Chapter 6 - A Stage for Growth

  The acting club had started as an escape, just another extracurricular to fill the time between schoolwork and Ezra’s summer construction job. But as the weeks passed, it became something more—a place of discovery, a battleground of imagination, and, strangely enough, the setting for a friendship that no one could have predicted.

  Brandon "Bruiser" Michaels wasn’t exactly known for his finesse. The former bully still carried an air of intimidation, his voice naturally gruff, his frame towering over most of their peers. But something about the acting club fascinated him. Maybe it was the way he could become someone else on stage, if only for a little while. Maybe it was the way his anger, his frustrations, his bottled-up emotions all had a place to be expressed without judgment.

  Ezra, having long since left their rivalry behind, saw it too. Bruiser wasn’t just another loudmouth throwing himself into a role—he was good. He had presence. Charisma. When he walked onto the stage, people listened. They laughed at his jokes. They gasped when he delivered a dramatic monologue. Ezra could tell that this meant something to him, even if Bruiser himself didn’t fully understand why.

  "Alright, alright, let’s run it again," Ezra said, leaning against the worn-out stage curtains, flipping through a marked-up script.

  "Why?" Bruiser huffed, flopping onto a nearby chair. "I already nailed it."

  "You did nail it," Ezra agreed, his smirk betraying a challenge. "But let’s see if you can do it again... improv style."

  That caught Bruiser’s attention. "Wait, no script?"

  "No script," Ezra confirmed, crossing his arms. "Just roll with it."

  Bruiser’s face twisted into something between suspicion and intrigue. "Alright, nerd," he grunted, standing up and cracking his knuckles. "Let’s see what you got."

  Ezra smirked, flipping through the well-worn pages of their latest assigned play. "Alright, we’re running Romeo and Juliet. Classic tragic romance, high drama, lots of poetic nonsense. Think you can handle it?"

  Bruiser scoffed. "Please. It’s just a bunch of old-timey words. How hard can it be?"

  Ezra leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Alright then, Juliet, take it from the top."

  The club members burst into laughter as Bruiser’s face twisted into a mix of horror and betrayal.

  "Wait, what?"

  "You heard me. You’re Juliet."

  Bruiser’s hands curled into fists. "You little—"

  "Shhh!" Ezra dramatically held up a hand. "We mustn’t let our quarrels disrupt the harmony of Verona!"

  The laughter from the audience was growing louder now, and the club’s instructor, clearly entertained, simply waved them on. "Let’s see what you can do, Michaels. Give us your best Juliet."

  With an exaggerated groan, Bruiser snatched the script from Ezra’s hands, cleared his throat, and in the deepest, most gravelly voice possible, he began.

  "O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?"

  Ezra barely held back a snort as Bruiser’s tone made Juliet sound less like a lovesick noblewoman and more like a Viking warlord lamenting his fallen brother-in-arms.

  "That’s beautiful, darling," Ezra cooed in a terrible British accent, taking on the role of Romeo. "But why mustst thou sound like a chain-smoking tavern wench?"

  Bruiser threw the script onto the floor. "Alright, y’know what? Screw this. We’re going off script."

  Ezra’s grin widened. "Finally, some improv."

  Bruiser struck a dramatic pose, throwing a hand to his forehead. "O Romeo, my guy, my ride or die—where you at, bro?"

  The room exploded into laughter.

  Ezra gasped. "Juliet, my beloved, why dost thou sound like a Discord mod?"

  "Silence, thine notifications are off!" Bruiser bellowed, pacing dramatically across the stage. "Deny thy father and refuse thy name, or—y’know what? Drop your location."

  Ezra had to turn away for a moment to gather himself before facing Bruiser again. He placed a hand over his heart. "Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?" He took a long, thoughtful pause. "Nah, you built like a Tuesday afternoon."

  The club members were on the floor at this point, some crying with laughter. Even the instructor, normally composed, had their head in their hands, shaking with amusement.

  Bruiser, barely keeping a straight face, dramatically flopped onto the floor like a Victorian woman fainting from an inconveniently tight corset.

  "O woe, O tragedy!" he wailed. "Romeo hath roasted me beyond repair!"

  Ezra dropped to one knee beside him, gripping his collar. "No! Stay with me, fair maiden! The world still needs thee!"

  Bruiser dramatically shuddered, eyes fluttering shut. "Tell… my TikTok followers… I died for the clout…"

  And with that, he went limp.

  Silence.

  Then, the entire club erupted into cheers and applause, stamping their feet as if they had just witnessed the greatest performance in history.

  The instructor, wiping away tears of laughter, shook their head. "I should fail both of you for butchering Shakespeare, but—" They sighed, a smirk playing on their lips. "That was the most entertained I’ve been in years."

  Ezra helped Bruiser up, both of them still grinning ear to ear.

  "Y’know," Bruiser mused as they took their bows, "I think I finally get why you love this stuff."

  Ezra chuckled. "Told you, Juliet."

  And so began their chaotic, hilarious, and utterly absurd descent into the world of improv.

  At first, Bruiser stuck to what he knew—loud, exaggerated characters, voices that could shake the stage. Ezra, ever the strategist, countered him with quick wit, using humor as his greatest weapon. The two bounced off each other in rapid succession, each joke feeding into the next, each ridiculous scenario growing more outrageous than the last.

  They rehearsed scene after impromptu scene. From Romeo and Juliet to play-pretend fantasies of their own creation. Ezra was crouched behind an overturned chair, pretending it was a makeshift barricade, while Bruiser loomed over him with an imaginary sword, bellowing like some great warlord from an ancient epic.

  "You have violated the sacred laws of the realm, Wizard Ezra of the Dusty Tomes!" Bruiser declared, brandishing his invisible blade.

