The living room buzzed with energy as Phoebe practically bounced on her toes, eyes wide with excitement. Melanie stood at her side, arms crossed but smiling, already invested in the drama about to unfold.

"Mom, guess what?" Phoebe blurted out, her grin infectious.

Barb looked up from her magazine, her interest immediately piqued. "Ooh, yay, tell me everything."

Phoebe leaned in conspiratorially. "There is the cutest new boy at school."

Melanie nudged her with a knowing smirk. "Ooh, do tell."

Phoebe's eyes sparkled. "He's a rocker."

Melanie's smile widened. "Ooooh."

"He writes the most beautiful lyrics..." Phoebe added, voice dreamy.

Barb mirrored the tone, still intrigued. "Oooh."

"And," Phoebe said dramatically, "his name is Oyster."

There was a beat of silence. Barb blinked. "Okay, you lost me."

Melanie tilted her head. "Oyster? Like... the shellfish?"

Phoebe waved off the doubt, holding up her phone. "It's cute. Get over it. And listen to this—these are lyrics he wrote for English class. It's called 'Goodbye Mikaila.'"

Clearing her throat, Phoebe read with theatrical flair:

"I shed tears on your neck as we say goodbye.
Don't know how I'll go on without you, but I'll try."

Melanie glanced at her, eyebrows raised, but her grin didn't falter. "Deep."

Barb, however, looked skeptical. "I'm sorry, his name is still Oyster, right?"

Phoebe sighed dramatically. "It's unique! Wish he'd write a song about me..." She shot a hopeful glance at Melanie. "If only I knew someone who could introduce me to him."

Before anyone could answer, the front door swung open, and Max stepped in, casually tossing his bag to the side. Behind him stood a tall, lanky boy with messy hair and a leather jacket.

"Hey, guys, this is Oyster," Max announced with a grin.

Oyster gave a lazy wave. "Whaddup?"

Phoebe froze. Her brain went blank. "Hi! I mean, yo! I mean... hey!"

Melanie, biting back a laugh, saved her. "Here, Phoebe, have a brownie." She slid the plate toward her like it was a life preserver.

Barb, ever the gracious host, stepped in with her warmest smile. "What she was trying to say is welcome to our home, Oyster."

"Thanks," Oyster said, his grin casual but confident. "Fair warning, though... we're gonna rock this place to its foundation."

Max nodded proudly. "Yeah, we started a band a couple of days ago. Our first gig's this weekend." He puffed out his chest. "Yeah, that's right. I'm giggin'."

Barb's face lit up. "Yeah? Well, I gigged back in my day. Had a band called Barb Jovial." She grinned, standing up and giving a dramatic shimmy. "Ba da da da dang!"

There was a moment of stunned silence. Melanie covered her mouth to hide her laugh, while Max looked like he was begging the universe to swallow him whole.

Oyster winced. "Dude, if we don't rehearse hard, that's how embarrassing we'll look."

"Nice, uh... Nice meeting you," he said quickly, already edging toward the door.

"Oh," Barb said, her enthusiasm dimming slightly.

"Um, okay, bye! I mean, I'll see ya! I mean... Aloha!" Phoebe called out, her voice rising in pitch with every word. "Which is hi and goodbye!"

As the door clicked shut, Phoebe turned on her mom, eyes wide with panic. "Mom! Where were you with that brownie? You let me get to Aloha!"

Melanie was already doubled over, laughing into her sleeve. "That was painful, but... adorable."

Barb just chuckled and shook her head. "It's okay, honey. Next time, maybe we'll stick with just 'hi' and 'bye.'"

Phoebe groaned, dropping onto the couch. "Next time, just feed me the brownie before I humiliate myself."

Max, watching the chaos unfold, shook his head but couldn't hold back a grin. "This is gonna be a fun weekend."

Melanie sat on the arm of the couch, watching Phoebe bury her face in her hands with a dramatic groan. The embarrassment was practically radiating off her.

"It wasn't that bad," Melanie said gently, though her smile hinted otherwise.

Phoebe shot her a look from between her fingers. "Melanie, I said Aloha. To a guy named Oyster. Who I like." She groaned louder. "That's it. I'm never leaving the house again."

Melanie tilted her head, her voice light but teasing. "Come on, it was kind of... endearing?"

Phoebe's glare deepened.

"Okay, fine," Melanie laughed, holding up her hands in surrender. "It was bad. Like, secondhand-embarrassment-for-the-next-decade bad."

Phoebe flopped back against the couch cushions. "Thanks for the honesty."

