It felt strange being at school on a Saturday night, even with so many people around. Having just purchased my ticket, I entered the auditorium, where the sound of a hundred anticipatory conversations amassed among the crowd. Tonight was the Senior Recital, where all the senior music students would perform acts they’d been practicing for months. The space was packed with the families and friends of the performers, each chatting away about whoever they were there to see.
    Normally I made every effort to avoid being at school any longer than I needed to, but tonight was different. Emily and I hadn’t spoken since she saw my fight with Joey, and tonight would likely be my last chance to clear things up before the winter break. I cared about her, more deeply than she could possibly know, but because of Henry’s influence she rarely got a chance to see it, much less remember it. 
Tonight was different. Tonight I’d show her I cared.
    Slipping past the crowds, I made my way into the hallway, watching for Emily as performers carried equipment down the corridor in a last-minute rush to get everything ready for the show. I failed to spot Emily amongst the rush of nervous students, but I did manage to spot another familiar face.
    “Psst! Mai!” I whispered, grabbing her attention as she carried a piano stool down the hall, one that looked comically large in the arms of the tiny woman carrying it.
    “Derek? What are you doing here?” she asked.
    “Have you seen Emily?” I asked in turn, not bothering with her original question. I was on edge, having absorbed some of the ambient tension in the building.
    Mai’s expression turned sour. “I don’t think she wants to see you right now,” she said curtly before walking off.
    “Mai! Wait! Look, I know the thing at the career fair was weird, but I haven’t gotten a chance to explain myself! I just need to talk to her, I don’t want to leave things as they are over the break,” I pleaded.
    Mai stopped, turning her head to face me with a serious expression. “If you really want to support Emily, you’ll stay out of her way until the show is done,” she stated before marching off, piano stool in hand.
    I watched in silence as Mai turned the corner. Students flowed down the hall, each carrying instruments and equipment for the recital and moving past me as I stood alone in the hall. The worst part was, Mai was right. Emily was just as nervous as the rest of them, and my presence would only throw her off. Defeated, I walked back into the auditorium.

I took my seat surrounded by proud parents chattering away about their kids, my thoughts preoccupied with what Mai had said. I’d come here to make things right, let Emily know that the fight at the career fair was a freak incident. Only now was I realizing how selfish of an idea that was. This was Emily’s recital, the one she’d been practicing for months, and here I was trying to make it all about me. I wanted to support her, of course I did, but I didn’t stop and consider that my presence may not be welcome. Tonight wasn’t about me.
    “Derek? Is that you?” I heard a familiar voice say. I turned to my right to see Patricia Butterfield, Emily’s mom, sitting a few seats to the right alongside her husband, who was busy scrolling through his phone. I tried to say something, but my tongue caught in my throat unexpectedly. The last time I’d seen Patricia she was several decades younger, giving a titjob to her high school bully under Henry’s influence. I took a moment to curse the absurdity Henry had brought to my life before mustering a proper response.
    “O-Oh! Hi Ms. Butterfield!” I stammered out, trying to redirect my eyes away from her chest as images of her bare breasts splattered with cum flashed into my mind. 
    “It’s so great to see you! Are you here to see Emily?” Patricia asked. If she did notice anything strange about my reaction, she didn’t say anything.
    “Y-yeah. Yeah I am,” I stammered.
    “That’s so thoughtful of you!” Patricia beamed, “And how is school going?”
    Before I could respond, the lights dimmed and the ambient chatter in the theatre died down. The music director, a man I’d never interacted with, walked out on stage and launched into his spiel thanking everyone for coming and supporting the music program. I zoned out partway through, lingering guilt and frustration swirling around in my head. 
    “...and without further ado, allow me to present our first soloist: Mai Duong, performing Je Te Voux by Erik Satie on a modified piano!” the director announced as the curtain opened revealing an elegant grand piano in the center of the stage. Mai, wearing a short but classy black dress and dress shoes, walked onto the stage to a round of applause, still carrying her piano stool. As she set it in front of the piano, she carefully knelt down and seemed to plug it into a thin cord extending from the piano. That was odd, what possible function could a piano stool serve that required electricity?