  Ezra, gasping for breath between laughs, dramatically clutched his chest. "Alas, I am but a humble scholar! My only crime was seeking knowledge beyond the gates of the forbidden library!"

  The club members watching them were doubled over in laughter. Even the teacher, who had originally been skeptical of their impromptu scene, was wiping tears from her eyes.

  It was in that moment that Ezra realized something. This wasn’t just fun—this was connection. Bruiser wasn’t acting out of obligation. He wasn’t pretending just to get through an after-school club. He was enjoying himself.

  Later, when they sat on the edge of the stage, catching their breath after rehearsal, Bruiser stared at the empty seats in front of them, his usual bravado fading into something more thoughtful.

  "You know," he said, voice quieter now, "I used to think all this was dumb."

  Ezra glanced at him, waiting.

  "Acting, I mean," Bruiser continued. "Pretending to be someone else. Thought it was for people who didn’t know who they were." He shook his head, huffing a small laugh. "But I get it now. It’s not about being someone else. It’s about figuring yourself out."

  Ezra considered that, tapping his fingers against his knee. "Yeah," he said after a beat. "I think it is."

  They sat in silence for a moment before Bruiser smirked.

  "And for the record," he added, "you make a terrible wizard."

  Ezra rolled his eyes. "And you make an excellent barbarian."

  "That’s what I’m saying!" Bruiser shot back, nudging him playfully.

  The bell rang, signaling the end of their meeting. As the rest of the club packed up, Ezra and Bruiser grabbed their things and headed toward the door, their voices carrying down the hall, already debating their next ridiculous improv scene.

  That spring, Ezra learned many things. He learned the power of humor, the importance of teamwork, and the delicate balance of timing that made a performance truly shine. But most importantly, he learned that even the most unexpected people could find meaning in the arts.

  And that sometimes, friendship could grow in the most unlikely of places—like a stage shared between a once-bullied boy and his former tormentor, both of them figuring out who they were, one ridiculous scene at a time.

  The club had emptied out, leaving only Ezra and Bruiser behind to clean up the stage. The overhead lights had been dimmed, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. A few scattered props remained—a forgotten cloak draped over a chair, a plastic sword lying near the edge of the stage. The distant hum of the janitor’s vacuum echoed from the hallway.

  Ezra stacked a pile of scripts, flipping through the worn pages before setting them on the instructor’s desk. “You really got into that improv today,” he remarked, glancing at Bruiser, who was folding a backdrop.

  Bruiser shrugged, though a small smirk played at his lips. “Yeah, well… I dunno. It’s kinda fun.”

  Ezra raised an eyebrow. “Kinda?”

  Bruiser exhaled through his nose, leaning against the stage’s edge. “Alright, fine. It’s more than kinda.” He glanced around the empty theater. “I just… I get it now, y’know?”

  Ezra nodded, sensing there was more.

  Bruiser hesitated before continuing, running a hand through his hair. “At home, it’s always the same. Same arguments. Same expectations. Same damn routine. But up here? I don’t have to be that guy.” He gestured to the empty seats before them. “I can be whoever the hell I want.”

  Ezra set the scripts down. “Yeah. I think that’s what I love about it too. It’s like… test-driving different versions of yourself.”

  Bruiser huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, except for you, it’s training wheels for life. For me? It’s the only time I actually get to feel like I’m somebody else.”

  A silence settled between them, but it wasn’t awkward. It was understanding.

  Unbeknownst to them, the club’s instructor had been listening from the doorway. She stepped forward, the soft click of her shoes against the stage breaking their quiet moment.

  “You two have figured out something it takes most actors years to understand,” she said.

  Ezra and Bruiser both turned in surprise.

  The instructor leaned against the stage, arms crossed. “Acting and real life? They’re not that different.” She studied them for a moment before continuing. “The biggest difference is that life doesn’t give second chances. But in acting? You get to experiment. You get to screw up, try again, see what works and what doesn’t. You get to play.”

  Ezra tilted his head. “So what are you saying? That we should treat life like a dress rehearsal?”

  She smiled. “I’m saying that maybe if people treated life more like a stage—tried things without fear of failure, took risks, let themselves be something else for a little while—maybe they wouldn’t feel so trapped.”

  Bruiser, who had been quiet for a moment, asked, “And how do you know all this?”

  The instructor’s expression shifted slightly, something more somber settling in. “Because I was exactly like you two once.”

  Ezra and Bruiser exchanged a glance before she continued.

  “I had big plans,” she said, tapping a finger against the edge of the stage. “Bigger than this school, bigger than this town. I wanted to be somebody, to make my mark. So I went all in—took out loan after loan, financed my own projects, chased opportunities like my life depended on it.”

  Bruiser frowned. “And?”

  She let out a small laugh, but there was no humor in it. “And it all crashed down. Projects fell through. Debt piled up. And suddenly, I wasn’t some bright-eyed dreamer anymore—I was just a girl with a lot of bills and nothing to show for it.”

  Ezra swallowed. He hadn’t expected that answer.

  “For a long time, I thought that was it. That I had wasted my shot,” she continued. “But then… I got offered this job. Teaching. And at first, I thought, God, what a pathetic fallback.” She shook her head. “But then I realized something. I hadn’t lost my chance to be somebody. I had just been looking at it the wrong way. Here, teaching this club? I get to be anything I want. Every single day.”

  Ezra felt something click in his brain.

  Bruiser, meanwhile, was staring at her like she had just walked straight out of a movie. “That’s… really cool,” he muttered.

  The instructor quirked an eyebrow. “You sound surprised.”

  Bruiser cleared his throat, suddenly avoiding eye contact. “No, no, I mean—it’s just… inspiring, I guess.”

