Ezra

LIFE IS MESSY

BY THE WONDER WIZARD

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR

Hey there, reader!

First off, thanks for checking out Ezra: Life is Messy. This story has been a long time in the making—a mix of personal growth, ambition, and the messiness of life itself. It’s not about destiny. It’s about the choices we make, the consequences we face, and the people who shape us along the way.

Right now, I’m testing the waters here on Royal Road. To start, I’ll be posting five sub-chapters (2K words each) back-to-back so you can get a feel for the story. After that, I’ll be posting one full chapter (8K words) every week—a weekend drop for those who love to binge and dream.

I appreciate every reader who takes the time to dive into Ezra’s world. Your thoughts, feedback, and support mean the world to me. If you stick around, I promise you one hell of a journey!

See you in the mess.

— The Wonder Wizard

Chapter 1 - Happy Birthday

“Another day, another gift, son! Rise and shine!” Seth called. Ezra’s birthday began with the smell of freshly cooked pancakes and bacon flooding the house with a delightful aroma. Golden rays of sunlight beamed through the remnants of smoke in the kitchen as Seth wrapped up his birthday boy’s breakfast. As Ezra joined his father after washing up, he would be surprised by the light, how it was almost cinematically a spotlight for a carefully wrapped box. “Guess what daaaaay it issss?” Seth hummed.

The boy’s mind was still a little groggy from waking up without an alarm clock. The box was carefully wrapped with kraft paper, and for a brief, mistaken moment the lad thought it was a package for his dad. “Uhhhh… Wednesday?” Seth laughed as he approached the table with breakfast plates in hand. Ezra rubbed away the sleep crust from his eyes while his mind thawed from its sleep. His eyes went wide when the realization struck him. “Ohhhh, it’s my birthday!”

Ezra had been dreaming of this day for weeks. It was a little miracle his birthday was in the middle of spring break. The lad wondered during the days leading up what his gift might be. Was it an awesome new mountain bike? Ooh ooh! No, it was gonna be a model spaceship! Ezra loved space. No wait.. Could it perhaps be one of those fancy hand-held gaming consoles that were the latest craze?

The boy’s mind had been hyped with anticipation, and Seth perhaps neglected to consider how much of a sugar rush the pancake syrup would give Ezra. Ezra practically vibrated in his chair, legs swinging wildly beneath the table as he shoveled another syrup-soaked bite of pancake into his mouth. His eyes sparkled with excitement, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts fueled by weeks of anticipation and the sudden sugar-fueled burst of energy. He barely chewed before launching into another round of interrogation.

“Is it a bike? No, wait—one of those remote-control cars? Or—ooh! Is it a gaming console? Maybe a drone! I bet it’s a drone!” His words tumbled out in rapid-fire bursts, his brain racing faster than his reasoning. His fork waved dangerously in the air as he spoke, syrup dripping onto his plate, but Ezra hardly noticed.

Across the table, Seth chuckled, cutting into his own stack of pancakes with practiced ease. He let his son go on, the boy’s energy infectious in a way that only a ten-year-old’s excitement could be. Ezra was so caught up in his imagination-fueled guessing spree that he didn’t even glance at the small, simply wrapped package sitting right in front of him. The kraft paper crinkled softly under the warm kitchen light, holding the very thing Ezra was waiting for—his father’s past, his own future, and an adventure he had yet to imagine.

But when his father, Seth, grinned and pushed the modestly sized box toward him, Ezra's curiosity overtook his expectations. It wasn’t a large gift, not the kind that held bicycles or gaming devices. Instead, it fit neatly into his hands, the paper crinkling under his fingers as he carefully peeled it away. “Heh heh, simmer down, sport. It’s nothing fancy like that, but I think you might like it.” Seth grinned.

Inside, nestled among layers of tissue paper, was an old, well-worn smartphone.

Ezra blinked. The phone’s edges were scuffed, and its screen, though still intact, had the telltale signs of years of use—tiny scratches that caught the morning light. He turned it over in his hands, confused. This wasn’t just any phone. This was his father’s phone. He looked up at Seth, who was watching him with an expression that was both proud and amused.

“It’s yours now,” Seth said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “Might not be the newest model, but there’s history in that phone. I figured it was time for it to find new hands.”

Ezra’s fingers curled around the device as his mind reeled. His father had always been careful with his belongings, and he never parted with things easily. This was no ordinary gift—it was a piece of his father’s past, something meaningful. Something.. personal.

Ezra loved his father. His mother had passed away back when he was still a little boy. His father had risen to the calling. Where some men might turn to vices or liquor to drown out the pain, Ezra was all the motivation Seth needed to man up and pull through even on the toughest of days. His father worked in construction, a stressful field, an occupation that may leave the inexperienced drained. Seth was tougher than that.

The boy had doubts when he was young. As a kid, he feared he was nothing more than a burden on his father. Someone he was obligated to take care of, not someone he truly cared for. On occasion, Seth may come home silent and frustrated, stressed out over powers beyond Ezra’s control. The boy used to reel and hide away whenever his dad uttered his little mantra of “Don’t let the hard days win”. It was a childish fear.

But Ezra was no longer a child. On his eleventh birthday, he was now his dad’s “lil helper”.

The boy was no stranger to smart-phone technology, he immediately realized the implications. If this was his dad’s phone, it would contain memorabilia infinitely more valuable than any other gift. No toys from online stores would ever compare to such a priceless gift. The phone would no doubt contain photos, videos, audio.. memories. Not only of Seth’s past, but of his mother.

Ezra felt himself choke, the hype replaced with emotions barely bottled up.

Seth chuckled at his son’s stunned expression. “It might be cluttered with old stuff, but you’ll figure it out.” Seth had the foresight to know what kids love to do with phones. Besides playing games, there would be no stopping Ezra from exploring videos on the SolNet. “Just remember, Ezra, if it seems too good to be true, it usually is.” He warned, in case the boy came across advertisements he shouldn’t.

SolNet was the heir to humanity’s first world-wide connection network: the internet. Ezra had watched a few historic documentaries about it curled up with his father late at night during family TV dinner time. The internet had brought about a revolutionary boom in communication, but along with it came unintended consequences. Trolling. SolNet was tailored in a way to reduce such harmful behavior.

Ezra barely registered his father’s words as he pressed the power button. The screen flickered to life, revealing a home screen filled with old apps, some of which he recognized and others that were mysteries waiting to be explored. The wallpaper was an old photo of his father standing in front of a half-built house with mom, looking younger but just as determined as he did now.

“This was your first phone?” Ezra asked, still in awe.

Seth nodded. “Got it back when I was just starting my business. Built my whole company while using that thing. Kept track of blueprints, orders, schedules… it helped me shape what we have today.”

Ezra looked at the phone with newfound respect. This wasn’t just an old phone—it was a tool that had helped build his father’s dreams.

“Come on,” Seth said, gesturing for Ezra to follow him outside. “I’ll show you a few things.”

The backyard was bathed in warm sunlight, and the sound of birds chirping mingled with the distant hum of traffic. Sitting side by side on the wooden steps of their porch, Seth guided Ezra through a few key apps on the phone, ones he had relied on for years.

First, there was Builder Buddy, a construction planning tool filled with old sketches and blueprints. Seth tapped on one of the saved designs, revealing the rough outline of their own home from years ago. It even came equipped with tips and tricks! Old heuristic rule-of-thumb notes his dad saved while building a future for his family.

“You might not need this now,” Seth said with a knowing smile, “but one day, you’ll see the value in organization. Half the battle is having a plan.”

Next was Learn & Tinker, an app packed with brain teasers, logic puzzles, and small engineering challenges. “Keeps your mind sharp,” Seth said, nudging Ezra playfully. “Building anything starts up here first.” He tapped his temple.