    My question was answered in the worst way possible when Mai, with a professional’s neutral facade, stood up and played a satisfying chord on the piano, causing an object to surge upward from the middle of the stool. It was smooth in appearance, and looked to be 6 or 7 inches long. Moments later, the object returned to whatever compartment in the stool it was stored in. That was, until Mai played another chord, causing the object to spring up once again.
    I felt myself breaking out in cold sweats. No, surely I was misunderstanding something. Surely this wasn’t what I thought it was. Unfortunately, whatever hope I had left that this was somehow a normal part of the performance drained alongside the blood from my face as Mai then sat down on the stool, positioning herself directly atop the slot that contained the phallic rod. As she brushed the hem of her dress around the stool, I noticed with dismay that Mai wasn’t wearing any underwear.
    The crowd fell silent as Mai sat upright, gently placing her fingers atop the keys with her feet planted firmly on the ground. She had been practicing her song even longer than Emily had, and this was her moment in the spotlight. Mai pressed on the keys, playing two simple notes before jumping to a satisfying chord. As she did, her body jolted in shock as the rod entered her from beneath. Ever committed to being the best, however, Mai maintained her composure, sustaining a neutral face as she carried on with the piece.
    It should have been an uplifting performance - a peaceful, nostalgic song with a slight swing in its melody that made the music bounce. However, Mai herself was also bouncing, with every chord she played sending the dildo she was seated atop thrusting inside of her. She was working incredibly hard to maintain her focused expression, but there were signs of the facade cracking. Her jaw was subtly clenched, beads of sweat rolled down her forehead, and her thighs twitched and buckled whenever she triggered the contraption beneath her.
    As she continued to fuck herself through her solo, I glanced around the room. The audience was rapt, but seemed in no way scandalized in the way they ought to have been. The indifference of the audience to the scene in front of them confirmed my worst suspicions. I clutched the armrests of my chair, waiting in agony for the performance to draw to an end. As the song wound down to a soft, satisfying conclusion, I witnessed Mai’s expression break into a strange mix of relief and arousal. Her eyes lost their focus as her mouth curved into a smile, gently biting her lower lip as she played the final, distant chord, which lingered for a few moments before giving way to silence.
    The quiet period was brief, then the audience erupted in applause. Mai carefully maneuvered herself off the stool, the dildo sticking out of the seat now coated in the girl’s juices. She stood before the audience and smiled gracefully, bowing as a stream of liquid trickled down her inner thigh. She then walked backstage, her gait noticeably affected by the vigorous fucking she’d just given herself. I took the opportunity to leave my seat, sneaking around the back and through the doors to the hallway.
    I needed to find Henry.

Carefully, I peeked around the corner in the backstage area. I spotted a handful of students, but no Henry. I sighed, unsure whether to be annoyed or relieved. How could he be so petty as to mess up an after hours event? Didn’t he have better things to do? Or worse things in different places? I glanced around another corner again, scanning a large room. This was clearly the biggest gathering hub, with students scattered across furniture and leaning on concrete walls, a subtle aura of stage fright encompassing the atmosphere of the room. Ironically I was more nervous than any of them, and I wasn’t even performing.
    “Derek?”
    I jumped, whipping around at the source of the voice that had appeared behind me. 
    Standing before me was Emily, but not the version of her I was expecting to see. She was wearing a black lace dress that stopped around her thighs, a pair of quality dress shoes, as well as a pair of crystal earrings that sparkled even in the dim basement lighting. Most surprising, however, was her makeup. Emily rarely, if ever, bothered with makeup, but tonight she had applied a faint eyeshadow and subtle red lipstick. She was reserved in her appearance compared to some of the other students, but still looked significantly more made-up than she usually did. Most noteworthy to me in the moment, however, was the way her dress fell around her ample curves, highlighting her breasts and hips. Put plainly, she looked stunning.
    “Emily,” I murmured, relieved that I hadn’t been discovered by Henry. That relief gave way to tension, however, when I saw the scowl painted on her face.
    “What are you doing here?” she asked pointedly in a hushed voice.
    “I was looking for-” I began, almost letting Henry’s name slip, ”-You. I was looking for you.”
