Jenna Ortiz loved three things:
1. Camera-friendly lighting.
2. Being louder than the truth.
3. Destroying competition before it had time to unpack.
So when Elias's song hit twenty-five thousand plays — and rising — Jenna didn't just get annoyed.
She got strategic.
---
Monday – School Assembly
The lights dimmed in the gym.
Most students expected a fire drill or a lecture about online safety. Instead, a projector flickered to life above the bleachers, blasting Jenna's perfectly filtered face across the screen.
> "This Saturday. 7 PM.
Real music. Real vocals. Real talent.
Westridge Open Mic Night — hosted by yours truly."
Underneath: a logo that looked suspiciously expensive for a school event.
The room buzzed.
"She's definitely talking about Eli Hart."
"She's so threatened it's embarrassing."
"She's literally shaking."
From the back row, Elias sat with his hood up.
No reaction.
But his jaw was tight.
Alex, across the gym, didn't look at the screen.
She looked at Elias.
---
Later That Day – Instagram
Jenna's story:
A selfie with a mic and the caption:
> "Not hiding behind usernames. See you Saturday, @eli.hart.music ❤️"
She'd tagged an unofficial fan account — not even the real Elias.
But the implication was clear.
Everyone knew.
Everyone except the teachers — and even they were starting to whisper.
---
Mr. Carrington, Music Department
"Elias," said the weary music teacher, leaning against a whiteboard smeared with faded song lyrics. "You should consider signing up."
"No."
Carrington raised an eyebrow. "Didn't even let me finish."
"You didn't have to."
The teacher sighed. "The room is full of auto-tuned TikTokers. If someone's going to knock her off the pedestal, I'd rather it be someone who actually knows what a key signature is."
"I'm not interested in pedestals."
Carrington looked at him. Long. Flat. Tired.
"Fine," he muttered. "Stay a mystery. But don't be surprised when people write your story for you."
---
Alex, That Night
She couldn't sleep.
Again.
The posters were everywhere. The hype was building. People were placing bets on who Eli Hart really was.
And Elias?
He just kept pretending none of it mattered.
But she could tell. Every time he flinched when someone played his song too loud. Every time he stiffened when someone looked at him too long.
He was cracking.
And pretending not to.
Just like her.