  Ezra smirked, barely holding back a laugh. Bruiser had a crush.

  The instructor gave them both a knowing look before standing. “Lesson’s over, boys. But if you take one thing from all of this, let it be this—life will never go the way you expect it to. So when it doesn’t? Improvise.”

  With that, she turned and headed for the door, leaving them sitting in thoughtful silence.

  After a moment, Ezra nudged Bruiser with his elbow. “You good, bud?”

  Bruiser, still watching the doorway where she had exited, muttered, “I think I need to start showing up to class more often.”

  Ezra burst into laughter.

  That spring, Ezra and Bruiser had learned many things—about acting, about each other, about the power of stepping outside themselves.

  But most of all, they had learned that life, much like the stage, was meant to be played with.

  Tweak had always been the kind of guy who talked a mile a minute, his hands constantly in motion, his cigarette always balanced at the edge of his lips like it had a permanent residency there. He had been working with Ezra and Bruiser for most of the summer, showing them the ropes of electrical work—how circuits flowed like veins, how a bad connection could spark a disaster, and how electricity was a patient killer, waiting for the right mistake.

  “The thing about juice,” Tweak had told them one afternoon, standing over a half-assembled breaker panel, “is that it don’t give a damn who you are. You respect it, it respects you. You get lazy?” He snapped his fingers. “Lights out. Forever.”

  Ezra had absorbed the lessons eagerly. He had always been fascinated by systems, by how things worked, and wiring felt like building invisible roads for power to travel through. But there was always an edge to Tweak’s lessons, a subtle weariness in his voice. He was the kind of guy who cut corners but never on safety.

  Which was why what happened later didn’t make sense.

  It had been an ordinary workday. Ezra and Bruiser had spent most of the morning running conduit, feeding wires through the skeleton of what would eventually be a new commercial building. Tweak had been up on the scissor lift, working solo, rewiring an overhead junction box.

  No one thought anything of it.

  Until Ezra walked past the lift.

  At first, he didn’t register that anything was wrong. Tweak was slumped forward slightly, head tilted to the side. It wasn’t unusual to catch him dozing off in weird places—Tweak was notorious for squeezing in naps during downtime.

  Ezra called up to him. “Tweak! You takin’ your lunch break early?”

  No response.

  His stomach twisted.

  He took a step closer.

  “Tweak?”

  Nothing.

  Then he noticed it—the lack of movement. No shifting, no twitching fingers, no groggy grunt in response. Just stillness.

  Ezra’s chest tightened. “Tweak!” His voice cracked this time.

  Still nothing.

  Then a hand grabbed his shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?” Bruiser’s voice was sharp, alert.

  Ezra turned to him, something tight and awful twisting in his gut. “I—I think something’s wrong with Tweak.”

  Bruiser’s eyes flicked up to the lift, and in an instant, he understood.

  He didn’t waste time asking questions. He ran straight to the emergency controls at the base of the lift, fumbling for the release. The machinery groaned, lowering Tweak slowly, painfully slowly, as Ezra’s hands clenched into fists.

  When the lift touched down, Ezra was the first to reach him. He grabbed Tweak’s arm, shaking him.

  Nothing.

  Then he saw his skin.

  Pale. Too pale.

  A single thought rang through Ezra’s skull like a gunshot—he’s been up there for minutes.

  “Go!” Bruiser barked. “Find someone—now!”

  Ezra didn’t hesitate. He turned and ran, sprinting across the site, his boots pounding against the dirt, kicking up dust. His heartbeat was a drum, loud, deafening, suffocating.

  By the time help arrived, it was already too late.

  The site was shut down.

  The air in the contractor’s trailer was thick with grief and anger, the weight of Tweak’s absence pressing against every man in the room. No one spoke.

  Then, the safety manager stepped forward.

  He was a broad-shouldered man, his face carved from stone, his voice steady—but there was something else in his tone now. Something heavier.

  “I’m not going to waste time lecturing you all,” he said, breaking the silence. “We lost a man today. And it wasn’t because of faulty equipment. It wasn’t because of bad luck.” His eyes swept over them, a slow, piercing gaze. “It was because no one was there to watch his back.”

  Ezra swallowed, his throat tight.

  “Too often, we assume people are fine,” the safety manager continued. “We assume they know what they’re doing, that they don’t need help. We assume that if something goes wrong, they’ll let us know. But sometimes?” He let out a slow breath. “They can’t.”

  The words stabbed into Ezra’s chest like a blade.

  “It takes two,” the safety manager said, his voice lowering. “Two people on every job. Not just for efficiency. For survival.”

  Ezra didn’t realize he was clenching his fists until he felt Bruiser beside him, standing just as still, just as shaken.

  The site was shut down for the rest of the day.

  That night, Ezra sat across from his father in the dimly lit kitchen of Nonna’s house.

  The silence between them was thick.

  Seth, who had always been a steady, unshakable presence, seemed older somehow. More tired. He stared at his coffee for a long time before speaking.

  “You saw it happen?”

  Ezra nodded, staring at the grain of the wooden table. “Not… not the accident. But I found him.” His voice came out hoarse. “Too late.”

  Seth inhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

  Ezra lifted his head, frowning. “What do you mean, ‘yeah’?”

  Seth set his cup down. His hands were steady, but his eyes—his eyes—held something raw. “Because that’s how I found your mother.”

  The words hit like a hammer to the chest.

  Ezra’s breath caught. “What?”

  Seth exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “I wasn’t there when it happened. She overdosed while I was gone. When I came back, she was already…” He trailed off, his fingers gripping his mug tighter. “Just like Tweak. Too late.”

  Ezra felt his pulse pounding in his ears. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  His father’s jaw tensed. “Because what good would it have done? You were a baby, Ezra. You wouldn’t have understood.”