    Emily’s brow furrowed. “Really? You had all week to explain yourself, and you choose the one precise moment I don’t have time to deal with you?”
    Her words cut me, but I couldn’t shy away now. “I know, and I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to leave things weird before-”
    “Before what!?” she interrupted, “Before you start another fight? Before you get called into detention again?”
    “Before Winter break!” I blurted out. 
    Emily let out a pained exasperated sigh, leaning against the wall and rubbing her temples. “Look dude, I’m already stressed enough as is. Whoever unloaded the equipment lost my clarinet, and if I don’t find it I’m fucked.” She looked up at me, visibly exhausted. Her eyes contained a coldness that I’d never seen before.     “Honestly could you just leave? Like, go home?”
    The silence weighed heavy. My head, which had previously swirled with muddled thoughts and anxiety, emptied. I felt my body grow heavier. I opened my mouth, a million unsaid words sitting on my tongue, but I could only utter a single one.
    “Okay…” I said in a feeble, guttural voice.
    My feet carried me down the hall. I didn’t look back, I waited until I rounded the corner, when I was truly out of sight, before allowing myself to fall against the wall. Too tired to stand, too shocked to speak, too numb to cry. I’d fought so hard, sacrificed so much to keep my relationship with Emily alive, but it was all too much. Or maybe I just wasn’t enough. Maybe a stronger person could have made it all work. All I knew at that moment was that I wasn’t that person, and whatever I had with Emily was gone.
    I leaned on that wall for some time, I couldn’t say exactly how long, but eventually the building felt too suffocating to stay in. I needed to leave. I stood, and my feet positioned themselves to move, but something stopped me. There was a strange feeling in the hallway, one I struggled to place at first. A part of me didn’t want to care anymore, to just walk home and dismiss the feeling in my gut, but another part of me refused. I just couldn’t ignore it.
    The noise. It was gone.
    At some point while I leant against that wall, the distant sound of performers from the stage and the anxious chatter of the other students had given way to a true, unnatural silence. One that I only recognized from a single source, a source that had been the unwitting architect of every misfortune that had led up to that moment. 
    I turned around, returning backstage. A pair of girls were frozen in the middle of an animated conversation, their hands stuck in wild gestures. A boy had been in the process of flipping a water bottle, which now hung still in midair. A girl with a flute was holding the instrument to her lips as if she were practicing, yet no sound was produced. He’d stopped time again. He had to be nearby.
    “Let’s see, for you I’m thinking…” I heard a familiar voice from the far hallway. I snuck over, carefully glancing around the corner. There he was. Henry. The sandy-haired boy hadn’t even bothered to dress up for the show, instead donning his typical jeans and hoodie. I felt oddly offended. I had to imagine he could’ve simply materialized a nicer outfit. Not that it really mattered, people would only care if he allowed them to. He was standing in front of a pair of students standing in front of a bass drum.
    “Ah, I got it!” Henry declared gleefully. He pointed at a girl with brown skin and a full figure. “Tonight, you’re the bass drum. You’ll stand up on stage, bend over, point your butt at the crowd, and make a sound whenever he-” Henry said, pointing at a boy standing next to her holding a large white mallet, “-hits your ass with that thing. You’re not a drummer tonight, you’re a drum.” With that absurd declaration, he snapped his fingers, a self-satisfied smile etched across his freckled face.
    I clenched my fist, pulling back from the corner. Motherfucker had already gotten to Mai, and now he was walking around trying to ruin every single performance?! I wanted to confront him right then and there, consequences be damned, but I still couldn’t muster the will to reveal myself. Deep down I knew it would be suicide, no matter how angry I was.
    My anger rapidly shifted to panic as I heard his footsteps approaching. Shit! Like I’d done dozens of times before, I stopped moving, doing my best impression of a statue as Henry marched into the room. I watched as he rubbed his hands together in an eager gesture, eyeing the many students in the room available for him to manipulate.
    First he approached the flutist. “Okay, for you I’m thinking of a Pied Piper situation. As you play your flute, members of the audience will walk up onto the stage and start stripping. You won’t care, it’s part of the act.” He snapped his fingers, sealing the fate of the girl’s performance.