Then came Survival Scout, a collection of survival tips ranging from tying knots to building shelters out of natural materials. “I used this back when I worked rough jobs out in the field,” Seth explained. “Never hurts to know the basics. You never know when life’ll throw you into the unknown.” Ezra listened intently, absorbing every word, but his fingers itched to explore the phone on his own. Later that afternoon, when he was finally left alone with his new gift, he wasted no time scrolling through the various apps and files.

There were old text messages, long-forgotten photos of his father’s younger days, and even videos from construction sites Seth had worked on. The more Ezra explored, the more he felt connected to his dad’s past, like he was uncovering hidden pieces of a story that had always been there but never fully shared.

It wasn’t long before his fingers stumbled upon something unexpected—an old video advertisement.

The video began with a cheerful jingle, and soon, a cartoon cow appeared on the screen. It was Ki-Ki the Happy Lion, an animated character that Ezra had never seen before but instantly found amusing. It reminded him of another historical documentary character that lived in a library and taught kids how to read.

Ki-Ki pranced around the screen, pretending to be a pirate one moment, an astronaut the next, and finally a superhero, all while joyfully roaring in between. The bright colors and goofy expressions made Ezra chuckle, and he found himself watching the entire ad without realizing it.

His father’s voice echoed in his mind.

"Don’t believe everything you see in ads, but I won’t stop you from dreaming. Pretending ain’t so bad if it keeps you happy."

Ezra grinned. Maybe his dad had a point. Pretending was fun.

That night, as the house quieted and the world outside settled into darkness, Ezra lay in bed, the phone resting on his chest. His eyes fluttered shut, but his mind was still buzzing with excitement. The old phone was more than just a device—it was a gateway to new ideas, to dreams and adventures waiting to be had.

As he drifted into sleep, the images of Ki-Ki the Lion blended with his imagination. He saw himself as a daring pirate, sailing across the high seas with a band of brave explorers. Then he was an astronaut, floating through space with the stars twinkling around him. Finally, he became a superhero, cape billowing as he leaped from rooftop to rooftop, saving the day.

Ezra's world had suddenly expanded.

He could be anything.

And it had all started with his father’s old phone.

Over the next few weeks, the phone became Ezra’s most prized possession. He carried it everywhere, using it to take notes, sketch ideas in Builder Buddy, and challenge himself with the brain teasers in Learn & Tinker. But most of all, he found himself revisiting the concept of imagination—the very thing that Ki-Ki the Lion had sparked in his mind.

Inspired, Ezra began crafting his own characters and stories. He filled notebook pages with sketches of heroes, inventors, and adventurers. He even experimented with filming short, silly videos on the phone, pretending to be a detective solving mysteries around the house.

One evening, as Seth watched his son run around the backyard, wearing an old sheet as a superhero cape, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Having fun there, champ?” he called out.

Ezra paused, catching his breath. “Yeah! I’m testing my super-speed powers.”

Seth shook his head fondly. “Just remember—imagination’s great, but don’t lose sight of what’s real, okay?”

Ezra grinned. “I know, Dad. But pretending ain’t so bad, right?”

Seth laughed, nodding. “No, son. It sure ain’t.”

And so, with an old phone, a head full of wonder, and a heart ready for adventure, Ezra’s journey into endless possibilities truly began.

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KNOWLEDGE, THRILLS, AND GRAVITY DEFIED

With the herald of summer came warmer weather, and a chance at something incredible. His father, Seth, had made a simple deal: "Impress me with your summer grades, and you get to pick any amusement park in the quadrant." It was the kind of offer that might have been shrugged off by most kids, but for Ezra, it was an irresistible challenge.

Ezra buried his nose in schoolwork, and with determination soaked up information like a sponge! His little hands scrolled through pages on his holo-textbook, absorbing the intricacies of human history, its technological evolution, and more importantly the progress of science. At first it was a mighty struggle, even the other kids of Ezra’s time had difficulty retaining information through sheer memorization. Seth expected the struggle, he was simply biding his time. Waiting for Ezra to come asking for help.

The boy, however, was stubborn in his ways. He aimed to impress his dad, nothing short of such would do. This inevitably leads to frustration.

Seth walked in on Ezra one evening, slumped over his books, defeated. A knowing smile crept across his cheeks. “Are ya learnin’, son?” He asked, holding back a giggle.

Ezra lifted his head from his book with a groan, “Whyyyyyyy!” He slumped back down, holding back tears he did not want his father to see. “Why is learning so haaaaaaaard..” He whined.

Seth sat by the boy’s side, and reassuringly laid his arm around his son, “I don’t think learning is hard. I think you just might be thinking too hard, that’s all. Watch this..” Seth takes a look at the current topic Ezra was going over. It was a history lesson about the past, and the pivotal discovery of the graviton particle. “You’re reading over recent history, but there’s one thing you might have missed. History gives context to the present, son. We weren’t always up in the stars building colonies.”

Seth flips many pages back, and opens up to the first moon landing. “Once upon a time ago, we didn’t have gravity on our side. We had to use these big, massive rockets to get into space.” Ezra’s eyes were drawn to the monument that was the Apollo rocket. It was as tall as a sky-scraper! Much larger than the sleek cargo ships they had today. “Back before the graviton was discovered, humans had to use complicated math to ride explosions up in space. Even the math itself had to be invented one day.”

What Seth said next filled the boy with a fiery blend of curiosity and amazement, “The further back in time you go, the simpler the technology was. Humans had to understand their way through these discoveries, so don’t try to “catch up”, try to understand what challenges were overcome first.”

Fueled by curiosity and the tantalizing reward of heart-pounding rides, Ezra threw himself into his studies with the same enthusiasm that most kids reserved for their favorite holo-games.

He meticulously reviewed lessons on humanity’s dark past, the near-catastrophe of nuclear war, and the pivotal discovery of the graviton particle—the breakthrough that had revolutionized transportation, architecture, and, much to Ezra’s excitement, amusement park rides.

The more he learned, the more he was captivated. Once upon a time, humans had been on the brink of self-destruction, their thirst for power nearly leading to nuclear oblivion. The dead-man switch was erroneously triggered, and that led to a cascade of disaster. But from the ashes of near-tragedy came redemption through science—the discovery of the graviton particle had ushered in an age of technological marvels. Buildings no longer relied on archaic structural supports, vehicles levitated effortlessly, and even amusement parks had evolved beyond the simple thrills of roller coasters.

Now, gravity itself was a plaything.

Ezra aced his classes, earning top marks in history and physics. When the results came in, he rushed to his father, practically bouncing on his toes. "Look! See? I did it!"

Seth grinned as he scanned the report. "Well, I'll be damned," he said, ruffling his son's already messy hair. "You really pulled it off, kid." He leaned back, arms crossed. "Alright. A deal's a deal. Where are we going?"

Ezra didn’t even hesitate. "Luna-Trek Park."

Seth let out a low whistle. "Zero-gravity rides, huh? Going all in, I see."

Ezra beamed. He had spent weeks dreaming about the rides at Luna-Trek, watching endless review videos and reading up on the physics behind them. The amusement park had taken the principles of graviton technology and applied them in ways that made old-world roller coasters look like child’s play. He wasn’t just in it for the thrill—he wanted to see science in action.

Seth smirked. "Alright, kiddo. Pack your bags. We're going on an adventure."

The moment they stepped into Luna-Trek Park, Ezra felt like he had stepped into the future itself. Towers of gleaming grav-inverted structures stretched toward the sky, their supports unnecessary, suspended entirely by graviton fields. Pathways weaved through the air like ribbons, shifting direction at set intervals, allowing guests to walk upside-down one moment and right-side-up the next.

And the rides—the rides were unlike anything on Earth.