"But," Melanie said, leaning in conspiratorially, "I have an idea."

Phoebe peeked at her with cautious hope. "I'm listening."

"I'll talk to Max," Melanie said, her grin growing. "I'll convince him to get you a do-over with Oyster. Something casual, where you don't have to overthink every word that comes out of your mouth."

Phoebe sat up, her eyes wide. "Really?"

Melanie nodded. "Really. And I'll make sure you're calm, cool, and definitely not saying random Hawaiian greetings." She winked.

Phoebe groaned but laughed. "Yeah, no more Aloha."

Melanie shrugged, teasing. "Unless you're moving to Hawaii, then go for it."

Just then, footsteps echoed down the stairs, and Max appeared, fiddling with his phone, blissfully unaware of the plans forming about him.

Melanie's eyes glimmered with mischief as she leaned closer to Phoebe and whispered, "Don't worry. Max won't say no to me."

Phoebe smirked, her hope rekindled. "You're the best."

Melanie stood, her confidence easy and natural. "I know." She winked and strolled out of the room.

Phoebe leaned back on the couch, exhaling a slow breath. "Please let this work."

Because if Melanie couldn't save her from this embarrassment, Phoebe wasn't sure if she could ever survive another encounter with Oyster again.

Melanie stood near the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, watching the sibling banter unfold like an intense tennis match. She wanted to jump in and support Phoebe, but... well, Phoebe wasn't exactly making it easy.

"No, I need an Oyster do-over," Phoebe said, her tone sharp with determination.

Max shook his head, his arms folded tightly across his chest. "No way. I can't have you interrupting the Max-Eyed Peas." He gestured around dramatically. "We're still working on the name, okay?"

Melanie arched a brow but stayed quiet, biting back a smirk. Max-Eyed Peas? Really?

Phoebe huffed, stepping closer. "Look, not that you'd care, but I think Oyster is cute, and I kind of wanted to talk to him." Her voice had softened slightly, but she was holding her ground.

Max's expression froze. "You and Oyster?" He blinked, as though trying to compute it. "Oyster that's downstairs? Oyster in my band?"

Phoebe narrowed her eyes. "How many Oysters do you know?"

Melanie coughed lightly, covering a laugh, but Max didn't notice.

"Phoebe," Max said, his voice dropping like he was revealing some ancient, dangerous secret. "Oyster is... a bad boy. He's a rocker. He sweats poetry and shreds like a six-armed mutant."

Melanie rolled her eyes slightly. Okay, Max.

Phoebe crossed her arms, mirroring her brother. "I sweat. I shred."

Before Max could respond, Oyster strolled by, his laid-back energy filling the room.

"Yo, Max, you got a bottle opener?" he asked casually. Then, without waiting for an answer, he grabbed a bottle, popped the lid off with his teeth, and spat it into the trash like it was nothing.

Melanie winced slightly, while Phoebe's eyes widened in something between shock and fascination.

Max pointed dramatically. "See? Bad boy. And trust me, Phoebe, you two? Not a good match."

Phoebe, clearly not ready to give up, squared her shoulders. "Yeah? Well, if that's true, then how come I can do this?" She snatched a soda can from the counter, dramatically attempting to pop the lid open with her teeth—only to immediately gag and clutch her mouth.

Melanie winced again but quickly smoothed her expression into something neutral. She wanted to be supportive, but Phoebe wasn't giving her much to work with here.

Max grimaced. "FYI? What you're doing isn't bad. It's just... embarrassing."

Phoebe groaned, clutching her jaw. "Okay, ow."

Melanie finally stepped forward, giving Phoebe a sympathetic smile as she gently pulled the can away. "Maybe... we skip the whole bottle-cap battle thing?" she offered, her tone kind but edged with humor.

Phoebe shot her a look, somewhere between frustration and desperation.

Melanie sighed softly and leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Look, I get why you like him. He's cool, he's edgy. But maybe let me handle Max? I'll talk to him. Smooth things over."

Phoebe hesitated, then nodded slowly. "You really think you can convince him?"

Melanie's grin was soft but confident. "I can be very persuasive." She cast a glance toward Max, who was now tinkering with his guitar. "Besides, he kind of owes me for letting him win our last debate."

Phoebe's shoulders relaxed slightly, her gaze hopeful. "Thanks, Mel."

Melanie squeezed her arm gently. "Don't worry. We'll get you that do-over. Just... maybe leave the teeth tricks to Oyster, okay?"

Phoebe let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. "Yeah. Good call."

Melanie smiled, her mind already spinning with ways to handle Max. Because if anyone could help Phoebe navigate this disaster, it was her.

