High school had arrived, and with it came new opportunities, new faces, and a fresh start. Ezra had walked into the halls on the first day feeling ready—ready to take on new challenges, ready to step into himself.

  What he wasn’t ready for was seeing Brandon “Bruiser” Michaels sitting in the same history css.

  Ezra felt the tension immediately. Bruiser sat near the back, slouched in his chair like he couldn’t care less about the lesson. Ezra had spent months fighting back against his bullying, only to now be stuck in the same room with him.

  He had hoped high school would separate them. Instead, fate had thrown them right back into each other’s orbit.

  For a while, neither spoke. They simply ignored each other, an unspoken agreement that their past would be left in middle school. But Ezra noticed something—Bruiser was struggling.

  The first unit was on Rome, a subject Ezra had practically devoured over the past year. He watched as Bruiser frowned at his notes, looking frustrated as hell, flipping pages back and forth like they were written in another nguage.

  Ezra had every reason to ignore him. Every reason to let him fail.

  But that wasn’t who he was.

  So, after css one day, Ezra made a decision.

  "Hey," Ezra said, sliding into the seat across from Bruiser in the library.

  Brandon looked up, immediately defensive. "What?"

  Ezra leaned back, folding his arms. "You suck at history."

  Bruiser scowled. "Wow. Thanks."

  Ezra smirked. "You’re welcome. But seriously—you need help. And I’m good at this stuff."

  Bruiser’s eyes narrowed. "Why do you care?"

  Ezra shrugged. "Because Rome is actually cool, and you’re failing it for no reason."

  Bruiser looked like he was about to argue, but then he sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Fine. Whatever."

  Ezra took that as a victory.

  He didn’t lecture him, though. That would never work. Instead, he did what had worked for himself—he broke it down simply.

  "Think of Rome like America," Ezra started. "It started as a little nothing town, built itself up, became a big deal, and then started thinking it was invincible."

  Bruiser frowned. "And that’s bad because…?"

  "Because nothing stays on top forever. Rome got too big, too greedy, spread itself too thin—then it crumbled."

  Ezra watched as something clicked behind Bruiser’s eyes.

  Bruiser nodded slowly. "So, like… a football team that keeps signing star pyers but doesn’t work on their defense?"

  Ezra blinked. "Uh… yeah. Exactly."

  And just like that, the dynamic changed.

  Ezra wasn’t just some guy Bruiser used to push around. He was helpful. And Bruiser? For once, he was actually listening.

  Over the next few weeks, their tutoring sessions became routine. Ezra would expin things in a way Bruiser understood, transting history into sports terms or breaking down tactics like video game strategies.

  And for the first time ever, the tension between them began to ease.

  It was after gym css one afternoon when things took a turn.

  They had been goofing off after the final bell, tossing a football around, messing around near the track. By the time they made their way to the bus stop, their rides were already gone.

  "Shit," Bruiser muttered, pulling out his phone. "My dad’s gonna kill me."

  Ezra frowned. "You can just walk home, right?"

  Bruiser shook his head. "Nah. Too far." He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "He’s gonna be pissed."

  Ezra didn’t think much of it at first—until Bruiser’s father actually arrived.

  The car pulled up too fast, jerking to a stop. When the door swung open, Bruiser’s father stepped out like a storm cloud.

  Ezra had only seen the man once before, back in middle school. But that brief encounter had left an impression.

  Now, standing here in the school parking lot, he saw it up close.

  The sheer size of the man was intimidating enough—broad shoulders, hard lines in his face, eyes that seemed to burn holes into whoever they nded on. But it wasn’t his size that was the problem. It was the way Bruiser flinched the moment he stepped out of the car.

  "You got me leavin’ work for this?" the man snapped, voice sharp as a bde.

  Bruiser didn’t respond. He just looked at the ground.

  Ezra watched as his father took another step forward, shoulders tensing like he was getting ready to hit something.

  Ezra acted before he could think.

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and held it up.

  He didn’t start recording.

  Didn’t say a word.

  Just let the screen glow in the evening light.

  Bruiser’s father froze.

  For a moment, the air was thick with tension.

  Then the man exhaled, shaking his head, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might break. "Get in the damn car."

  Bruiser hesitated.

  Ezra gave him the smallest nod.

  Bruiser didn’t look at him as he climbed into the passenger seat. The door smmed, and the car peeled out of the parking lot, tires screeching against the asphalt.

  Ezra stood there, phone still in his hand, his heart hammering.

  He had just crossed a line.

  But for some reason…

  He wasn’t scared.

  Ezra didn’t expect Bruiser to say anything about what had happened in the parking lot.

  For weeks, he didn’t.

  They sat together in history css, going through the same motions—Ezra expining things in ways that made sense, Bruiser listening with more patience than he’d ever given to a teacher. It became their unspoken routine. But something had shifted. The usual tension that lingered between them, the familiar sense of unease that Ezra had carried for years, was no longer there.

  At first, he thought he was imagining it. Maybe Bruiser just didn’t care enough to pick on him anymore. Maybe they had spent too much time together for him to see Ezra as the same scrawny kid he used to shove into lockers. Or maybe—just maybe—things were different now.

  The library was quiet that afternoon, just the low hum of whispers and the occasional sound of pages turning. Ezra sat across from Bruiser at their usual table, flipping through his notes on Roman military strategy while Bruiser scribbled half-heartedly in his workbook. Ezra had just unched into an expnation of the Marian Reforms when Bruiser spoke, voice barely above a mutter.