Everywhere he looked, people were being launched into the sky, spun in zero-gravity loops, or hurled across massive floating arenas without a single restraint. There were rides that simulated deep-space freefall, others that mimicked black hole physics, and some that toyed with inertia in ways that made no logical sense—until you understood the science behind them.

Ezra practically vibrated with excitement, his heart hammering in his chest as he pointed at the park’s crown jewel—a ride called "The Graviton Gauntlet."

"That one," he said, eyes wide with anticipation.

Seth raised a brow. "You sure? That thing looks like it could turn your insides to jelly."

Ezra laughed. "That's what makes it fun!"

The Graviton Gauntlet wasn’t just a ride—it was a physics experiment in motion. Guests were strapped into individual floating pods, which were then launched through a series of gravitational shifts—one moment, they were experiencing triple Earth’s gravity, and the next, they were weightless, spinning through the air like astronauts in deep space.

As they stepped into the ride’s waiting area, Ezra couldn't stop himself from nerding out.

"Dad, do you know how this works? They use graviton inductors to manipulate our center of gravity inside the pods! They can shift the force field in real-time, adjusting the ride’s intensity without needing any mechanical supports!"

Seth smirked. "Yeah, yeah, professor, just try not to puke in there."

Ezra rolled his eyes. "Come on, Dad. It's science!"

The ride was everything Ezra had hoped for and more.

The moment the launch sequence initiated, he felt the crushing pull of increased gravitational force, pressing him into his seat as though he weighed three times his normal mass. Then—just as suddenly—the pressure disappeared, and he was floating, completely weightless, the world tilting and spinning around him.

For most kids, it was just an adrenaline rush. But for Ezra, it was a lesson come to life.

As the ride flung him through the air, spinning him through loops that defied the very laws of physics, he couldn't stop thinking about the principles behind it. Graviton fields adjusting in real-time. Artificial gravity harnessed and manipulated like a toy. Science wasn’t just in textbooks—it was all around him, shaping the very experiences that thrilled him to his core.

When the ride finally ended, Ezra stumbled out of his pod, his hair a chaotic mess, his heart still racing. Seth clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Well? Worth all that studying?"

Ezra looked up, grinning. "More than worth it."

Seth chuckled. "Good. Because next time, you’re explaining all that science to me before we get on the ride."

Ezra laughed, already thinking about how he could one day push the limits of science even further. This wasn’t just a fun day at the amusement park. It was the beginning of something bigger.

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The stars shone brightly overhead as Ezra and his father walked along the quiet, neon-lit streets of the city, their stomachs still full from a celebratory meal. The amusement park had been everything Ezra had dreamed of and more—a perfect fusion of thrill and knowledge, where science was no longer confined to textbooks but had become something he could feel in his bones.

But even as the excitement from the day still buzzed in his mind, his father’s words lingered.

“So, what’s next?” Seth asked, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “Summer’s over, and you’re starting school soon. What’s your big plan?”

Ezra didn’t even hesitate. “Learn everything I can,” he said, bouncing on his heels. “Physics, engineering, history—maybe even some bio-mechanics! I just… I wanna know it all!” His eyes gleamed with determination, his mind already racing ahead to the first day of school, imagining himself devouring every lesson, jumping from one subject to the next as fast as he could absorb the information.

Seth let out a deep chuckle. “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me one bit.”

Ezra grinned, expecting his father to encourage him further—to tell him to chase knowledge with all the energy he had. But instead, Seth stopped walking and turned to him with a thoughtful expression.

“You ever heard of the old saying, ‘The faster you go, the less you see?’”

Ezra tilted his head. “Uh… no?”

Seth gestured up toward the sky, where the faint silhouette of transport drones zipped across the skyline, moving almost too fast for the eye to follow. “If you were flying one of those at top speed, barely stopping to take in your surroundings, you might cover a lot of ground—but what would you really see? Not much, right?”

Ezra blinked, considering it.

Seth continued, his voice calm but firm. “That’s how it is with learning. It’s not just about how much you take in—it’s about how much you actually understand.” He looked at Ezra meaningfully. “You ever notice how the greatest discoveries didn’t come from people just rushing ahead, jumping from one idea to the next? They came from people thinking, experimenting, learning from mistakes. They took their time.”

Ezra frowned, thinking back to his history lessons. The graviton particle—the very thing that made the rides at the amusement park possible—wasn’t discovered in a single day. It had taken generations of scientists refining ideas, building upon older, simpler concepts until they finally uncovered the breakthrough. Not to mention the sacrifices needed to achieve such a breakthrough.

That history lesson was called “The Fuji Fiasco”, and once upon a long time ago the world’s most brilliant minds came together to stop a disaster from happening. Mt. Fuji had a dormant secret that was ready to blow. At first, geologists thought it was a mega-eruption, but on closer examination it was far worse. The dormant volcano was primed to blow with enough force to wipe out the entire island.

Key Industries, a mega corporation, was the first to sponsor generations of a stabilization project until the disaster was under control. The story was that an unexpected energy source had been sealed up by rare-earth minerals. Over time, the volcano’s heat had eroded the minerals away, and Key Industries created a containment core to isolate the energy source. It came at a heavy cost, but the reward was a revolutionary breakthrough that led to the discovery of the graviton particle.

“So…” Ezra hesitated, piecing it together. “You’re saying… it’s not just about knowing stuff, but understanding how it all connects?”

Seth smiled. “Exactly. The best learners aren’t the ones who rush to be the first with an answer—they’re the ones who slow down, ask the right questions, and really think about what they’re learning.” He ruffled Ezra’s hair. “It’s okay to be excited, kid. But don’t just race to the next big thing. Take your time to actually understand the world you’re so eager to be a part of.”

Ezra nodded slowly, letting the words settle. Maybe knowledge wasn’t just about moving forward—it was about pausing long enough to see the full picture.

As they walked the rest of the way home, Ezra found himself staring up at the night sky, no longer just rushing toward the future—but appreciating the path that would take him there.

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A FIGHT, A GAME, AND AN UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP

The crisp autumn air brought new beginnings, but for Ezra, fall started with a disaster.

The lunchroom buzzed with the usual energy of hungry students, the scent of warm food mixing with the chatter of a hundred voices. Ezra sat at his usual table, flipping through the news feeds on his old smartphone, absorbing the latest updates on physics breakthroughs and graviton applications. He had been in the middle of reading an article about interstellar propulsion theories when a loud voice cut through the din.

"—and my dad says we might even get a house on Elysium Station next year. You know, the one with the floating gardens?"

Ezra barely looked up. The voice belonged to Julie Key, one of the most outspoken kids in their grade. She was loud, confident, and always seemed to have something to brag about. She had a rumored reputation for being a spoiled little brat. Today, it was her family’s wealth.

“My dad says we might even get a personal gravity pool installed in the house,” she continued, smirking as she unwrapped her meal. "Not the cheap kind they sell to regular folks—the real ones. Custom-built."

Julie Key had a presence that was hard to ignore—sharp blue eyes that cut through a conversation like a well-aimed remark, framed by a cascade of ash-blonde hair, always slightly tousled as if she'd just come from an adventure. Her features were a contradiction, a blend of soft elegance and rugged defiance, her fair skin dusted with faint freckles that hinted at time spent outdoors, despite her wealthy upbringing.

She carried herself with an effortless confidence, often crossing her arms or tilting her chin in defiance, as if daring the world to challenge her. Though her clothes were top-tier synth-fabric, a privilege of her family's wealth, she never looked pristine—there was always a loose thread, a scuffed boot, or a grease stain from tinkering with gadgets she probably wasn't supposed to touch. Her expressions ranged from smirks of amusement to scowls of frustration, but when she really smiled—a genuine, fleeting grin—it had the warmth of someone who, deep down, just wanted to belong.