  Ezra swallowed the lump in his throat.

  Seth shook his head, staring down at the table. “It takes two people on a job sometimes. To watch each other’s backs. To catch mistakes before they turn into something worse. We were both… messed up when we met. But one of us was too scared to make it work.”

  Ezra’s throat tightened.

  His father let out a slow breath. “That’s why I tell you to be prepared. It’s not just for survival, Ezra. It’s so you don’t look back one day and realize… you could’ve done something sooner.”

  Silence.

  Ezra finally nodded, his chest heavy, his mind turning over the lesson that had been written in tragedy—twice.

  Two people.

  Watching each other’s backs.

  Because sometimes, one wasn’t enough.

  And this time?

  Ezra had no plans to ever be too late again.

  That night, Ezra sat across from his father in the dimly lit kitchen of their home. The aroma of leftover espresso lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of burning wood from the old stone fireplace. The warmth should have been comforting, but the weight of the day made it impossible to settle.

  Seth leaned back in his chair, staring at his mug as if it held answers he wasn’t sure he wanted to say aloud. He looked… older, somehow. Like time had pressed a little harder on him today.

  “You saw it happen?” he asked finally, his voice quiet.

  Ezra shook his head. “Not… the accident itself. But I found him.” His throat felt dry. “I thought he was sleeping at first.”

  His father inhaled through his nose, exhaling slowly. “Yeah.”

  Ezra frowned. “What do you mean, ‘yeah’?”

  Seth set his mug down, running a hand over his face. He was quiet for a moment, as if picking his words carefully. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady. “Because this isn’t the first time you’ll see something like this, Ezra.”

  Ezra blinked. “What?”

  His father met his gaze, steady, firm—but not unkind. “You’ll see death again. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but life doesn’t stop because you’re not ready for it.”

  The words settled deep, sinking into Ezra’s chest like stones into still water. He wanted to argue, wanted to say I know that already, but the truth was, he didn’t. Not like this.

  Seth exhaled, rubbing a hand over the rough stubble on his chin. “When I was young, I thought being strong meant keeping my head down. Not getting involved. But I’ve learned something, Ezra.” He tapped his fingers against the wooden table, slow and deliberate. “Strength isn’t about what you endure. It’s about what you do when the moment comes.”

  Ezra sat with that for a moment.

  Seth leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You and Bruiser did everything right today. You acted fast. You worked together. You tried. But sometimes, trying isn’t enough.” His expression darkened, not with anger, but with hard-earned understanding. “That’s the part no one warns you about.”

  Ezra swallowed. “So what are you saying? That it doesn’t matter what you do?”

  His father shook his head. “No. I’m saying that you have to do it anyway. Even when it’s not enough. Even when it doesn’t feel fair.” He exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. “You don’t do it because you expect to win every time. You do it because someone has to.”

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  Ezra’s hands curled into fists against his lap. “And what if you fail?”

  Seth’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then you make damn sure you learn from it. Because failure’s only a waste if you don’t take something from it.”

  Ezra let that settle in. The truth of it was uncomfortable, but real.

  They sat in silence for a moment, the vents in the room humming softly.

  His father shifted, voice softer now. “You asked me once why I push you to be prepared.”

  Ezra nodded. He remembered.

  Seth leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at him. “Because one day, it’ll be you making the calls. Someone will look to you, needing an answer. And in that moment? You can’t freeze.” He let the words hang. “So you practice now. You prepare now. You get in the habit of paying attention, of acting, not hesitating.”

  Ezra exhaled, his fingers running along the edge of the table.

  Seth tapped his knuckles against the wood once, finality in the movement. “What happened today is going to stick with you. And that’s not a bad thing.” His gaze softened, just slightly. “Just make sure it teaches you the right lesson.”

  Ezra nodded, the weight of the words settling deep into his chest.

  He wouldn’t forget.

  Not this time.

  Not ever.

  Ezra stood at the sign-up table in the school auditorium, scanning the list of names already written down for the fall play. The paper smelled faintly of marker ink, the edges slightly crumpled from eager hands flipping through it. His heart pounded—not with fear, but with excitement.

  He had spent the past year building confidence in the acting club, learning how to own the stage, how to work a crowd, how to make even the simplest dialogue feel alive. But this? This was different. This was a real production.

  As he scrawled his name onto the sheet, a familiar voice rang out behind him.

  “Damn, The Tale of Quarantinemas. You really goin’ for it, huh?”

  Ezra turned to find Bruiser standing there, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. The nickname was teasing, but there was something else in his tone—something like approval.

  “Yeah,” Ezra said, grinning. “Might as well, right?”

  Bruiser snorted. “Guess this means I actually gotta come watch you make a fool of yourself.”

  Ezra raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’ll be impressive.” He patted Bruiser on the shoulder as he walked past. “Try not to cry when I bring the house down.”

  Bruiser shook his head with a chuckle, watching him go.

  The truth was, Ezra wanted to be impressive. And there was one person he especially wanted to impress.

  It was later that afternoon when he found himself sitting across from Julie, a coffee cup between his hands, his knee bouncing slightly.

  “So,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual, “I’m in the school play.”

  Julie blinked. “You’re—wait, seriously?”

  Ezra frowned. “Why do you sound like that’s a bad thing?”

  Julie tilted her head, smirking slightly. “It’s not bad, it’s just… I don’t know. Acting?”

  “Yeah, acting.”

  She took a slow sip of her coffee, eyeing him over the rim. “It’s just kinda… cringe.”

  Ezra placed a hand over his heart, feigning deep emotional damage. “Milady! Thy words wound me so!”

  Julie laughed, shaking her head. “See? That’s exactly what I mean.”