Melanie lingered in the kitchen, arms crossed as she watched Phoebe pace back and forth like a storm trapped in a bottle. Her friend's shoulders were tense, her jaw tight with frustration and embarrassment. The whole bottle-cap incident still lingered in the air like an awkward memory no one wanted to claim.

"Melanie," Phoebe said, spinning to face her, eyes wide with urgency. "You have to help me. I need to fix this. I need to fix me."

Melanie tilted her head, lips twitching into a half-smile. "Fix you? Phoebe, you're not broken."

Phoebe groaned dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. "Yes, I am! I'm... awkward and embarrassing and—ugh! Did you see how I tried to open that can? I'm practically a walking disaster. If Oyster ever talks to me again, it'll be a miracle."

Melanie held back a laugh, though it wasn't easy. "Okay, it wasn't your best moment, but it wasn't that bad."

Phoebe shot her a look that said don't sugarcoat this.

"Okay, fine," Melanie said, softening. "It was bad. Like... really bad." She stepped forward, placing a hand on Phoebe's shoulder. "But it doesn't mean you're hopeless."

Phoebe sagged under the weight of her own panic. "I just... I like him, Mel. I really, really like him. And if there's anyone who can help me be less... me, it's you."

Melanie blinked, surprised. "You don't have to be less you, Phoebe."

Phoebe's eyes burned with determination. "Maybe not less me. Just... a better version. One that doesn't make him run for the hills. Please, Melanie. You're cool. You know how to be chill. Just... help me be that."

Melanie hesitated, her lips pressing together. She didn't like the idea of Phoebe feeling like she had to change herself, but... she also knew how much Phoebe liked Oyster. And sometimes, a little confidence boost didn't hurt.

"Okay," she said at last, her voice low but steady. "I'll help you."

Phoebe's face lit up. "Really?"

Melanie nodded. "Really. But on one condition."

"Anything."

"You don't lose you in the process," Melanie said firmly. "You're funny and smart, Phoebe. That's what makes you you. Oyster's great, but if he doesn't like you for who you are, then he's the one missing out."

Phoebe nodded, her eyes soft with gratitude. "Deal."

Melanie smiled, stepping back. "Alright. First rule? No more trying to prove you're a 'bad girl.' You don't have to be edgy to impress him."

Phoebe winced. "Yeah. Okay, fair. No more teeth tricks."

"Good. Now," Melanie said, thinking. "Oyster's a musician, right? He likes people who get his vibe. So instead of trying to be someone you're not, why don't you just be curious? Ask him about his music, his lyrics. Guys like it when you care about their interests."

Phoebe bit her lip, nodding slowly. "Okay. Yeah. That makes sense."

"And confidence," Melanie added. "You don't have to act like you have it all together, but you can own who you are. You're funny. Use that. Laugh, joke, but don't force it. Be natural."

Phoebe groaned. "Being natural sounds so hard."

Melanie chuckled. "It's easier than trying to be someone you're not. Trust me."

"Okay," Phoebe said, squaring her shoulders. "I can do this. I will do this."

Melanie smiled, proud but still cautious. "Good. Now go grab a snack, and I'll figure out how to smooth things over with Max. If I can convince him to let you near the band again, you'll get your do-over."

Phoebe's eyes lit up. "You're the best."

Melanie winked. "I know."

As Phoebe stepped away, Melanie took a steadying breath. She wasn't sure if this would work, but she'd do whatever it took to help her friend—especially if it meant Phoebe could be herself while still winning Oyster over.

And if Max got in the way? Well, Melanie was more than ready for that battle too.

Melanie watched the scene unfold from the sidelines, her arms crossed and lips pressed together to keep from laughing. Phoebe stood in the middle of the chaos, surrounded by clattering instruments, ripped fabric, and the stunned faces of Max, Gideon, and Oyster. It was, objectively, a disaster. But it was also kind of awesome.

Max's jaw was tight, frustration radiating off him in waves. "Phoebe, I told you yesterday not to interrupt my band." His gaze swept down, eyes narrowing. "And why are you wearing that?"

Phoebe straightened, brushing dust off her leather jacket, an awkward edge to her stance. Melanie had helped her pick the outfit—dark, edgy, just enough attitude—but Phoebe wore it like someone trying on a new personality for size.

"To prove you wrong," Phoebe said, lifting her chin. She cleared her throat, leaning into the vibe Melanie had coached her on. "Hey, guys. I didn't mean to crash the party." Her voice was light, dismissive. "Cool guitar. Whatever. I don't care."