Ezra tried to ignore her, but something about her tone rubbed him the wrong way.

Julie had always been a bit of a show-off, but today, it felt personal. Maybe it was because of how much Ezra’s father had drilled into him the importance of hard work over luxury. Maybe it was because, despite how far humanity had come, some people still thought money meant more than effort. Or maybe—just maybe—he was just in a bad mood.

Either way, he couldn’t stop himself from responding.

"Yeah?" Ezra scoffed, setting his phone down. "Well, my dad built his own company from nothing. No fancy tech to help him. Just his hands and hard work. You ever think about that?"

Julie arched a brow, clearly amused. "Oh, please. People like my dad fund the kind of advancements that make your dad's work easier. If anything, he should be thanking us."

Ezra’s blood boiled.

The next few moments were a blur. Heated words were exchanged, tempers flared, and before either of them knew what happened, food trays were shoved, fists were swung, and Ezra found himself pinned to the ground, wrestling with Julie in the middle of the lunchroom.

The cafeteria erupted into chaotic amusement as Ezra and Julie’s argument reached its boiling point. It started with words—heated, sharp, and biting—but words quickly turned into action when Julie, in a moment of theatrical arrogance, flicked a grape at Ezra’s forehead. It bounced off with a soft plop, but to Ezra, it might as well have been a gauntlet thrown at his feet. Without thinking, he grabbed a handful of mashed protein substitute from his tray and flung it in retaliation.

That was the moment all hell broke loose.

Julie dove across the table, tackling Ezra with the grace of an untrained wrestler, sending trays and utensils clattering to the floor. Ezra, caught off guard but determined not to lose, grabbed her sleeve, and the two tumbled onto the ground, rolling dramatically over a spilled carton of synth-milk. The other students didn’t know whether to cheer or call for a teacher, so instead, they did what any responsible kids would do—formed a circle around the brawl, yelling encouragements like it was a professional match.

Julie, leveraging her advantage, pinned Ezra’s shoulders down, her face a mix of triumph and mischief. "Give up, nerd!" she taunted.

"Not a chance, princess!" Ezra twisted free, managing to grab a discarded bread roll and, in an act of ultimate pettiness, squished it against her cheek.

Julie let out a furious squawk, launching herself back at him, but by then, the teachers had arrived—pulling them apart, separating the flailing limbs and outraged glares. The cafeteria groaned in disappointment, their entertainment cut short, and as the two combatants were dragged toward the principal’s office, their clothes stained with food and pride slightly bruised, one thing was certain—this wasn’t over.

By the time the teachers dragged them apart, the damage had been done. Ezra’s shirt was stained with Julie’s spilled drink, her backpack lay flung across the floor, and the entire cafeteria was staring at them in stunned silence.

Minutes later, he was sitting in the principal’s office, dreading the inevitable call to his father.

The office smelled like old leather and sterilized air, the kind of place designed to make kids feel small. Ezra sat stiffly in the chair, arms crossed, eyes locked on the floor as he waited. Julie sat across from him, equally miserable, though she masked it behind an unbothered expression.

Principal Holloway—a severe-looking woman with gray-streaked hair and an uncanny ability to make students sweat—sighed, folding her hands on the desk. “Fighting. In the cafeteria.” She shook her head. "This isn't just a minor offense. This is grounds for expulsion.”

Ezra’s heart plummeted. Expelled? Over one fight?

Just then, the door swung open, and in walked Seth—Ezra’s father.

Seth’s face was unreadable, but his presence alone was enough to make Ezra shift uncomfortably in his seat. His dad wasn’t the kind of man who got angry easily. When he was disappointed, though? That was worse.

“I’m sorry about this,” Seth said, shaking the principal’s hand. “What do we need to do to fix it?”

Principal Holloway exhaled. “Normally, we’d issue a suspension, but given the severity of the altercation, we’re looking at a possible expulsion.”

Ezra felt cold fear grip his chest. But then, to his surprise, Seth leaned back and smirked. "That seems a little harsh, don’t you think? Kids fight. They learn. What if, instead of kicking them out, we make them work together?"

Principal Holloway raised a brow. "And how do you propose we do that?"

Seth turned to Julie and Ezra. "You two ever hear of hostage negotiation?"

Julie and Ezra exchanged confused glances.

Seth pulled out two old walkie-talkies from his pocket and set them on the desk. “Here’s the deal. You each have something the other wants.” He gestured to Ezra. “Your phone stays with Julie.” Then he turned to Julie. “And your backpack—especially that little teddy bear charm you seem to care about? That stays with the Ezra.”

Julie visibly stiffened at that.

Seth continued, voice calm but firm. “If you want your stuff back, you’re gonna have to negotiate through these.” He tapped the walkie-talkies. “You’ll spend the next few weeks talking to each other. Learning to compromise. Figure it out, and you both get your things back.”

Ezra and Julie gawked at him.

The principal hesitated, then slowly nodded. “An unconventional approach… but I like it.”

Julie groaned. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

But it was already decided.

The two of them had just been sentenced to forced communication.

The first week was a disaster.

Ezra and Julie spent most of their time yelling insults into the radios, neither willing to give an inch.

Ezra: "Just admit you’re wrong, and we can be done with this!"

Julie: "Ha! You first, nerd!"

Ezra: "You’re impossible!"

Julie: "And you’re annoying!"

Neither one of them wanted to lose. Neither one wanted to admit they had anything in common.

That evening, as Ezra sat on the edge of his bed, gripping the walkie-talkie in frustration, Seth leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching his son stew in silent irritation. Ezra had spent the last hour yelling into the radio, throwing out demands that Julie refused to meet, and now all he had to show for it was a throbbing headache and a growing sense of defeat. His father, ever the observer, let the silence linger before speaking.

“You know, kid,” Seth finally said, his voice calm but firm, “you’re not always gonna be able to fight your way out of every problem.” Ezra didn’t respond, but his fingers tightened around the walkie-talkie, his frustration still simmering. Seth stepped forward and sat beside him, resting his elbows on his knees. “Words are thoughts, and thoughts are words. The moment you stop throwing punches—physically or verbally—you get to the real problem. You get to understanding.” He gave Ezra a knowing look. “Most disagreements? They don’t need fists. They just need someone willing to listen.”

Ezra exhaled sharply, his emotions still tangled, the rush of pride and anger clouding his judgment. “She’s just so—so—stubborn,” he muttered.

Seth chuckled. “Sounds familiar.”

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

Ezra frowned but didn’t argue, because deep down, he knew his dad was right. The frustration didn’t fade immediately—it never did—but as he stared at the walkie-talkie, his father’s words took root. Maybe—just maybe—if he stopped shouting to win, and started listening to learn, he’d actually get somewhere.

By week two Something changed.

The shouting lessened. The conversations lasted longer. Ezra started asking actual questions instead of just throwing accusations.

And Julie… answered.

She admitted that she didn’t actually care about being rich. What she cared about was her dad—who was gone most of the year, traveling for business. The bragging? It was just a defense mechanism.

Ezra, in turn, explained that he wasn’t jealous—he just hated the idea that money meant more than effort.

By week three, they weren’t just talking—they were laughing.

By week four, they weren’t just rivals anymore.

They were friends.

And on the last day of fall, they met in person, exchanged their trinkets, and kept the walkie-talkies as a symbol of everything they’d learned.

As Seth watched them finally shake hands, he grinned and muttered under his breath:

"Now that’s a lesson worth learning."

The crisp air of late December carried the quiet anticipation of Quarantinemas, a time when the world finally slowed down. It was a holiday born out of ancient struggles, when humanity had faced a devastating plague and emerged with a newfound appreciation for rest and togetherness. Instead of celebrating separate holidays like Christmas and New Year, people had fused them into one long, two-week period of peace, where families gathered, work halted for all but essential workers, and life became about simple joys—warm food, shared stories, and the kind of laughter that only came when there were no deadlines looming.

