Ezra Wells had perfected the art of being invisible.
It wasn't magic or some special talent—just years of practice moving through the world in a way that didn't draw attention. Keep your head down, don't make eye contact, stick to the edges of hallways, and never, ever give anyone a reason to notice you. At Crestwood Academy, where wealth and social status determined your worth, invisibility was the best defense for someone like him.
He pushed through the front door of his family's modest apartment, the familiar scent of his fer parent's cooking immediately wrapping around him like a warm hug. Their home was small—just three bedrooms in a building that had seen better days—but it was clean, filled with love, and most importantly, it was theirs.
"Ezra? Is that you, sweetheart?" His fer father, James, called from the kitchen.
"Yes, Papa," Ezra replied, setting his heavy backpack down by the door and slipping off his shoes.
He found James at the stove, stirring something that smelled like the vegetable stew Ezra had loved since childhood. His fer father had the same delicate features Ezra had inherited—soft jawline, slender build, gentle eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. At forty-five, James still looked young, his dark hair just starting to show threads of silver.
"How was school?" James asked, the same question he posed every day.
"Fine," Ezra answered, the same response he always gave. "Where's Dad?"
"Your mer father is working late again. The construction project is behind schedule." James's expression showed the worry he tried to hide. Thomas, Ezra's mer father, worked long hours as a construction site manager, his muscular frame built from years of physical labor .
Ezra moved to help with dinner, automatically falling into the routine they'd developed over years. He washed vegetables while his fer father continued with the stew. This was his favorite time of day—the quiet domesticity of their small kitchen, the easy silence between them, the sense that here, in this space, he didn't have to be anyone but himself.
"You got another letter from Brighton University," James said carefully, nodding toward the small dining table where an envelope lay waiting.
Ezra's heart jumped. Brighton University—his dream school, the top-ranked institution in the country, with a scholarship program that actually gave kids like him a chance. He'd applied early admission, knowing it was a long shot but unable to stop hoping.
He dried his hands and picked up the envelope with trembling fingers. Taking a deep breath, he carefully opened it.
Dear Mr. Wells,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Brighton University's Class of 2030...
The rest of the words blurred as tears suddenly filled Ezra's eyes. He'd done it. He'd actually done it.
"Ezra?" James turned from the stove, concern and hope mixing in his expression.
"I got in," Ezra whispered, then louder, "Papa, I got in! Full scholarship!"
James dropped the spoon he was holding and crossed the kitchen in two steps, pulling Ezra into a tight hug. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so proud of you. So incredibly proud."
Ezra buried his face in his fer father's shoulder, letting the tears come. This was everything he'd worked for—all the late nights studying, all the extra shifts at the bookstore to save money, all the times he'd chosen homework over social events. It had all been worth it.
"Your dad is going to lose his mind when he hears," James laughed, his own eyes wet. "Our son, going to Brighton University. Sometimes I can't believe how lucky we are to have you."
"I'm the lucky one," Ezra said softly, pulling back to wipe his eyes. "You and Dad have sacrificed so much—"
"Don't," James interrupted gently, cupping Ezra's face in both hands. "Don't ever think of our love as sacrifice. Giving you the best life we can isn't sacrifice, it's joy. It's what parents do."
Ezra nodded, not trusting his voice. His parents had moved to the city specifically so he could attend Crestwood Academy on his academic scholarship. They'd downsized their lives, worked extra hours, gave up luxuries without complaint. All for him.
"Now," James said, his tone brightening, "this calls for celebration. I'm making your favorite dessert tonight, and tomorrow we'll call your grandparents. They're going to be thrilled."
As they returned to cooking, Ezra felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the steam rising from the pots. This was what mattered—family, love, working toward a better future. Not the superficial world of Crestwood Academy with its social hierarchies and wealthy students who treated him like he was less than nothing.
People like Kai Ashford, his mind supplied unbidden.
Ezra had noticed Kai, of course. It was impossible not to. Kai Ashford was everything Ezra wasn't—confident, popular, effortlessly charismatic, from a family so wealthy they literally influenced culture through their social media empire. Kai moved through school like he owned it, because in many ways, he did.
They'd never spoken. Why would they? They existed in completely different universes.
Still, Ezra had occasionally caught himself watching Kai from across the common room or in the hallways. There was something almost magnetic about him, the way other students gravitated toward him, the easy smile that seemed to light up whatever space he occupied. Ezra had quickly trained himself to look away, to not let those thoughts go anywhere dangerous.
Boys like Kai Ashford didn't notice boys like Ezra Wells. And that was fine. That was safer.
"You're quiet," James observed, adding spices to the stew. "Something else on your mind?"
"Just thinking about graduation," Ezra said, which wasn't entirely a lie. "Four more months and then everything changes."
"Four months," James echoed. "Seems like both forever and no time at all. Are you ready?"
Was he ready? Ready to leave his parents, this apartment, the life he'd always known? Ready to step into a world even bigger and more intimidating than Crestwood Academy? Ready to finally pursue his dreams of studying literature and maybe, eventually, becoming a teacher or a writer?
"I don't know," Ezra admitted. "But I think that's okay. I don't think anyone's ever really ready for the future."
James smiled, the expression full of understanding. "Very wise, sweetheart. Very wise indeed."
They worked in companionable silence until Thomas came home an hour later, exhausted and dusty from the construction site but lighting up with joy when he heard about Brighton University. His mer father, big and strong and gentle, lifted Ezra right off his feet in a bear hug that made him feel like a child again.
That night, as Ezra lay in his small bedroom with its secondhand furniture and walls covered in literary quotes he'd written on index cards, he reread the acceptance letter three more times. This was his ticket out, his path to something better, something more.