    He then circled the room slowly, like a vulture, ultimately stopping in front of a boy holding a saxophone. “You’re gonna play the sexiest saxophone solo this audience has ever heard, and you-” he said, pointing at a shy-looking blonde girl with a long ponytail, “-Are gonna blow him the entire time.” He snapped his fingers once more, altering the boy’s future performance to suit his whims.
    He circled further, getting closer and closer to rounding the room all the way back to me. I felt my muscles tightening, my jaw clenching. The fear of Henry I’d taught myself to observe over the past few months was kicking in at full force.
    “As for you,” he began, standing in front of a frozen figure I could barely see from the angle I was at, “The pitch of that violin will be directly linked to the sensation in your clit. The higher the note, the more intense the sensation. Oh, and plucking the strings will feel like a pinch in the ass.
    I ignored the sweat rolling down my back. I couldn’t show an inch of movement, I had to blend in. That, and pray that Henry didn’t see any use in messing with me, just until I could escape…
    I summoned every ounce of willpower not to react as Henry entered my field of vision, practically appearing right in front of me. Despite every muscle in my body wanting to run, I held strong, maintaining my false immobility.
    “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Henry chirped, stepping forward. To my relief, however, it was someone else. He’d passed right by me! I suppressed a grateful smile as I held my pose, Henry’s attention drawn to somebody else.
    “Let me see, what can I do with a cute brunette with no instrument?” he mused.
    Wait, a cute brunette?
    Taking a risk, I moved my eyes to track where Henry had focused his attention. Down on her hands and knees, scanning the lower racks of a stacked shelf, was a woman I knew all too well. Her curly, light brown hair draped over her shoulder, her black dress just barely covering her rear in the awkward position.
    Henry saw her too. He was admiring her.
    “Y’know, that’s a damn fine ass if I say so myself. Good thing I caught you on your hands and knees, huh?” he asked. Emily, frozen in time, didn’t respond. Shit, she was probably still looking for her damn clarinet!
    I watched as Henry stepped forward, hovering over her rear like a lion about to devour its prey. “Really, I can’t help but cop a feel. You don’t mind, do you?” he asked rhetorically. Then, before I could think, Henry reached his hand out, caressing her ass with his palm. I felt my body twitch, the willpower to stay still rapidly leaving me as he caressed her body.
    “Damn, you’re firm!” Henry remarked, grin as smug as ever, “I bet you’ve got some nice tits, too,” he said, leaning over and cupping one of her hanging breasts over her dress.
    I tried to quell the disdain inside me, if I moved it was game over. I just had to give up and let it happen. I’d protected her as long as I could, but there was no way I could have done it for the whole year, right?
    Henry reached over, casually squeezing her other breast like she was some sort of toy, “Big tits, too! I think I’ve found a real diamond in the rough here!”
    This was bound to happen, I kept thinking to myself. You couldn’t even protect your own sister. Emily doesn’t even like you anymore, you don’t need to keep protecting her. She won’t even remember any of this. Just let it go. Move on. Survive.
    “Tell you what, I’ve got a great idea. I’m gonna get one of these guys to play a spicy song, and you’re gonna do a sex show live onstage.”
    Let it go.
    “You’ll strip slowly, show off your body to the whole crowd, and you’ll love it.”
    Let her go.
    “Then, I’m gonna join you onstage, and I’m gonna fuck that sweet pussy of yours.”
    Henry readied his hand, about to snap his fingers.
    My body took over. In an explosive burst of motion, I grabbed a rectangular black case resting on a nearby shelf with both hands. Henry heard the commotion, but not in time to react. Putting the full weight of my body behind it, I jammed the case into the back of Henry’s skull. His body slumped to the ground, crumpling next to Emily’s frozen form in the space between her and the shelf.
    My body froze once more, this time out of pure shock and adrenaline. Was he really out? Was this all a trick somehow? Was he… Dead?
    I didn’t have time to ponder as the room suddenly returned to life. The chatter of students resumed, footsteps shuffled up and down the hall, and the melodies of the main performance echoed faintly through the backstage area.
