By the time the tire exploded, the freeway traffic around them sounded like a stadium full of people cheering for Benny’s failure.

One second, the silver SUV hummed down a side street in a quiet California suburb, palm trees sliding past under a bright blue sky. The next, there was a loud bang, the wheel jerked, and his mom screamed, “Oh my gosh!” as the car lurched toward the curb.

Benny didn’t scream. His heart just dropped straight through his shoes.

This was not part of the plan.

The plan had started in the kitchen twenty minutes earlier, with report cards and one small, stupid thought that refused to leave his brain:

I cannot take that math exam.

Mrs. Parker walked down the row in third period that morning passing out report cards, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead in their middle school classroom somewhere in Southern California. Kids groaned, laughed, snapped photos. When she set the cardstock in front of Benny, his triple-shot-of-bad-grades stared back up at him: C, D, D+.

His little brother Jay, on the other hand, got straight A’s. Again.

Back home after school, Mom lined them up at the table like it was a ceremony. She opened Jay’s first, and her whole face lit up.

“All A’s again,” she said. “This is incredible. I am so proud of you.”

Jay grinned and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Can you sign it?” he asked. “And, uh, do you maybe have that thing you said…?”

“Of course.” She signed, then pulled a tablet box out of a shopping bag. “Since you did so well, I got you the tablet you wanted.”

“Thank you so much, Mom!” Jay shouted, hugging her before racing to his room like Christmas had come early.

Benny swallowed hard. His report card felt like a ticking bomb in his backpack.

“Okay, Benny,” his mom said, turning toward him. “Your turn.”

He forced himself to sound casual. “Funny thing,” he said. “We, uh… we haven’t gotten ours yet. Mr. Johnson said they’d come on Monday.”

His mom’s eyebrows pulled together. “How is it possible that Jay got his and you didn’t get yours?”

“That’s a good question,” he said quickly. “I don’t know. Maybe the office messed up.”

She sighed. “You’re not trying to hide it from me, are you?”

“No,” he lied. “I would never do that.”

She held his gaze a beat too long, then let it go. “Mm-hmm. We’ll see,” she said, turning away. “I’ve got work in the morning. Go finish your homework.”

He watched her leave, guilt buzzing under his skin like a swarm of bees. As soon as she disappeared into her room, Benny pulled the report card from his bag and stared at it.

If she sees this, I’m dead.

She’d said it just last week—if he failed one more test, he was grounded for a month. No games. No parties. No skatepark. Nothing.

And Alicia’s birthday party at the new VR arcade was tomorrow.

He thought of Alicia’s smile in the hallway that day. Thought of how her eyes lit up when he’d lied and said he could grind rails and do advanced tricks at the skatepark; how she’d looked impressed when he’d casually mentioned he’d be skating with his friends after school.

“Do you want to come to my birthday tomorrow?” she’d asked, handing him a glossy invitation. “You can bring your board. My friends want to see your tricks.”

In that moment, there had been exactly zero skate tricks he could do. He’d barely mastered not falling off in front of the house. But somehow, the words “Yeah, sure, I’ll bring it” fell out of his mouth anyway.

So now he had a fake-skater reputation to maintain, a real test he wasn’t ready for, and a mom who believed grades mattered more than breathing.

He needed room to breathe.

In the garage the next morning, while his mom hunted for her keys and Jay double-checked his backpack, Benny spotted the pliers on his dad’s old tool shelf. Sunlight slanted through the half-open garage door, dust floating in the beams like tiny accusing ghosts.

His brain clicked.

Pliers. Tire. Slow leak. Traffic. Missed exam.

No exam, no bad grade—for now. He’d have more time to study. He could go to Alicia’s party, impress her, then come back and deal with school later. Future Benny would figure it out.

Present Benny was already moving.

“Boys, let’s get going!” Mom shouted from the kitchen. “I don’t want to be late for work.”

Jay rushed past, lunchbox swinging.

Benny snatched the pliers and slipped outside toward the driveway.

The morning air was cool against his face. Birds chirped. A distant siren wailed from somewhere on the freeway. Their silver SUV sat gleaming at the curb, its big tires full and stubbornly perfect.

