From Sitcom to Something Else

Chapter 14 

Tori's mom appeared in the doorway a little later, purse in hand and car keys jingling. "Tori, sweetie, it's time to go." 

Tori stood, brushing imaginary dust off her jeans, and glanced at me. Her expression was somewhere between reluctant and thoughtful. 

"Well," she said, walking toward the door with me following behind, "today wasn't half as weird as I thought it'd be." 

"High praise," I said with a grin. 

When we reached the front steps, she turned suddenly and gave me a quick, unexpected hug. 

"We should, like, talk again or something," she said. "Maybe call each other?" 

"Yeah," I said, blinking. "Sure. I'd like that." 

She smiled and jogged down the steps to where her mom was waiting, leaving me standing there like a kid who wasn't quite sure what just happened. 

As the car pulled away, I was still on the porch when Charlie came out with a coffee mug and his usual smug expression. 

"Well, well, Romeo," he said, nudging me with his elbow. "Didn't take you long to find yourself a girlfriend." 

"She's not my girlfriend," I muttered, rolling my eyes. 

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Not your girlfriend yet?" 

I almost said "yet." Almost. But I caught myself. 

"Just a friend," I said instead, looking out toward the street. "Maybe in a few years…" I thought, then quickly shook the thought away. 

Right on cue, Alan stepped into the scene, adjusting his shirt like he'd just walked out of a counseling session. 

"What's going on?" he asked, looking between us. 

Charlie grinned. "Jake's got a new friend. Cute girl. Sang a duet. Hugged him. Definitely a thing." 

Alan squinted. "Isn't she the daughter of that married woman who was here earlier?" 

Charlie shrugged. "Technicalities." 

Alan crossed his arms and gave him that classic disappointed dad stare. "Charlie, she's married. You were flirting with a married woman in front of her daughter. Do you even hear yourself?" 

Charlie raised his hands innocently. "Hey, I was being supportive. Like a charming mentor figure." 

"Right. A charming mentor figure who kept asking if she liked Italian food and calling her 'gorgeous' every five minutes," Alan said, deadpan. 

I snorted and headed back inside before I got dragged into their bickering. 

That night, lying in bed with the ceiling fan humming above me, I stared up at nothing in particular. 

Today reminded me of something. 

In my past life, I never had any talent for sports. And judging by the way I played soccer with a bunch of twelve-year-olds earlier this week, nothing's changed. Sure, I can keep up, maybe even win a few playground games—but let's not kid ourselves. I'm no prodigy with a ball. 

What I do have is intelligence. I'm smart enough now to get into a top university again. Harvard, maybe. But that's now—after some years, I would be in the middle of the pack (of a top college). Still very impressive. But not genius-level. 

And yet, I'm okay with that. 

I might end up becoming the greatest investor in history. 

Tori showing up might concern a bit —but things have still followed the general path I remember. And I'm not foolish enough to invest blindly just because I "know" the future. I still read the reports. I still follow the news. I analyze every company before touching a cent. I still gonna bet with some sizable money. 

But fame? As a singer? That thought had never crossed my mind. 

Back in my old life, I took piano lessons as a hobby. Singing, though? I was never any good. But this voice… in this life… it's different. Maybe I have a talent for it. 

Could I actually do something with that? 

I turned over on my side and pulled the blanket up. 

Just something to think about. 

Tomorrow, maybe I'll test a few more songs. 

And that's exactly what I did. 

The next morning, after breakfast, I walked into the living room where Charlie was halfway through his second cup of coffee, lazily flipping through a magazine. 

"Hey, Uncle Charlie," I said, leaning against the back of the couch. "Random question: can you teach me more piano stuff?" 

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "You want me to give you piano lessons?" 

I shrugged. "You are a jingle writer, right? You must know enough to show me some stuff. Maybe some chords, songwriting tips?" 

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What's this about? Did Tori say she liked musicians or something?" 

I rolled my eyes. "No, I'm just interested. Thought I'd give it a shot." 

Charlie smirked. "You? Voluntarily learning music? Who are you and what have you done with my nephew?" 

"Come on," I said. "You gonna help or not?" 

He sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if I catch you writing a song called 'My Heart Belongs in Algebra Class,' I'm out." 

I grinned. "Deal." 

"Oh," I added, pausing. "Do you know anyone who could give voice lessons? Like, actual singing training?" 

Charlie looked at me, then blinked. "Wow. You're serious." 

"I think I might be good," I said. "Like, surprisingly good. And I want to see how far I can take it." 

He nodded slowly. "Alright, I might know a guy. Used to work with some backup singers. I'll make a call." 

And just like that, I decided to give it a real shot. 

Singing. Performing. Maybe even writing something original (nah, not gonna happen, I totally ok with plagiarism)