    “Damn it!” Emily exclaimed, scanning the lower shelves overtop of Henry’s body. For some reason, she wasn’t reacting to his presence at all. It was as if he was completely invisible to her.
    Emily returned to her feet and turned around, her expression utterly crestfallen. She looked like she’d been crying. I felt a stab of guilt as she turned around, jumping upon finding me standing right behind her. Our eyes locked for a moment, a bizarre exchange of sadness and surprise, before her gaze shifted downwards and her eyes widened.
    “Wait, is that…” she uttered breathlessly. Before I could say anything, she reached her arms out and yanked the case I had used to strike Henry out of my hand.
    “My clarinet! Where was it?!” she asked frantically. 
    Flustered, I tripped on my words. “The, um, it was, the- the shelf!” I finally answered, pointing to the spot where I’d blindly grabbed for a blunt instrument.
    “I can’t believe this, I-” Emily began before looking back at me, the conflicted frustration returning to her face, “I… Thanks, Derek.”
    “Um, yeah…” I muttered.
    An uncomfortable silence lingered between us before she spoke up.
    “I need to warm up,” she said suddenly before bolting around the corner and out of sight. 
    My gaze lingered on the space she was just standing. “Knock ‘em dead, Em,” I said, but she was already gone.
    I looked down at Henry lying limp on the concrete floor. My pulse quickened for a moment as I observed him before noticing a slow, steady rise and fall in his chest. I felt relief and dread in equal measure. Strangely, nobody else seemed to notice Henry’s unconscious body on the floor. A sight that should have caused an immediate panic was instead treated like just another part of the scenery as students milled about. I even watched a boy step over his legs as he walked by.
    I knelt down, staring into his unconscious face. Closed eyes, slack jaw, trademark grin completely absent. I really had managed to knock him out. I had to wonder; if it was possible to render him unconscious, what else could I do? If I had it in me… Could I kill him? Would it make the universe implode, or would his body decay just like anyone else’s? As all these questions and more raced through my mind, I felt my hands reaching down towards him, almost as if by their own will. He was completely exposed, and nobody around us could perceive him. I could… End him. End this whole nightmare. Return to a normal life. I held my hands in front of him and I…
    …I lifted him up, propping him safely against the wall.
    “Bastard…” I muttered, though I wasn’t sure which of us the insult was truly intended for.

I returned to my seat not long afterwards. I wanted to go home, like Emily had told me to, but somehow I felt compelled to stay. Maybe I just didn’t want to waste the money I’d spent on my ticket, or maybe I wanted to see Emily at her best one last time.
    “Are you alright, Derek?” Patricia asked, leaning over in her seat to talk to me.
“Yeah. Yeah I am,” I said curtly, praying for the conversation to end.
    “If you’re sure” Patricia smiled, “Sorry to fuss, I know you have a mom that does that enough already. You certainly don’t need two!” she joked innocently.
    “Haha yeah, thanks,” I responded halfheartedly.
Patricia maintained her warm smile, though there were traces of contemplation behind her eyes. After a brief pause, she leaned over again. “You know, Emily’s always so happy talking about you whenever she comes home from school.”
    I paused. “Really?” I asked, perhaps struggling to believe it myself after our last interaction.
    “Of course! She’s always talking about doing projects with you or getting lunch or whatnot. Believe me, Derek, high school can be a rough place at the best of times, Derek, believe me. Your school’s actually cleaned up a lot since I was there. Regardless, thank you for being so kind to my daughter,” Patricia said warmly.
    “I… Yeah, of course,” I responded, my head swimming once again. I was more uncertain than ever.
    A polite round of applause signalled the next act as a group of students rolled out a series of drums. I noticed the girl and boy I had first seen Henry targeting among them. Then, as a hush fell over the room, the girl turned around, bending over as far as she could and grabbing her ankles. Her creamy brown ass and thighs stretched as she effectively mooned the audience, a pair of plain black panties the only thing protecting what little modestly she had left.
    The performance began. The drummers began striking their instruments in tandem with booming, powerful beats that rolled through the auditorium. The boy I’d seen, however, had no drum. Instead he brought his mallet down on the girl's bare ass, sending ripples across her skin as he did. “BOOM!” the girl bellowed, mimicking the noise a drum her size would make. 