  Ezra chuckled but felt a twinge of something else. She wasn’t being mean, not really, but… he wanted her to be impressed. He wanted her to see what this meant to him. “It’s not just playing pretend,” he said, leaning forward. “It’s like… trying out different lives. Testing yourself. Learning how people work. It’s actually kinda cool.”

  Julie studied him for a moment, her expression softening just slightly.

  Then she smirked. “You just want me to show up so you can brag about being the star, don’t you?”

  Ezra grinned. “Absolutely.”

  She rolled her eyes but sighed in defeat. “Fine. I’ll come. But if you embarrass yourself, I’m telling everyone I don’t know you.”

  Ezra laughed. “Deal.”

  But something in him itched now.

  He wasn’t just doing this play for fun anymore. He had something to prove.

  One day in biology class, Ezra and Bruiser found themselves waiting for the teacher to arrive, their conversation drifting from classwork to the future.

  “I’m not going to college,” Bruiser said suddenly, staring at the scratched-up desk beneath his hands.

  Ezra blinked. “Wait—what?”

  Bruiser shrugged, playing it off like it wasn’t a big deal. “Never really saw the point. My grades aren’t great, and I got bigger things to deal with.”

  Ezra frowned. “Like what?”

  Bruiser sighed, running a hand over his buzzed hair. “My grandma’s sick. Real bad. My parents don’t give a damn, so… I’m moving outta state after graduation to take care of her.”

  Ezra was silent for a moment.

  He knew Bruiser’s home life was a mess, but hearing him say it so plainly made it hit different.

  “Damn,” Ezra muttered. “That’s… a lot.”

  Bruiser shrugged. “She’s the only family I got that’s worth anything.”

  Ezra hesitated before asking, “Are you sure about this?”

  Bruiser let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “What else am I gonna do?”

  Ezra didn’t have an answer for that.

  The idea of not having Bruiser around after graduation felt… weird. They had gone from enemies to friends, from trading fists to trading banter. And now? Now it felt like life was pulling them in different directions.

  But before the weight of the moment could settle too heavily, Bruiser smirked.

  “Don’t worry, nerd. We still got war to wage.”

  Ezra raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  Bruiser flipped his phone screen toward him, showing a familiar title.

  Total War.

  Ezra grinned. They had been playing it together for months, strategizing, building empires, conquering entire continents in late-night gaming sessions.

  “We keep up that way,” Bruiser said. “You handle the nerd tactics, I handle the brute force. Just like old times.”

  Ezra felt the weight in his chest lighten just a little.

  He might be losing Bruiser in real life, but their friendship?

  That wasn’t going anywhere.

  As the school year pressed forward, everything felt different.

  Bruiser was preparing to move. Ezra was pushing himself harder than ever in his studies and acting. He wasn’t just trying to be good anymore—he was trying to be great.

  And Julie?

  Well, she was coming to watch. That meant something.

  For the first time, Ezra didn’t just feel like he was moving forward.

  He felt like he was stepping into something bigger.

  Something that might actually define his future.

  The screen flickered with the warm glow of an empire on the rise. Rows of armored infantry stretched across the battlefield, banners waving in the wind, as the siege preparations neared completion. Ezra sat forward in his chair, fingers poised over the keyboard, his mind racing with calculations.

  Across the room, Bruiser cracked his knuckles, rolling his shoulders like a man about to step into a real battlefield.

  “This is it,” Bruiser muttered, his voice low, focused.

  “Last city,” Ezra agreed. “They’re gonna throw everything they have at us.”

  Bruiser smirked. “Good.”

  For months, this campaign had been their battleground—a virtual war that neither of them had been willing to back down from. Ezra, the strategist, the mind behind each move, anticipating counterattacks before they even happened. Bruiser, the warlord, unrelenting, fearless, a hammer smashing through the weakest points of the enemy’s defenses.

  They made a hell of a team.

  And tonight?

  Tonight was the final battle.

  Ezra’s army stood in tight formations, arranged like a masterpiece of calculated destruction. Pike walls lined the front, archers behind them, cavalry waiting on the flanks for the right moment to strike.

  Bruiser’s forces, on the other hand, were pure chaos and raw power—a mix of heavily armored shock troops and war beasts, designed to smash through anything in their path.

  “You sure about this?” Ezra asked, eyeing Bruiser’s reckless unit placements.

  Bruiser grinned. “You play chess. I play demolition.”

  Ezra sighed. “Alright, Barbarian General, let’s see if your brute force holds up.”

  The enemy army swarmed forward, a wave of disciplined soldiers crashing against their lines. The clash was deafening—swords clashed, catapults launched fiery payloads, and war elephants stampeded through enemy ranks in an explosion of chaos.

  Ezra was in the zone, directing troops like a maestro conducting a symphony of war. Every unit placement, every movement was precise.

  But Bruiser?

  Bruiser was screaming at his screen.

  “GO, YOU MAGNIFICENT BASTARDS! PUSH! DON’T STOP TILL YOU SEE THE WHITE OF THEIR—"

  “Bruiser, they don’t have eyes! This is a game!”

  “I DON’T CARE, WE’RE WINNING!”

  Ezra couldn’t help but laugh as Bruiser’s warriors tore through enemy lines, throwing the opposition into disarray. And then—the opening they needed.

  Ezra’s cavalry swept in from the flanks, crushing what remained of the enemy archers. Bruiser’s troops rammed through the city gates, overrunning the last of the defenders.

  The victory felt earned.

  The two of them sat back, staring at the screen as the final victory banner flashed.

  “Damn,” Bruiser muttered. “We actually did it.”

  Ezra exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Took long enough.”

  There was a silence between them, the kind that came after something meaningful—like finishing a book you didn’t want to end.