Ezra was looking forward to spending time with his dad, eating way too much food, and maybe even watching some old space exploration documentaries that Seth always recommended. But as he sat on the school steps after class, fiddling with his walkie-talkie, he couldn’t help but notice the way Julie sat beside him, unusually quiet, her usual sharp wit subdued. When he finally nudged her, she let out a sigh.

“My dad’s working overtime again,” she muttered, kicking a stray pebble. “Mom and I’ll have Quarantinemas alone. It’s… fine, I guess. Just another year.”

Ezra frowned. He had seen her dad a handful of times on the news—always rushing from one task to the next, exhaustion etched into his face. Essential workers still had jobs to do, and Julie’s dad was one of them. Ezra wasn’t sure what to say at first, but then, glancing at the walkie-talkie clutched in his hands, an idea sparked.

“Well… you don’t have to be alone,” he said, holding up the device with a small grin. “We have these now. We can still talk. I mean, it’s not the same as hanging out in person, but… I dunno. Might be nice to have company.”

Julie blinked, staring at him for a second before her lips curved into a small, genuine smile—not the smug, teasing kind she usually wore, but something softer. Before Ezra could react, she threw her arms around him in a quick but fierce hug.

“Thanks, nerd,” she mumbled.

Ezra, caught completely off guard, awkwardly patted her back, his face burning. “Uh—y-yeah, sure. No problem.”

As she pulled away, still smiling, Ezra realized that for the first time since they had met, Julie looked a little less alone—and maybe, just maybe, Quarantinemas wouldn’t be so bad after all.

----------------------------------------

A FATHER’S CARE AND WORDS OF WISDOM

The winter winds howled outside, whispering through the gaps in the city’s towering structures, a haunting lullaby carried on the breath of a world wrapped in frost. Inside, cocooned in the warmth of heavy blankets, Ezra lay confined to his bed, his body caught in the grip of fever. His head ached, his limbs felt like lead, and every breath came with the weight of exhaustion.

The fever pressed down on Ezra like a leaden weight, his body caught in a relentless cycle of burning heat and bone-deep chills. His skin felt too tight, his limbs heavy, as if gravity had doubled just for him. Sweat dampened his brow, yet he shivered beneath the layers of blankets his father had tucked around him. His head throbbed with a dull, unrelenting ache, each pulse a reminder of his body’s ongoing battle. His throat, raw and scratchy, protested even the smallest swallow, and the simple act of breathing felt like dragging air through sandpaper.

The worst part wasn’t the pain, though—it was the exhaustion. The kind that seeped into his very bones, making every blink a fight to stay present. His mind drifted in and out of focus, thoughts slipping like water through his fingers. Even watching the fireworks on the screen felt like a monumental effort, his vision blurring as he forced himself to stay awake. He wanted to be part of the world outside, to feel the excitement, the celebration—but instead, he was trapped in his own fevered haze, every moment stretching endlessly, every second marked by the rhythmic pounding of his pulse in his skull.

The golden glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across the room, illuminating the modest yet well-kept space. A half-empty bowl of broth sat on the nightstand, steam curling upward like a ghost dissipating into the dim light. His father, Seth, sat beside him, his steady presence a silent anchor against the discomfort of illness.

Seth wasn’t the kind of man to fuss, but there was a quiet attentiveness in the way he adjusted the covers when Ezra shivered, in the way he refilled his cup without being asked, and in the way he sat patiently, never once letting his son feel alone. Outside, the world carried on without them—celebrations, laughter, and the distant hum of excitement—but within these walls, time moved differently, measured not by festivities but by the slow rise and fall of Ezra’s breath.

Tonight was special, even if Ezra was too sick to fully enjoy it. The New Year’s space elevator drop—the grandest spectacle of the season—was unfolding high above the planet, a dazzling display of human ingenuity and ambition. Thousands gathered at the base of the towering elevator, their breath misting in the cold as they craned their necks to watch the descent. The massive transport, carrying dignitaries, dreamers, and those seeking a fresh start, glided downward from the orbital station, a sleek titan of steel and glass against the ink-black sky.

Ezra couldn’t be there in person. He could barely sit up. But even through the feverish haze, he found himself captivated by the broadcast playing on the room’s display screen. The fireworks ignited in synchronized bursts, an explosion of colors that stretched across the heavens, reflecting off the sleek panels of the descending elevator. It was as if the stars themselves had been set alight, each flickering ember a fleeting wish burning against the vastness of space.

The colors danced in Ezra’s tired eyes, the brilliance of the moment cutting through his feverish state. He felt the bed shift slightly as his father eased onto the mattress beside him, a steady hand coming to rest gently on his shoulder. Ezra leaned into his father’s warmth, feeling the solid reassurance of the man who had always been his guidepost, his unwavering constant.

For a long moment, they simply watched. The glow of the fireworks casting shifting patterns across the walls. Then, in that way only fathers can, Seth spoke—not to fill the silence, but because some words were meant to be given in quiet moments like this.

“You know, Ezra,” he began, his voice low and calm, a river smoothing the edges of stones with each syllable, “life’s gonna throw a lot at you. Some days, it’ll feel easy—like those fireworks up there, just lighting up the sky, no trouble at all.”

Ezra blinked slowly, his fevered mind drifting somewhere between exhaustion and clarity. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. Seth knew he was listening.

“But other days?” His father exhaled softly, his grip on Ezra’s shoulder tightening just a fraction. “It’ll be like climbing that space elevator all alone, with no end in sight. Step after step, higher and higher, feeling like you’re getting nowhere.”

Ezra swallowed, his throat dry, but he stayed silent. There was something about the way his father spoke—not just words, but experience, the weight of a man who had seen hard days, who had climbed his own endless elevator.

Seth’s gaze remained on the screen, the flickering lights reflecting in his dark eyes. “Here’s the thing, kid,” he continued, “it’s not the easy days that make you who you are. It’s the tough ones. The ones that push you to your limits. The ones where you feel like you can’t take another step, but you do anyway. Those are the days that matter most.”

Ezra’s eyelids fluttered. His head felt heavy, the warmth of his father’s arm grounding him even as exhaustion pulled at him. He didn’t understand all of it yet—not fully—but something in his father’s words burrowed deep, embedding itself in the fabric of his being.

Seth finally turned to look at him, his expression softening. “And listen, Ezra,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “when things get hard—really hard—don’t fight the world. Listen to it. Sometimes, the answers aren’t in your head. They’re in what’s happening around you. If you can stop, pay attention, and listen, you’ll always find a way forward.”

Outside, the fireworks reached their climax, the sky ablaze with a final, breathtaking cascade of colors. Inside, the room grew still, save for the quiet hum of the heater and the faint, rhythmic sound of Ezra’s breathing.

Seth gave his son’s shoulder one last squeeze, a silent reassurance before leaning back against the headboard. “You’re gonna be okay, Ezra,” he murmured. “Just remember—look up, even when it’s tough. Don’t let the hard days win.”

And with that, the words settled. Not as fleeting advice, but as something more—something Ezra would carry with him long after the fever faded, long after the fireworks became nothing more than a memory.

Because in that quiet space, amidst the glow of the screen and the warmth of his father’s presence, Ezra understood something deeper than words alone.

Some lessons aren’t just told.

They are felt.

And this moment, this lesson—wrapped in warmth and whispered in the glow of dying fireworks—was one he would never forget.

Ezra lay buried under blankets, fever clinging to him like a second skin. His fingers trembled as he grabbed the walkie-talkie, bringing it to his mouth.