    I clenched the armrests of my seat. Henry’s commands were still active, even while he was unconscious? If that was the case, was Emily still doomed to follow his perverse orders? No, surely not, I’d stopped him before he could snap his fingers. That was enough, right? I grew increasingly worried as the performance carried on, the deep rumblings of the percussion only intensifying my discontent, especially when punctuated by the vocalizations of the girl-turned-drum.
    A few minutes later, the performance came to an end, earning a round of applause. I clapped as well, though far more tentatively than the rest of the audience who couldn’t have cared less about the odd drum near the center of the stage. Even with the performance over, the girls still held her pose. That was when I realized that, with Henry unconscious, he wouldn’t be able to undo any of the scenarios he crafted. I watched uncomfortably as two of the boys lifted the girl by her waist and carried her offstage as if she were just another piece of equipment. 
    Next up was to saxophonist who, Like Henry had commanded, began performing a slow, sexual jazz piece. It was so sensual, in fact, that it immediately summoned the blonde girl from backstage, who dropped to her knees in front of him and began slowly, reverently sucking his cock. I even witnessed members of the audience affected by the sensuality of the song, absently rubbing their breasts or genitalia. A few couples even began making out, hands exploring each others’ bodies in the middle of the crowd.
    Eventually, the song came to an end. The blonde girl simply stood up and walked off stage, droplets of cum clinging to her lips. Apparently the saxophonist had cum in the middle of the performance and continued playing, quite literally not missing a beat. He took a bow and walked confidently off the stage, his erect cock swinging with every step.
    The next performer appeared shortly afterwards, a familiar-looking flutist. As she began to play her admittedly beautiful solo, I watched the audience grow increasingly enthralled with her performance. Glancing to my right, I noticed Patricia had closed her eyes, her head swaying to the enchanting tune. She looked utterly lost in the music, like a sailor who had heard the call of a siren.
    Then, suddenly, she stood up, walking out of her seat like a sleepwalker, guided only by the melody. Several other audience members also left their seats, compelled onto the stage by the music. When she arrived on stage, Patricia began swaying her hips and running her arms up and down her sides. Slowly, she traced her fingers along the sides of her blouse, eventually gripping their sides. Then, as if guided by an invisible puppeteer’s strings, her arms lifted upward, pulling her top off and revealing her bra.
    I glanced across the stage, spotting a dozen other men and women in their own various states of undress. Returning my attention to Patricia, I watched with mouth agape as she unclipped her bra, letting it fall to the ground and exposing her massive breasts. Even through her conservative outfits, you could tell she had huge tits. They’d grown even bigger since she had graduated high school. It felt bizarre to even be able to accurately compare, but Henry’s time-travel shenanigans had afforded me that impossible opportunity.
    Everyone on stage continued to move and sway to the rhythm of the flute, its hypnotic qualities compelling them to dance with fluid, dreamlike motions. Patricia’s body was particularly compelling, her tits swinging from side to side with every movement. Her nipples were visibly hard, contrasting with the softness of her breasts and the rest of her body. The music wasn’t simply compelling her, it was arousing her.
    Then, just as quickly as it had began, the song stopped. Patricia had been moments away from discarding her skirt when she opened her eyes, staring out at the observing crowd. She yelped, gathering up her discarded clothes and rushing off the stage alongside the other formerly enthralled audience members. The rest of the audience didn’t react in any adverse way, Henry had ensured they thought it was simply part of the show. Evidently he hadn’t extended the same courtesy to the actual dancers. The flutist, unbothered by the flustered screams and panicked half-nude individuals scurrying off the stage, simply took a bow and walked off to a round of applause. 
    The next performer was the violinist, the one Henry had forced to feel stimulated by her own playing. The performance was uncomfortable, but no more than Mai’s had been. At least I didn’t know this girl personally. Still, I was impressed as she maintained her performance acumen even as her body quaked with every note. She concluded her song, bowed with quivering legs, and waddled off stage, no doubt collapsing as soon as she was out of sight.