  "Thanks."

  Ezra blinked, looking up from his notes. "For what?"

  Bruiser shrugged, his grip tightening slightly around his pencil. "For history stuff. And… the other thing."

  Ezra let the words sit for a moment. He could have asked Bruiser to be specific. He could have made him say it out loud. But he didn’t.

  Instead, he just nodded. “Yeah. No problem.”

  And that was that.

  The rivalry didn’t end with an apology. There were no dramatic confessions, no forced promises of friendship.

  It ended with understanding.

  An unspoken truth between them.

  For the first time, Bruiser wasn’t just his former bully. He was something else.

  Maybe not a friend. Not yet.

  But not an enemy, either.

  Ezra sat cross-legged on the library floor, a thick textbook on Roman warfare open in front of him. Across from him, Bruiser slouched in his chair, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. The usual tension between them had eased, but the difference in their learning styles was becoming more apparent.

  Bruiser wasn’t stupid—not by a long shot—but he wasn’t the kind of guy who could sit still and absorb a history book like Ezra could. He needed movement, action, something tangible. Theories and strategies weren’t clicking for him, no matter how many times Ezra tried expining them.

  "Alright," Ezra finally said, shutting the book with a sigh. "This isn’t working for you."

  Bruiser let out a short ugh. "No shit."

  Ezra gnced around the mostly empty library, then smirked. "You ever tried role-pying?"

  Bruiser’s face twisted in confusion. "Like… that nerd stuff you do with Julie?"

  "Yeah. But not in the way you’re thinking. We’re gonna recreate one of these Roman battle strategies, so you can actually see how it works."

  Bruiser raised an eyebrow. "In the library?"

  Ezra grinned. "Nah. Meet me in the gym after school."

  By the time they made it to the gym, the pce was mostly empty, save for a few kids shooting hoops on the far end. Ezra set down his bag, cracking his knuckles.

  "Alright," he said, pacing back and forth. "We’re going to py this out. You’re the invading army—I’m the Romans. You have more soldiers, more strength. But I’ve got better strategy."

  Bruiser smirked. "So, I get to win?"

  "Not unless you learn something first." Ezra crossed his arms. "Your job is to rush me and try to take my position. My job is to stop you using tactics."

  Bruiser cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. "I like these odds."

  Ezra had one shot at this.

  Bruiser was naturally aggressive—like Rome’s enemies, all brute force and no patience. Ezra just had to guide him into making mistakes.

  "Go," Ezra said.

  Bruiser didn’t hesitate. He charged straight for him, like a battering ram. Ezra, knowing this would happen, simply stepped aside at the st moment, letting Bruiser stumble forward.

  "Think before you attack," Ezra said, grinning. "If you just run at me, I can dodge. You’re stronger, but you’ve got no pn."

  Bruiser scowled. "Fine. Again."

  He came at him slower this time, pacing himself, watching Ezra’s movements. Good. He was already learning. But Ezra had another trick.

  This time, as Bruiser moved in, Ezra dropped into a crouch and swept his leg outward, knocking Bruiser off bance.

  Bruiser hit the mat with a grunt.

  "That was a fnking maneuver," Ezra expined, stepping back. "You focused on coming forward, but I attacked from the side. That’s how smaller armies win against bigger ones—they don’t fight head-on. They outmaneuver."

  Bruiser pushed himself up, breathing heavier, rubbing his shoulder. His face was unreadable for a moment, then he let out a chuckle.

  "Alright, alright. I see what you’re doing."

  "Good," Ezra said. "Because now we do it again."

  They practiced for over an hour. Ezra took on different "formations," forcing Bruiser to think, adapt, and react. Slowly, the bigger boy started relying less on raw strength and more on strategy.

  Then, on the st run, Bruiser did something unexpected.

  Instead of charging at Ezra like before, he faked a lunge, causing Ezra to instinctively move to dodge. But Bruiser didn’t follow through—he had baited Ezra into stepping into the wrong position.

  Before Ezra could recover, Bruiser shifted direction and caught him from the side, pinning him.

  Ezra blinked up at him, stunned.

  Bruiser grinned, panting. "Pincer maneuver, right?"

  Ezra let out a wheezing ugh. "Alright, that one was good."

  Bruiser stood, offering a hand to pull him up. Ezra took it, still catching his breath.

  "Y’know," Bruiser said, tilting his head. "I get why you like this stuff now."

  Ezra brushed himself off. "What, strategy?"

  Bruiser nodded. "It’s kinda like… life, right? If you just charge in without thinking, you’re gonna get knocked on your ass. But if you actually stop and think first… you don’t have to fight as hard."

  Ezra paused. That was… shockingly insightful.

  Bruiser smirked. "What? Surprised I got a brain in here?" He tapped his head.

  Ezra shook his head, ughing. "Nah, just impressed you actually listened for once."

  Bruiser shoved him lightly. "Don’t get used to it."

  Ezra smirked. "Too te."

  As they grabbed their bags and headed toward the locker rooms, Ezra realized something.

  This was the first time he had ever spent real time with Bruiser that wasn’t built on hostility.

  Sure, the past had been rough. The bullying, the fights, the tension that had existed between them for years. But tonight? Tonight had felt… different.

  Maybe this was the start of something new.

  Not just understanding.

  Not just tolerance.

  But actual friendship.