The acting club had started as an escape, just another extracurricur to fill the time between schoolwork and Ezra’s summer construction job. But as the weeks passed, it became something more—a pce 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 pce 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 ughed 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 test assigned py. "Alright, we’re running Romeo and Juliet. Cssic 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 ughter 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 ughter 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 menting 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 ughter.

  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 pced 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 ughter. 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 colr. "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 appuse, stamping their feet as if they had just witnessed the greatest performance in history.

  The instructor, wiping away tears of ughter, shook their head. "I should fail both of you for butchering Shakespeare, but—" They sighed, a smirk pying 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, hirious, 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 st.

  They rehearsed scene after impromptu scene. From Romeo and Juliet to py-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 vioted the sacred ws of the realm, Wizard Ezra of the Dusty Tomes!" Bruiser decred, brandishing his invisible bde.

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

  The club members watching them were doubled over in ughter. 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 gnced 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 ugh. "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 pyfully.

  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 bance 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 pces—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 pstic 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, gncing at Bruiser, who was folding a backdrop.

  Bruiser shrugged, though a small smirk pyed 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 gnced 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 ugh. “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 py.”

  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 gnce before she continued.

  “I had big pns,” 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 ugh, 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 ugh. 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 css more often.”

  Ezra burst into ughter.

  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 pyed with.