  Finally, Bruiser leaned back, grinning. “Best damn campaign we ever played.”

  Ezra nodded. “Yeah. It was.”

  Julie hadn’t planned on sticking around.

  She had been passing through the school halls when she noticed the glow of phone screens from inside the auditorium. At first, she assumed it was just Ezra killing time, maybe scrolling through some forum about historical warfare or whatever nerdy thing he was obsessed with that week.

  But when she peeked in, she found something else entirely.

  Ezra and Bruiser sat across from each other, locked in battle—not in real life, but through the screens of their phones. They were playing Total War again, but it wasn’t just a game to them.

  It was a spectacle.

  Ezra, hunched forward, was speaking in calm, calculated commands, his tone sharp as he issued orders to his imaginary troops. “Hold the center line. Lure them into the choke point. We can’t afford a break in the formation.”

  Bruiser, on the other hand, was a force of chaos. “SCREW FORMATIONS! SEND IN THE WAR BEASTS!”

  “You absolute menace—”

  “CHAAAAARGE!”

  Julie covered her mouth, trying to stifle a laugh as Bruiser bellowed like a battlefield general, clutching his phone like it was the hilt of a sword. Ezra, meanwhile, slapped a hand over his face in exasperation before scrambling to counter whatever reckless move had just been made.

  The way they played was fascinating—completely immersed, acting out their roles as if they were actually there. Bruiser made every move with raw aggression, never hesitating, never second-guessing himself. Ezra, on the other hand, was the strategist, adapting to Bruiser’s recklessness, twisting disasters into opportunities.

  And for twenty whole minutes, Julie just… watched.

  She had never seen this side of Ezra before.

  Sure, she knew he loved this game, and yeah, she had heard him and Bruiser nerd out about their campaigns before. But seeing it in action—seeing how seriously he took it, how much he loved it—was something else entirely.

  He was playing, yes. But he was also performing.

  It was the same look she had seen when he talked about acting. The same passion. The same spark.

  For Ezra, roleplaying wasn’t just a game. It was a way to test himself, to try new things, to think outside the box.

  And for the first time, Julie understood.

  The battle reached its climax—a final, all-out assault on the enemy’s last stronghold.

  Ezra’s forces had seized the high ground, pelting the opposition with volleys of arrows. Bruiser’s war beasts had broken through the front line, wrecking havoc inside the city walls. It was pure destruction, pure chaos, pure victory.

  The enemy collapsed.

  The words “Victory Achieved” flashed across their screens.

  For a moment, the two boys just stared at the screen, panting like they had actually fought in the battle themselves.

  Then, Bruiser let out a whoop of triumph, throwing his arms in the air. “HELL YEAH! THAT’S HOW WE DO IT!”

  Ezra grinned, shaking his head. “Absolute brute-force madness. That should not have worked.”

  Bruiser smirked. “But it did.”

  “Yeah,” Ezra admitted, exhaling. “It really did.”

  And that was when Julie made her presence known.

  “You two,” she said from the doorway, crossing her arms with a smirk, “are the biggest nerds I have ever seen.”

  Ezra’s head snapped up.

  Bruiser froze.

  The look on Ezra’s face was priceless—half shock, half embarrassment, and maybe a little bit of panic. “How long have you been there?”

  Julie tilted her head, pretending to think. “Mmm… since the first war elephant charge.”

  Ezra groaned, burying his face in his hands.

  Bruiser, meanwhile, just smirked. “You liked it, didn’t you?”

  Julie shrugged, stepping closer. “I’ll admit… it was entertaining.” Her gaze lingered on Ezra for a second too long, and that’s when something clicked in her mind.

  She had never realized it before, but…

  She liked this side of him.

  Ezra was completely unapologetic about the things he loved. He didn’t care if it was nerdy or weird—he threw himself into it completely. And in some strange way, that was… kind of attractive.

  Ezra, still flustered, started gathering his things. “Alright, well, now that my dignity is gone forever—”

  Julie stepped forward, grabbing his wrist before he could leave.

  “Wait.”

  Ezra blinked. “What?”

  Then, before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in and kissed him.

  It was quick—just a soft brush of lips—but it was enough.

  Ezra froze.

  Bruiser, watching from the sidelines, had the most cartoonish expression of shock possible. His jaw dropped. His eyes went wide.

  “THE HELL?!”

  Julie pulled back, grinning. “Consider that your hero’s reward.”

  Ezra’s brain had completely short-circuited.

  “…For what?” he managed to choke out.

  Julie chuckled. “For being you.”

  And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Ezra standing there, blinking like an idiot, and Bruiser staring at him like he had just witnessed a divine miracle.

  Finally, after a long silence, Bruiser clapped a hand on Ezra’s shoulder.

  “My dude,” he said solemnly. “You just conquered something way bigger than Rome.”

  Ezra, still trying to process what just happened, could only nod.

  For once in his life, he was completely speechless.

  Later that night, as Ezra and Bruiser packed up their game, Ezra hesitated.

  Bruiser raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  Ezra exhaled. “Look, man. You don’t have to leave.”

  Bruiser’s smirk faded.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “I do.”

  Ezra leaned forward. “But why? I mean, yeah, your grandma needs you, but—” He paused, trying to find the right words. “You could still build something here. You’re smart, Bruiser. You’re good at this stuff. You could go to school, get a degree, do something with it.”

  Bruiser studied him, something unreadable in his eyes.

  Then he shook his head.

  “I get what you’re saying, Ezra. And I appreciate it. But…” He leaned back, rubbing his hands together. “What’s more important? Chasing some idea of what my life could be? Or actually being there for the only person who’s ever given a damn about me?”

  Ezra didn’t have an answer for that.

  Bruiser sighed, shaking his head. “Life ain’t about getting everything you want, man. It’s about knowing what actually matters.”