"This is Space Cadet Ezra, calling Mission Control. Do you copy?"

A pause. Then, static crackled before Julie’s voice came through, laced with amusement.

"Mission Control here. You sound awful, Cadet."

"Yeah, well, fever’s got me in its grip. The soup’s turned against me. If I don’t make it, tell my father I fought bravely."

Julie snorted. "Taken out by soup. That’s tragic."

Ezra smirked, shifting weakly. He didn’t expect her to answer tonight—she was probably at some fancy party, surrounded by people who never worried about things like scraped-together credits. But here she was.

"You know," he murmured, "people think you’re just some rich daddy’s girl."

Julie was quiet for a moment. "I know."

"I never did. I saw you."

Her voice softened. "And you don’t act like some scrappy space rat. So I guess we’re even."

Ezra smiled. "Tell me something weird you love."

Julie hummed. "The sound of rain on glass."

"Huh. That’s nice."

"Your turn, nerd."

"Black holes," Ezra said without hesitation. "The way they bend light. Time slows near them. It’s like the universe wrote a cheat code."

Julie didn’t laugh. She listened. "You really love this stuff."

"Yeah. I know it’s weird."

"No," she said. "I think it’s kind of sweet."

Ezra swallowed. No one had ever called it that before.

"You know," Julie mused, "people don’t have to like the same things to understand each other. You love space. I love rain. But maybe… we love them for the same reason."

Ezra blinked. "That’s actually profound."

"I have my moments," she teased. "Now get some rest, Cadet. Mission Control will be here when you wake up."

Ezra smiled as sleep pulled him under, knowing that somewhere out there, someone was listening.

----------------------------------------

Chapter 2 - Growing Bonds and Shared Ambitions

The scent of spring was thick in the air, mingling fresh grass, blooming flowers, and the faint metallic tang of the city’s ever-present hum. The world seemed alive again, shaking off the cold grip of winter, and nowhere was this more apparent than at Alley’s Scoop Shop, a tiny, hole-in-the-wall ice cream parlor tucked between two towering structures. The neon sign flickered erratically above the entrance, buzzing like an old radio caught between stations.

Inside, Ezra and Julie sat across from each other in one of the few booths, remnants of birthday cake-flavored ice cream melting in their cups. Ezra was savoring his last few bites, while Julie had devoured hers with reckless abandon, now licking her spoon with an air of smug satisfaction.

"See? This is why you take your time," Ezra said, gesturing toward his nearly full cup. "I still have ice cream, and you don’t."

Julie rolled her eyes, slumping dramatically against the booth. "And yet, I am satisfied. Because ice cream is meant to be eaten, not hoarded like some dragon’s treasure."

"It’s not hoarding," Ezra countered. "It’s strategic consumption."

Julie smirked. "And yet, here we are. Me, content. You, still holding onto something that was meant to be enjoyed in the moment."

Ezra blinked at her, then frowned at his melting ice cream. "…I don’t like that you just made a really deep point about dessert."

"You’ll get used to it," Julie said, stealing his spoon and taking a bite before he could react.

Despite his protest ("Julie! That’s theft!"), the moment set the tone for the rest of the summer.

Ezra stared in horror at the empty spoon Julie had just swiped from his hand, the stolen bite of birthday cake ice cream already melting on her tongue. She had the audacity to smirk at him, eyes glinting with unapologetic mischief as she chewed with exaggerated slowness.

"Julie," Ezra said, voice flat. "That was mine."

"Correction," Julie replied, licking the spoon clean with an infuriating amount of smugness. "It was yours. Now it's mine."

Ezra groaned, slumping against the booth. "You are the worst kind of person. You belong in a maximum-security prison for that level of theft."

Julie shrugged. "Worth it. Your suffering makes it taste better."

He narrowed his eyes, staring at the meager amount of ice cream left in his cup. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached for his spoon, took a slow, deliberate bite, and sighed dramatically. "Mmm. Wow. This last bit? Probably the best ice cream I’ve ever had. Too bad some people will never experience it."

Julie raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah," Ezra said, smirking now. "It’s like… if the universe itself crafted the perfect balance of sweet and creamy, a celestial masterpiece only meant for the most worthy of souls. Which, tragically, does not include you."

Julie snorted, shaking her head. "You really think that’s gonna make me jealous?"

"No," Ezra admitted, then grinned. "But it makes me feel morally superior, and that’s what matters."

Julie rolled her eyes, but she laughed anyway, bumping her shoulder against his. "You’re such a dork."

"And yet, you keep stealing my food."

"Well," she said, flashing a grin, "you do make it look delicious."

Ezra sighed in mock defeat, shaking his head. He should have been mad, but somehow, with Julie, frustration never quite took hold. No matter how much she teased, how much she pushed his buttons, he couldn’t help but enjoy it—because beneath all her antics, there was an unspoken trust between them. A quiet understanding that, no matter how much they bickered, neither of them would ever really let the other go hungry.

And in the grand scheme of things, losing a few spoonfuls of ice cream seemed like a small price to pay for that.

As the days stretched long and golden, Ezra and Julie made it their mission to explore every corner of the city that they were allowed (and some that they weren’t). Museums became their second home, vast halls of history and science offering endless debates and discoveries.

Julie would pull Ezra toward artifacts from ancient civilizations, her eyes practically glowing as she ran her fingers over glass displays. "Can you imagine living back then? No digital archives, no history on demand—you had to remember everything, or write it down by hand."

"Or just make it up," Ezra mused. "That’s probably how half of history happened."

Julie groaned. "Don’t say that. That’s exactly what the White Coats want—for people to think history doesn’t matter."

Ezra shrugged. "I’m not saying it doesn’t matter. I’m saying that, statistically, at least one king probably exaggerated his war stories just a little."

Julie stared at him for a long moment before nodding. "Okay, yeah, I’ll give you that one."

In turn, Ezra dragged Julie into exhibits on space travel, black hole physics, and gravitational manipulation. He would launch into excited explanations about how wormholes might be real, how gravity was less a force and more of a curvature in spacetime, how—

"Ezra," Julie interrupted one day, "you talk about science like it’s a fairytale."

Ezra blinked. "Because it is," he said simply. "Every discovery is like turning the page of a book you didn’t know existed."

Julie stared at him for a long moment before saying, "You’re weird."

"Thank you."

Despite their wildly different interests, their curiosity and sense of adventure bound them together. They made an unspoken deal—Ezra would let Julie ramble about ancient civilizations as long as she let him wax poetic about space, and somehow, it worked.

Their walkie-talkies, once used for childish games of hostage negotiation in the past, became their lifeline during the humid summer nights. The city would quiet, the buzz of activity dimming to a low hum, but their voices crackled through the static like secret messages from another world.

"Okay," Julie said one night, voice softened by exhaustion, "hypothetical scenario. You have to live in any time period except this one. Where do you go?"

"The future," Ezra answered immediately.

"Ugh, that’s cheating."

"It is not cheating," he defended. "You never said I had to pick the past. The future is unknown, full of potential, and I want to see how far we go."

Julie huffed. "Fine. But what if the future sucks? Like, what if everything collapses and you end up living in a tin shack in the middle of a radioactive wasteland?"

"Then I’d figure something out. Science always finds a way."

"You put way too much faith in science," Julie teased.

"And you put way too much faith in history," Ezra shot back.

"History has answers."

"Science creates them."

There was a pause before Julie admitted, "Okay, that was kind of a cool response."

Their personalities, once seeming at odds, now complemented each other in ways neither of them fully understood. Julie’s fire pushed Ezra to think beyond his comfort zone, while Ezra’s steady logic grounded Julie’s wild ambitions.

One night, in a moment of unfiltered honesty, Julie confessed, "I always thought people just saw me as some rich girl who only cared about fancy parties and expensive vacations."