    Then, the next performer walked out. I sat up. It was her. Emily’s lacy black dress swayed gently as she stood in the center of the stage, clarinet in hand. Seeing her there, lit up by the bright stage lights, I felt my heart skip a beat. Witnessing her like this, the beautiful woman at the center of attention, was vindicating. She looked absolutely stunning, and at that moment I felt like everyone else could see her exactly the way I did every day.
    Interrupting my pride, I felt a jolt of panic shoot through my body, worried that Henry’s perverse command had stuck and she’d begin a perverse sex show right in front of the crowd. Thankfully, that panic melted away as she brought the instrument to her lips. I’d stopped Henry in time! The song Emily played was slow, and thoughtful. The opening notes carried a restrained softness that no doubt demanded tremendous control of the instrument. For the second time that night, she had left me speechless. 
    Then, she squeaked. Her clarinet made an abrasive honking sound, one that crushed the thoughtful melody she had been crafting in an instant. I watched as her pale blue eyes widened with dismay, my heart sinking at the sight. Nervously, she glanced to the side of the room. I followed her gaze, seeing Mai at the other side. However, she seemed to be in the middle of a hushed argument with her mother. She was paying no attention to the performance.
    Emily’s eyes then wandered to where her parents were sitting. Patricia was missing from her seat, likely still cleaning herself up after the incident with the flutist. Her father, the bastard, was still scrolling on his phone. I’d never liked the man, but this was a new low, even for him. Emily was maintaining a neutral facade, but I could see a faint tremble in her fingers as she gripped the instrument.
    Finally, she saw me.
    I looked back at her, our eyes locking for a few seconds that felt like minutes. Eventually, despite my inner turmoil, I shot her a lighthearted smile and leaned forward. I wanted to hear her play. Emily, ever the professional, maintained her neutral face for the most part, only allowing the tiniest grin to form at the edges of her lips. More importantly, however, I noticed the tremble in her fingers cease.
    She took a deep breath, brought the clarinet up, and played once more, starting from the beginning. This time, her talent shone through. The slow, melancholic piece was clearly demanding, but she handled it with surgical precision. Minutes passed as she drafted the music that carried through the air, enveloping the room in the kind of thoughtful, meditative calm that can only be summoned through music. Eventually, after several minutes of artful performance she allowed the final note to drift off her instrument, lingering in the air and giving way to a breathless silence.
    Moments later, the room broke into applause. Truthfully, the audience’s response was no greater than anyone else’s performance that night, but I like to remember the moment as if the entire room erupted into a standing ovation. That’s what I felt like doing, anyways. I watched Emily take her bow with an unmistakable glint of pride in her eyes. I continued to clap until she left the stage and another student had taken her place. Without Henry there to interfere, the rest of the show was as normal as could be. No secret knowledge, no bizarre sexuality, I was just another person in the audience.

Eventually the show came to an end and I was on my way out of the school, using a side entrance to avoid the crowds like I usually did. It had been a painful night, one where I nearly exposed myself to Henry due to my own recklessness. As I stared up into the faint starry sky, I felt an odd sense of peace. I didn’t know where I stood with Emily. It was possible our friendship was over, regardless of the moment we shared during the show. She still had plenty of reasons to be upset with me, after all. Regardless, I was glad I came. I was glad I didn’t leave things as they were. I started walking, it was getting late, and I still needed to catch my bus.
    “Derek!” I heard a voice call out. I glanced over my shoulder to see Emily, face red and panting. She looked like she’d been running.
    “Em?” I called out, surprised she even wanted to talk to me. A dozen wayward thoughts tried to leave my mouth at once. “Sorry about earlier- Or, well, what I mean is- I came looking for-” I cut myself off, inhaling deeply through my nose. “Your performance was amazing. Congratulations.”
    Emily took a few steps toward me, her curly brown hair glowing under the faint moonlight. “I’m sorry,” she said.
    I blinked. “What?”
    “I’m sorry I told you to leave. I’m really, really glad you didn’t,” she uttered. I realized she was staring quite intently into my eyes, and that they now lacked the cold anger I’d seen earlier that night.
    “Yeah, um, no problem…” I muttered, glancing a bit to the side, “It’s a good thing I found your clarinet.”
