before the timer ran out.
When I came back downstairs, lyrics in hand, Tori and Alex looked up from the couch.
"You ready?" Alex asked, eyebrow raised.
But before I could answer, I noticed something strange—everyone was in the living room. Dylan was sprawled across the armrest, Luke was practically vibrating with curiosity, and Phil was sitting forward like he was about to watch a talent show. Michael stood near the back, arms folded, quietly amused. Apparently, word had spread fast.
Alex must've said something.
Great.
Michael caught my eye and gave me a half-smile. "So… when did you write a song?"
I hesitated for a beat, then shrugged like it was no big deal. "Back when I lived with my parents, I had piano lessons." Total lie. "And when we moved to the forest, I'd just make stuff up to relax."
He nodded like that made sense. The others leaned in a little, waiting.
Tori looked at me nervously. I gave her a reassuring smile.
This was happening.
Just as I was about to start, I paused—suddenly realizing something very, very important.
"…Crap," I muttered, looking around the room. "We don't have a piano."
Everyone blinked. Alex tilted her head. "Wait, seriously?"
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling heat rise to my face. "Yeah, I kinda forgot that part."
There was a beat of silence, and then—
Phil blinked, then jumped to his feet like he'd just solved a puzzle on a game show."We've got a piano! Barely used, but full of potential—just like me in high school!" he said, already heading toward the door.
And just like that, the room lit up again.
Tori blinked. For a second, she just stood there, eyes wide, watching Phil practically jog ahead like he was hosting an episode of something.
She leaned toward me and whispered, "Is he always like this?"
I grinned. "This is him at, like, sixty percent."
Alex slung her bag over her shoulder with a sigh."Because nothing says 'study session' like a surprise neighborhood concert," she muttered. But even as she said it, I could tell—she wasn't actually mad. There was a smirk tugging at her lips, and when Tori stood up with a nervous little nod, Alex was already following.
The next few minutes blurred together.Tori grabbed her bag like it was a lifeline, Alex declared herself our "audience judge" with mock authority, and Phil took off ahead of us like we were contestants in a reality show challenge.
By the time we hit the porch, the light was fading into soft orange and gold.I walked beside Tori, who was quiet again—but not in the same way as before. This time, it felt like she was thinking. Preparing.
I glanced down at the lyrics in my pocket, heart ticking just a little faster.The words were solid—I knew that. But I'd never pictured them coming to life in someone else's living room, with a girl who was only just starting to believe in her own voice.
Still, it felt like the kind of night where something unexpected could actually work.
Looking back, it was the start of more than I realized.