"I didn’t," Ezra said, no hesitation.

Julie blinked. "Why not?"

"Because you care too much about things that matter to waste time on all that."

For once, Julie was speechless.

Seth saw the changes in his son over the summer—the confidence in his voice, the ease with which he debated and dreamed. He watched the way Ezra would come home from their adventures, eyes bright with ideas, voice animated in a way it never had been before.

"You two are quite the pair," Seth mused one evening, watching as Ezra and Julie sat at the kitchen table, poring over an old map of the city’s pre-collapse ruins.

"She’s a menace," Ezra said fondly.

Julie smirked. "And yet, you keep me around."

"I tolerate you."

"Oh please. You love me."

Seth chuckled, ruffling Ezra’s hair as his son rolled his eyes. "You know, kid, you’re lucky to have a friend like Julie."

Ezra looked at his father, expression sincere. "I know."

Julie sat up, crossing her arms. "And Ezra’s lucky to have a friend like me."

Seth laughed. "That’s exactly what I just said."

Ezra smirked at Julie. "She just likes hearing it twice."

Julie kicked him under the table.

Ezra twirled the last remnants of his ice cream with his spoon, eyes distant as he mulled over their ongoing debate.

"You know," he said, grinning slightly, "I think part of the reason I love science so much is because it feels like magic you can actually learn. Like, roleplaying a wizard is fun and all, but imagine if you could actually control gravity. That would be—"

"—pretend," Julie cut in, wrinkling her nose. "I never got the appeal of playing pretend. It always reminded me of the White Coats."

Ezra blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. He tilted his head. "The White Coats?"

Julie rolled her eyes, stabbing at the table with her spoon. "You know. The people who act like they own history. Like my dad always says—'They don’t just rewrite history. They manufacture it.'"

Ezra leaned in, intrigued. "Okay, you might need to explain that one. I mean, I know they’re rich, I know they control the news and all, but…'

"They don’t just control the news, Ezra," Julie said, folding her arms. "They control what people think. They started popping up a few centuries back, but their whole thing is making sure people remember history their way."

"And that’s different from normal historians because…?"

Julie’s face contorted like she was personally offended by the question. "Because normal historians actually care about finding the truth! White Coats? They just make stuff up!"

Ezra frowned. "Okay, give me an example."

Julie didn’t even hesitate. "Bajookieland."

Ezra’s eyes widened. "Oh no. Not Bajookieland."

Julie threw her hands up. "YES! BAJOOKIELAND! The greatest, most powerful empire that never existed! The White Coats push this absolutely unhinged narrative that, while Rome was fumbling around with wooden spears, Bajookieland was out here waging wars against gods and riding dragons into battle!"

Ezra started laughing, but Julie wasn’t done.

"They say Bajookieland had cities bigger than Rome, bigger than anything, but oh—conveniently, not a single artifact remains! Not one! No ruins, no texts, no graves—just ‘lost to time’ because of some vague catastrophe."

"To be fair," Ezra wheezed between laughs, "it does sound kind of fun."

Julie groaned. "Ezra, you cannot take them seriously!"

"I don’t take them seriously, but come on! Bajookieland is kind of a meme at this point."

"A meme that makes people dumber," Julie shot back. "People believe in Bajookieland more than they do actual history. No one wants to read about ancient Rome struggling with bad plumbing when they could hear about Bajookieland's golden airships powered by soul magic."

"You made that last part up," Ezra accused.

Julie grinned. "Yeah, but you believed it for a second, didn’t you?"

Ezra opened his mouth to argue—but she wasn’t wrong.

They sat in silence for a moment before Ezra finally sighed, nodding in reluctant agreement. "Okay. You win. The White Coats are ridiculous."

Julie beamed, and before he could react, she threw her arms around him in a quick, triumphant hug. "Good. I’m rubbing off on you."

Ezra stiffened for a moment before awkwardly patting her back. "Uh… glad I could… see the light?"

Julie pulled away with a smirk. "As a reward for your enlightenment, I guess I could help you study for real history."

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You mean actually study, or is this another excuse for you to come over and play pretend?"

Julie gasped dramatically. "How dare you suggest such a thing! I am a serious academic!"

"Right," Ezra said dryly. "So serious that the last time you ‘helped’ me study, we ended up building an entire fictional kingdom where you ruled as Empress Julie the Unyielding."

"Hey, at least my kingdom had realistic infrastructure. Unlike Bajookieland!"

Ezra burst into laughter again, and Julie joined in, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all. Maybe she hated pretend, but she’d make an exception for Ezra—because unlike the White Coats, he never tried to rewrite reality. He just wanted to make it fun.

And if she had to endure a little make-believe to keep hanging out with him, well… she supposed that wasn’t so bad.

As the days grew longer and their dreams grew bigger, one thing became clear—this was only the beginning.

----------------------------------------

GROWTH, TEASING, AND THE MARK OF DESTINY

The first time Ezra noticed it, he thought it was a trick of the bathroom light. He leaned in closer to the mirror, squinting as he rubbed his fingers over his upper lip. It was there—undeniable. The fine, soft hairs forming his very first mustache had a distinct and unexpected trait: a single streak of stark white running through the right side.

His stomach twisted. Was this… normal?

His father, Seth, had always joked that growing up came with surprises, but Ezra wasn’t sure he liked this surprise. He tugged at the white hairs, wondering if they would just fall out. They didn’t.

“Dad?” he called hesitantly, stepping out of the bathroom, his voice carrying an unusual edge of unease.

Seth glanced up from his seat on the couch, where he had been scrolling through his work tablet. He took one look at Ezra’s troubled expression and smirked. “Finally noticed, huh?”

Ezra blinked. Finally?

“What do you mean ‘finally’?” He approached his father cautiously, fingers still hovering near his mustache like he could will the streak away. “Has this always been there? What is it? Am I—am I sick or something?”

Seth chuckled, setting his tablet down. “Come here, kid.”

Ezra hesitated, then stepped forward. His father reached out and ruffled his hair, then leaned back and turned his own head slightly to the side, pulling back the dark strands near his temple.

Ezra’s eyes widened.

There it was—his father’s own white streak, running like a thin lightning bolt through his thick, dark hair.

“It’s a family thing,” Seth explained. “We get these white streaks young. It’s not a disease, and it’s not some weird mutation. It’s just… stress.”

Ezra furrowed his brows. “Stress? But I’m twelve.”

Seth laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, life hits us different. I had mine by the time I was fourteen, but you? You’ve always been a deep thinker. Wouldn’t surprise me if your brain’s been working overtime since birth.”

Ezra let out a slow breath, still processing. He wasn’t a freak, then. He wasn’t sick. But still, the unease in his chest didn’t fully fade.

“Hey.” Seth nudged his son’s chin with a knuckle. “Don’t let it bother you. It’s just hair, kid. It doesn’t change who you are.”

Even after his dad’s reassurance, Ezra couldn’t shake the gnawing discomfort in his gut. It wasn’t just about the hair itself—it was what it meant. What if it made him look weird? What if people thought he was some kind of freak? It wasn’t like other kids had streaks of white popping up on their faces. Would it just get worse? Would his whole head turn white before he even hit sixteen? The thought made his stomach twist. He wasn’t sure which was worse—the idea of looking different or the feeling that something wasn’t normal about him.

Ezra nodded slowly, but as he retreated to his room, his mind churned. His father made it sound simple, but the truth was, things like this did change how people saw you.

And he wasn’t wrong.

The mall was the worst.

Ezra had barely stepped into the air-conditioned space before a group of boys near the arcade caught sight of him.

“Whoa, dude, is that, like, old man hair?” one of them snickered, pointing directly at Ezra’s mustache.