    “Forget the stupid clarinet, I’m glad you stayed for the show. When I saw you in the audience I just… Calmed down,” Emily explained. I opened my mouth to say something, but she kept going, “I don’t know exactly what’s up with you lately, Derek, but I think more than anything I was worried that you’d stopped caring. About school, about yourself, about me.” She lingered on that last point, as if saying it aloud was difficult in itself.
    “I never stopped caring. I promise, I never did,” I reassured, “And I’m sorry too. I haven’t been feeling like myself lately. It’s…been a weird year so far,” I added.
    “Yeah, it has,” Emily said, accompanied by a nervous chuckle. A moment of silence passed between us, one that carried the weight of many unsaid words.
    “Well, um, I need to catch my bus, and you’re probably getting pretty cold out here in that dress…” I said, giving the conversation a peaceful out.
    “Oh! Um, yeah, totally. I guess I’ll see you after the break?” she asked.
    I felt a weight I’d been carrying all week lift from my shoulders. “Yeah, after the break,” I affirmed with a grin.
    “Great!” Emily exclaimed. Her tone was normal, but her gaze lingered on me longer than usual. She looked as if she was going to turn around, but paused.
    “Hey, Derek?” she asked, taking another step towards me. We were now face-to-face, close enough for me to see the redness in her cheeks. Had she been wearing blush? Or was it just that cold out? Whatever thoughts I was thinking ended when she suddenly leaned in, planting a quick kiss on my cheek.
    I was speechless. I felt like I was stuck in one of Henry’s manipulations, but this time the fantasy was entirely my own, and unlike Henry’s scenarios, I had no idea how to act normal. Emily pulled back, looking at me. Her eyes were wide, like she was studying my reaction. What would I say? What could I say? I was completely paralyzed with indecision.
    That was, until I looked into Emily’s eyes one more time. For the second time that night, I saw an emotion in them I’d never seen before. This time, however, it was something bright. Something compelling. Something… Inviting.
    I leaned forward, and so did she. Our lips met in the middle, under the glow of the moon, a spot of warmth against the chill of the night. We held the kiss for several moments, basking in that feeling that existed outside of time. Eventually she pulled back, looking up at me with wonder. Both of us seemed amazed at what had just happened, but neither knew what to say.
    “I… Um… I should go!” Emily said nervously, her eyes widening as soon as the words left her mouth, “Not in a bad way! I mean, I need to go home,” she blurted.
    “Y-Yeah, me too. Gotta catch my bus. I’ll, um, I’ll see you later?” I asked, still not fully back to reality.
    “Yes! I mean, yeah, you will. I’ll text you,” Emily said, pulling herself away and walking back to the school doors. She turned around one last time, flashing me a confused, nervous, but ultimately excited smile. Funny enough, I was already making a near-identical face, right down to the unflappable smile. Finally, she walked back inside, letting the door shut behind her. I simply stood in that spot, not moving for quite some time. 
I ended up missing my bus that night. I didn’t mind one bit.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, however, something was happening back at the school while I took my long walk home. Henry had awoken in a daze, requiring several minutes to fully regain consciousness. He was alone in a cold, dark room, so he snapped his fingers and made the space flood with light. Upon looking around, however, he found the backstage area completely empty, save for a girl he had compelled to act like a drum, who was resting silently among the rest of the instrument. He snapped his fingers, sending her home with no memories of the incident.
    Back in the area he awoke in, Henry snapped his fingers again. He saw the room as it was a few hours prior, filled with nervous students, a memory he could stand in. It was in this memory that he watched himself walk invisibly among the frozen crowds, preparing fantasies for them to enact once the show began. He saw himself approach a woman with curly brown hair that seemed to be in the middle of searching for something on her hands and knees. Then, curiously, he saw himself collapse unconscious on the ground as he was struck in the back of the head by a black case.
    Henry snapped his fingers once more, rewinding the memory. It was as if the case had moved on its own, levitating off the shelf and striking him down. However, Henry knew better. He knew that objects didn’t come to life unless he made them. Somebody had struck him with the case, somebody he couldn’t see in his reconstruction, and if he couldn’t see them with his powers, it could only mean one thing.
    Somebody at the school was immune.