  The words settled deep in Ezra’s chest.

  Bruiser grinned suddenly, lightening the mood. “Besides, I’m still gonna kick your ass online.”

  Ezra laughed, shaking his head.

  “You wish.”

  Ezra left that night feeling different.

  Not just because he had realized how much he loved acting or because he had seen Julie watching him.

  But because for the first time, he understood that life was about choices.

  And sometimes, the hardest ones were the ones that mattered most.

  As he walked home under the glow of streetlights, he pulled out his phone and sent a message.

  Ezra: You coming to the play?

  There was a pause.

  Then Julie’s reply popped up.

  Julie: Wouldn’t miss it.

  Ezra smiled.

  This was going to be one hell of a winter.

  Ezra had spent weeks preparing for the Quarantinemas play. Every night, he rehearsed his lines in front of the mirror, in his bedroom, and even in the shower—just in case stage fright tried to creep in. He was ready. He had to be.

  The play was a ridiculous comedy about Santa Claus earning his "Essential Worker" license so he could deliver presents during Quarantinemas. It was over-the-top and silly, but Ezra loved it. He loved the script, the absurd premise, the chance to own the stage and make people laugh.

  And Julie was in the audience.

  That meant everything.

  As the play started, everything went perfectly. The lights shone down, the props were in place, and the first few scenes rolled by like clockwork. Ezra, in full Santa gear, strode onto the stage with the confidence of a seasoned performer, delivering his lines exactly as he had practiced.

  But then it happened.

  A single moment of silence.

  An awkward pause where there shouldn’t have been one.

  His next line? Gone.

  Ezra’s mind, once so sharp, suddenly blanked. He could feel the heat from the stage lights intensify, like they were exposing him rather than illuminating him. His breath caught in his throat. His hands felt too stiff, too heavy.

  The silence stretched.

  The audience began to shift uncomfortably.

  Then, he saw her—Julie, in the crowd.

  And she cringed.

  Not cruelly. Not with malice. But it was enough. Enough to take the panic already forming inside him and turn it into full-blown fear.

  He had wanted to impress her. He had wanted her to see this part of him and understand.

  Now? He felt like a fool.

  Then, suddenly—

  “Is that a candy cane in your pocket, or are you just happy to see Mrs. Claus?”

  The entire room exploded in laughter.

  Ezra snapped back to reality just in time to see Brandon, all 6’3” of him, saunter onto the stage wearing the frilliest, most ridiculous Mrs. Claus costume imaginable.

  It wasn’t part of the script.

  And yet, there he was, making his grand entrance, completely unbothered by the absurdity of it all.

  Ezra’s heart was still racing, his mind still clouded, but the audience’s laughter broke the tension.

  Brandon wasn’t just saving the scene—he was saving him.

  Ezra swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to play along.

  Brandon, fully committed to his role, leaned into Ezra, batting his fake eyelashes in the most dramatic way possible.

  “Come now, dear Santa,” he cooed, voice dripping with exaggerated affection. “Tell me, have you been naughty or nice this year?”

  Ezra, still half in a daze, muttered, “Uh… mostly nice?”

  Brandon wiggled his fake hips. “Good enough for me.”

  More laughter from the audience.

  The scene was supposed to end with a small, staged kiss between Santa and Mrs. Claus, but no one had anticipated this version of the scene.

  Brandon, ever the showman, held up Santa’s hat in front of their faces, making exaggerated smooching noises while waving to the crowd behind it.

  The laughter peaked.

  Ezra, meanwhile, had never felt more humiliated in his life.

  It was all pretend. It was a joke. But something about it felt too real, too raw. His nerves still buzzed, his hands still felt wrong.

  Then, from the corner of his eye—movement.

  He turned his head just as the scene ended.

  Ezra’s eyes darted toward the audience, heart hammering against his ribs. The sound of laughter filled the room, swelling like a wave he had no control over. His breath hitched when he saw Julie—laughing.

  His stomach twisted. Was she laughing at him or at the scene? The logical part of his brain tried to reason with him—it was funny. Bruiser was being ridiculous, everyone was laughing. But the emotions flooding his system weren’t listening to logic.

  All he could see was her expression, the way she covered her mouth, shaking her head, eyes crinkled with amusement. It should have been a good thing. Should have been relieving. But instead, it felt like the walls were closing in, the spotlight burning hotter, and the laughter warping into something else entirely. Something that wasn’t lighthearted. Something that felt like mockery.

  And suddenly, the scene wasn’t fun anymore.

  The applause faded into memory, replaced by the soft hum of the car engine as his father drove them home.

  Seth glanced at Ezra, waiting for him to speak first.

  Ezra didn’t.

  The weight of the night pressed against his chest, his mind replaying the scene over and over.

  He should have handled it better.

  He should have remembered his lines.

  He should have been stronger.

  “Wanna talk about it?” Seth finally asked.

  Ezra shook his head, staring out the window. “Not really.”

  His father nodded, not pushing.

  The rest of the drive was silent.

  Ezra needed space.

  Quarantinemas gave him exactly that.

  He spent the break in the countryside, back at Nonna’s house, surrounded by snow-covered woods and quiet mornings.

  The air was cold and crisp, the kind that stung his lungs in the best way when he took deep breaths outside.

  It helped. A little.

  But he still couldn’t shake the feeling of failure.

  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Julie’s face in the audience.

  The way she had cringed.

  The way she had looked away.

  Was she embarrassed for him?

  Or was she embarrassed of him?

  He didn’t know. And that was the worst part.

  His father’s voice echoed in his mind. “Wanna talk about it?”

  He hadn’t wanted to. Not then.

  But now?

  Now, maybe he needed to.