“Dang, bro, you skipping puberty and going straight to grandpa?” another one jeered, and the group burst into laughter.

Ezra clenched his jaw, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked past them, pretending he didn’t hear. But the words still sank deep, making his stomach twist uncomfortably.

The food court wasn’t any better. While waiting in line for a soda, he caught a pair of girls whispering behind their hands, sneaking glances at him before giggling. He tried to ignore them, but he could feel his ears burning.

Was it that weird? Was he really the only one? By the time he found a table, he wasn’t hungry anymore.

Then Julie plopped down across from him, her tray overflowing with a ridiculous amount of fries. She didn’t even look at him at first, just casually stole a fry and popped it into her mouth before giving him a sideways glance.

“What’s with the long face, Grandpa?” she teased.

Ezra groaned, slumping forward. “Not you too.”

Julie grinned, nudging his tray with her finger. “Relax. I think it’s kinda neat.”

Ezra scoffed. “Oh yeah? You wanna trade?”

“Nah, it suits you.” She grabbed another fry, munching thoughtfully before smirking. “Maybe it’s a mark of destiny.”

Ezra raised an eyebrow. “A what?”

Julie leaned in dramatically, lowering her voice. “Think about it. Legendary heroes always have some kinda weird mark, right? A scar, a glowing eye, a streak of silver hair that shows they’ve got powers beyond mortal comprehension?” She gestured wildly with her hands before pointing at him. “Boom. That’s you.”

Ezra blinked. “You just made that up.”

Julie shrugged, grinning. “Maybe. But you gotta admit, it makes a better story than ‘oh no, my mustache is quirky.’”

Despite himself, Ezra laughed. “Okay, that was a little funny.”

Julie leaned back, looking smug. “See? And anyway, if anyone messes with you about it, just tell them your ancient bloodline is awakening, and soon you’ll unlock god-tier powers. That’ll shut them up.”

Ezra shook his head, but for the first time that day, he didn’t feel as self-conscious. Maybe Julie was onto something. Maybe it was kinda cool.

Or at the very least, maybe he could fake it until he believed it.

And that?

That was a start.

That night, after an exhausting day of overthinking and dodging remarks about his mustache, Ezra sat on the edge of the bathroom sink, watching as his dad rummaged through a drawer. Seth pulled out an old-fashioned safety razor, a can of shaving cream, and a pack of fresh blades, setting them on the counter with the same practiced ease he used when fixing the car or working on home repairs.

"Alright, kid," Seth said, leaning on the counter, his expression amused but patient. "Time to teach you one of the great mysteries of manhood—shaving without butchering yourself in the process."

Ezra huffed. "I don’t even have a real mustache yet."

Seth smirked, giving his son’s upper lip a scrutinizing glance. "Sure you do—if you squint hard enough. But hey, better to learn now before you wake up one day looking like a werewolf and have no clue what you’re doing."

Ezra rolled his eyes, but curiosity flickered in his chest as his dad picked up the can of shaving cream and shook it.

"First lesson—never rush shaving," Seth said, pressing the nozzle and spraying a puff of cool foam into his palm. "This isn’t about speed. It’s about method." He reached out and smeared the lather across Ezra’s upper lip and chin. The shaving cream was cold, and Ezra shivered slightly at the sensation.

"What’s the point of the foam?" Ezra asked, running his fingers over the thick layer.

Seth grinned. "Good question. Shaving cream does two things. First, it softens your hair and makes it stand up, which makes it easier to cut. Second, it protects your skin. If you ever try to dry shave, you’re gonna learn the hard way why it’s a terrible idea."

Ezra frowned. "So what happens if I just go at it without this stuff?"

Seth leaned in like he was about to share a dark secret. "You get razor burn. Ingrown hairs. Bleeding." He waggled his fingers like a horror movie ghost. "The cursed red bumps of doom."

Ezra grimaced. "Gross."

"Exactly," Seth said, rinsing his hands. "Now, here’s how you hold the razor. Light pressure. You’re guiding it, not trying to carve a turkey. And always—always—shave with the grain, not against it. Your hair grows in a certain direction, and if you fight it, you’ll pay for it."

Ezra nodded as he took the razor from his father, gripping it carefully. He hesitated for a moment, staring at his reflection, the white lather making him look ridiculous. Then, he placed the blade against his skin and slowly dragged it downward.

At first, it seemed easy. The razor glided over the foam, leaving smooth skin in its wake. But as he worked around his chin, he got a little overconfident. He pressed a bit too hard, moved a bit too fast—

And—

"Ow!"

Ezra flinched as a thin sting cut across his skin. A drop of red bloomed under his jawline.

Seth winced sympathetically but didn’t panic. Instead, he grabbed a piece of toilet paper, tore a small square, and pressed it to the cut. "Congratulations. You’ve officially joined the ‘Every Guy Who’s Ever Shaved Has Done This’ Club."

Ezra groaned, holding the tissue in place. "I failed shaving."

Seth chuckled. "Nah, you just got cocky. Everyone nicks themselves at first. The trick is remembering why—too much pressure, wrong angle, or rushing. If you take your time and follow the steps, you’ll get the hang of it."

Ezra exhaled, nodding slowly. "Okay. I get it now. Shaving isn’t just hacking hair off your face. It’s… an art?"

Seth grinned. "Now you’re getting it."

The next day, Ezra tried his best to hide the fact that half his face was covered in tiny bits of toilet paper, but the moment Julie spotted him, it was over.

She gasped theatrically, her face lighting up with wicked glee. "Oh. My. God."

Ezra groaned, tugging his hoodie up like it could somehow protect him. "Julie, don’t—"

"Did you lose a fight with a lawnmower or did your own face betray you?" She snorted, doubling over with laughter.

Ezra sighed, crossing his arms. "I shaved, okay? It was my first time."

Julie clutched her stomach, wiping away a fake tear. "And you lived to tell the tale? A true warrior!"

"Barely," Ezra muttered.

Julie leaned in, inspecting the battlefield that was his jawline. "Aw, don’t feel bad. You’ll get better. Maybe. Or maybe you’ll just have to wear tissue paper forever. You could start a new fashion trend—Tissue Chic."

Ezra shot her a glare. "You do realize you’re gonna have to learn how to shave someday, too, right?"

Julie smirked. "Please. I’ll be graceful. I’ll ascend to shaving mastery on my first try."

Ezra rolled his eyes, but as she continued to cackle, he found himself laughing too. Because despite the stinging cut, despite the embarrassment, despite everything—

Julie made it fun.

And somehow, that made it all worth it.

A week and a half later, Ezra stood in front of the mirror once again, facing the shadowy remnants of his mustache. This time, there was no hesitation, no nervous glances—just quiet determination. He remembered his dad’s advice: take it slow, don’t press too hard, and let the razor do the work.

He shook the can of shaving cream, spraying a cool dollop into his palm before spreading it evenly over his face. He took a moment to let it sit, feeling the way it softened the hairs, lifting them ever so slightly.

Then, gripping the razor carefully, he began.

His strokes were smooth, controlled. Light pressure. No rushing. With each pass, the shaving cream disappeared, revealing clean, smooth skin beneath. He followed the grain, tilting his head to check the angles just like his dad had shown him. No nicks. No razor burn. Just methodical precision.

When he was done, he rinsed his face with cool water, patting it dry with a towel before checking his reflection.

It was perfect.

A grin spread across his face. No cuts. No tissue paper required.

Later, when Julie saw him, she squinted, inspecting his jaw.

"Huh," she mused. "Not bad, Grandpa."

Ezra smirked. "Told you I’d get it right."

Julie grinned. "Alright, alright. Maybe you’re a shaving wizard now."

Ezra laughed. Yeah. He was getting the hang of this.