Oyster turned, cradling his guitar like a precious artifact. His grin was lazy but intrigued. "Thanks. She's my heart and soul. Found her at a yard sale under a pair of granny panties."

Phoebe's eyes widened for a second before she caught herself. "Oh. I'm, uh... caught on your granny panty guitar." She winced as the words left her mouth, but pushed through. "Whatever. I don't care."

Then the rip happened. A harsh screech of feedback echoed as her jacket snagged, tearing the fabric and sending a ripple of chaos through the room. Cymbals crashed. A mic stand toppled. Drums rolled.

"Ow, my eyes!" Gideon yelped as the cymbal clattered dangerously close.

Oyster just blinked, half amused, half confused.

Phoebe stood there, frozen, trying to play it cool. "Whatever." Her voice cracked. "Whatever."

Melanie winced but kept quiet. She could tell Phoebe was moments away from spiraling.

Max's glare could've melted concrete. "Phoebe, get out!"

Phoebe stood her ground. "I'll get out when I want to. Point me towards the stairs."

Max groaned, rubbing his forehead as if this whole exchange physically hurt him.

Oyster chuckled under his breath. "Looks like someone's trying a little too hard."

Before Max could say anything else, Melanie stepped forward, arms crossed and a sharp look in her eyes. "Cut it, fur-face," she said to Gideon, her voice cool but fierce. "Phoebe just made a fool of herself, and we all know it. No need to pile it on."

Phoebe gave her a grateful, sheepish glance, but it was short-lived. "I just... I wanted him to notice me. Now he's never gonna write a song about me," she muttered, her shoulders slumping.

Gideon, of course, took the moment to be an absolute menace. Strumming an invisible guitar, he sang, "Phoebe, you're really creepy... ooh! Phoebe, you smell like—"

Melanie shot him a glare so sharp he stopped mid-note.

"I was gonna say peaches," Gideon added quickly, shrinking under her gaze.

Just then, Oyster wandered over, hands stuffed into his pockets, looking surprisingly amused. "Hey," he said casually. "Just lookin' to score some paper towels."

Phoebe flushed red, stammering, "I'm... I'm really sorry for ruining your band practice."

But Oyster just chuckled, his eyes shining with a weird kind of admiration. "Are you kidding? That was the most rock 'n roll thing I've ever seen. Max never told me his sister was so... sweeches."

Phoebe blinked. "Sweeches?"

"Sweet but with an edge," Oyster explained, smirking.

Phoebe smiled shyly. "Thanks. I mean... whatever. I don't care."

Right on cue, an ornament behind her tipped off a shelf and shattered on the ground.

Oyster laughed. "You... you are some kind of thrash goddess."

Phoebe's eyes widened as she glanced quickly at Melanie, who just smiled and gave a small, encouraging nod.

"Yeah," Phoebe said, her voice steadying. She squared her shoulders and met Oyster's gaze. "That's me. I love getting my... trash on."

Oyster grinned. "Good. Maybe we'll see you at our next gig."

As he walked off, Phoebe let out a shaky breath and turned to Melanie.

"Did I... Was that okay?" she whispered.

Melanie's grin was pure mischief and pride. "You killed it. And next time? We'll figure out how to smash things on purpose..

Melanie stood just behind Phoebe, her arms crossed but her expression soft, watching as Phoebe squared off with Max. She wasn't about to step in—yet—but she was ready if Phoebe needed backup.

Max's frustration was simmering just under the surface, his eyes darting between Phoebe and Oyster, clearly losing patience.

Oyster, on the other hand, was leaning casually on his guitar, his grin lazy but amused. "I got this scar from stage-diving off my mom's mini-van," he said, tracing a faint line on his arm.

Phoebe, trying to hold her own, lifted her chin. "That's nothing. I got this one from a motocross wipeout." She hesitated, then added, "Okay, it... looks like a mosquito bite that got infected after I scratched it too much."

Oyster chuckled. "Sweeches!"

Melanie's lips twitched, though she kept her arms crossed, silently willing Phoebe to keep her cool.

Oyster tilted his head, his gaze lingering on Phoebe. "You know," he said, his voice low and easy, "I don't think it was an accident you got tangled up with my guitar. I think... my guitar chose you."

Phoebe blinked, caught off guard. She opened her mouth, but Max's voice cut through the moment like a blade.

"No, Oyster. I chose you. For our band." Max's grin was tight, strained. "Maxford and Sons."

Melanie raised an eyebrow but said nothing, though she could feel Phoebe's tension spike.

Max stepped forward. "Phoebe, stop distracting Oyster