  Because for the first time in a long time, Ezra wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

  The countryside of Turin was quiet under the weight of winter, the rolling hills buried beneath soft blankets of snow. The world outside felt hushed, as if nature itself had slowed down, settling into a long, thoughtful pause.

  Inside Nonna’s cozy home, the scent of wood smoke and fresh herbs lingered in the air, mixing with the warmth of the crackling fireplace. The dim light flickered across the kitchen table, where Ezra sat, poking absently at his food.

  Nonna, busy chopping vegetables for the evening stew, glanced at him.

  “You are too quiet,” she said, not looking up from her work. “Too much thinking. It makes a boy’s head heavy.”

  Ezra let out a small breath. He should’ve known she’d notice.

  There was no fooling Nonna Francesca—not in this house.

  She moved with the practiced patience of someone who had seen too many seasons come and go, stirring the pot on the stove before finally sitting across from him. She wiped her hands on her apron, then rested her chin in her palm, watching him the way only grandmothers could—with knowing eyes.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  Ezra hesitated. He hadn’t told his father much about the play, not really, and he wasn’t sure he even wanted to talk about it.

  But Nonna’s kitchen had always been a place where secrets felt safe.

  He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s stupid.”

  “Ah,” Nonna nodded, as if she already knew where this was going. “The stupid things are always the ones that take up the most space in our minds.”

  Ezra huffed a small laugh despite himself.

  She folded her arms. “Start from the beginning.”

  So he did.

  The play. The stage fright. The laughter.

  Julie.

  By the time he finished, he was staring at his hands, his mind still running in circles, still trapped in that moment. “I know it doesn’t matter,” he admitted. “I know no one’s sitting at home thinking about it. But it just—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It won’t go away.”

  Nonna was quiet for a long moment. Then, she pushed back from the table and stood.

  “Come,” she said, motioning for him to follow.

  Ezra frowned. “Where?”

  “To the fire,” she said simply.

  Curious, he followed her into the living room, where the fireplace crackled softly. Nonna lowered herself into her favorite chair, gesturing for him to sit on the floor beside her.

  Then, she began.

  “There was once a king,” she started, her voice smooth, practiced, the kind that had told a hundred bedtime stories before this one.

  “He ruled over a great and powerful empire, but he had one terrible flaw—he was obsessed with himself.”

  Ezra smirked slightly. “Sounds like some people I know.”

  Nonna gave him a knowing look but continued.

  “This king had a grand mirror, taller than a man, set in the heart of his palace. Every morning, before he spoke to his advisors, before he held court, he would stand in front of it and study his reflection.

  He would turn his head this way and that, checking every detail. Was his crown sitting just right? Was his beard full enough? Did his robes make him look strong, or weak?

  He became so consumed by his own appearance, so certain that every little flaw would be noticed, that he stopped leaving his palace.

  ‘If my people see me looking anything less than perfect,’ he told himself, ‘they will think me unworthy.’

  And so, he stayed locked inside, fixated on himself, afraid of what others might see.”

  Ezra leaned against the couch, arms resting over his knees. “Let me guess—he loses the kingdom?”

  Nonna smiled, her eyes twinkling.

  “Oh, no, caro. He was a good king in many ways. He still ruled, still gave orders. His empire prospered. But here’s the thing.” She leaned in slightly.

  “One day, the mirror cracked.”

  Ezra raised an eyebrow. “And?”

  “And the king,” she said, “was forced to look beyond his own reflection.”

  He frowned slightly. “I don’t get it.”

  Nonna chuckled softly, tapping a finger against his knee. “Listen, Ezrino.”

  “The king, for the first time in his life, looked past himself—past the walls of his palace, past his own fears. And you know what he saw?”

  Ezra shook his head.

  “He saw a world that did not revolve around him.”

  Ezra blinked.

  Nonna smiled. “He saw that his people were not studying him as he had studied himself. They were living their lives—working, loving, laughing, worrying about their own reflections in their own mirrors.”

  She tilted her head slightly. “And that is where you find yourself now, no?”

  Ezra stared into the flames, digesting the meaning behind the story.

  He had spent days trapped in his own head, turning over every detail of that night, as if every pair of eyes in the audience had been watching him as closely as he watched himself.

  But they weren’t.

  Not really.

  Julie had laughed—but had she been laughing at him?

  Or had she simply been caught up in the moment like everyone else?

  The difference was in his mind.

  He exhaled, rubbing his hands together. “So, what—you’re saying people don’t think about me as much as I think they do?”

  Nonna chuckled. “Ezrino, people have far too much in their own heads to carry every little thing they see. You think too much about yourself, and it makes your world feel small. But in reality?”

  She gestured toward the window, where the night stretched beyond the hills. “The world is big, and most people? They are too busy with their own lives, their own worries. Unless you are their friend or their enemy, they will not carry you long.”

  Ezra let the words settle in.

  Unless you are their friend or their enemy, they will not carry you long.

  It made sense.

  It wasn’t cruelty—it was just how people worked.

  The brain could only hold so much.

  “I guess that makes sense,” he admitted.

  Nonna smiled, patting his cheek. “It is human nature. We notice much, but we do not keep much. If we did, our heads would be too full, and we would burn up from the inside out.”

  Ezra chuckled at the thought. “So, what—you’re saying I should just let it go?”

  She gave a small shrug. “I am saying you should remember this: No one watches you as closely as you watch yourself. The moment is gone. Only you are still holding onto it.”

  Ezra sat with that for a long moment.

  And for the first time since the play, he felt like he could breathe again.

  Nonna stood, brushing off her apron. “Now. Eat your food before it gets cold.”

  Ezra smiled.

  Maybe he wasn’t the king of an empire.

  But tonight? He had finally stepped away from his mirror.