“This is dumb,” he muttered, but he crouched anyway.

With shaking hands, he unscrewed the tiny valve cap and pressed the metal tip of the pliers into the valve. A hiss of air escaped, startlingly loud. He jerked back, glancing at the front door. No movement.

“Come on, come on,” he whispered.

He pressed again, longer this time, watching the tire slowly sag. It wasn’t flat, but it looked lower. Low enough to cause trouble, he hoped. He shoved the cap into his pocket, tossed the pliers back on the shelf, and sprinted inside.

He nearly collided with his mom in the hallway.

“Where have you been?” she asked. “And why do you have grease on your hands?”

“I—I was looking for your keys near the car,” he said quickly. “In case you dropped them last night when you got home from your shift.”

She frowned. “If I’d dropped them, how would I have gotten into the house?”

“Oh,” he said. “Right. I didn’t… think of that.”

She sighed and brushed past him. “They must be upstairs. I’ll look in my room.”

As soon as she disappeared, Benny darted to the side table, grabbed her keys, and shoved them deep into the trash can beneath a pile of paper towels.

“What are you doing?” Jay hissed, appearing behind him like a tiny conscience with bedhead. “Those are Mom’s keys.”

“Relax,” Benny whispered. “If she can’t find them, she’ll call an Uber. We’ll be late. No exam.”

“Every time you try to get out of school, it never works,” Jay warned. “It just gets you in more trouble.”

“I’m not trying to get out of school, smart guy,” Benny snapped. “I just need to stall Mom long enough for class to end. Once it’s past nine-thirty, Mr. Patterson can’t give the test. If she can’t find her keys and she doesn’t have her phone…”

“She’ll use the tablet,” Jay said.

Benny stared at him, then turned and grabbed the sleek device from the charger. “Good point,” he said. “So we make sure she can’t.”

“You really think she’s not going to wonder why her keys, phone, and tablet are all missing at the same time?” Jay asked.

“You’re right,” Benny muttered, pacing. “I need a better idea.”

He caught another glimpse of the pliers through the cracked garage door. His stomach flipped.

Too late now.

“Boys,” his mom called. “Found my keys! Let’s go!”

Jay shot him a look that said You’re going to regret this.

They piled into the SUV. Mom backed out of the driveway, humming along to a pop station that talked about LA traffic every fifteen minutes like it was a natural disaster.

They made it two blocks before the car started leaning to the right.

“Is that… bouncing?” Mom asked, glancing at the dash. A small icon flashed. “I think your tire’s low,” Jay said.

Benny was already ready. “We should probably pull over,” he said. “You know, just to be safe. Maybe even call a mechanic. Or, you know, skip driving today and—”

Mom eyed the dash, then shook her head. “We’re only a few blocks from the freeway. I know a shortcut. These tires are run-flats. They can go another twenty-five miles before—”

The tire chose that exact moment to give up. There was a deafening pop, a jolt, and the SUV lurched to the side, thumping as rubber shredded.

“Oh my gosh!” Mom cried, wrestling the wheel.

Cars honked. A delivery truck blew past, the driver yelling something out the window. Benny gripped the armrest, his heart hammering.

They coasted into a gas station parking lot, the tire practically melted off the rim.

“Stay in the car,” Mom said, breathing hard. “Let me see what happened.”

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Jay asked.

“No, sweetheart. You two stay here. It’s crowded out there.”

Benny watched her circle the car, inspecting the damage. A woman in a business suit near the pumps had her hood open, staring helplessly at her own flat. Orange cones and detour signs clogged the nearby intersection; a police cruiser blinked in the distance.

“Of course,” the woman sighed when Mom approached. “Today, of all days. I’m going to be so late for work.”

“Do you have a spare?” Mom asked.

“I think so. It’s the donut thing, the tiny tire,” the woman said. “But I don’t know how to change it. Do you?”

Mom shook her head. “No. I was just about to ask someone for help.”

A mechanic in grease-stained coveralls stepped out of the convenience store, coffee in hand. “Everything okay?” he called.

Within minutes, he had both cars lifted, tires off, and donuts on. He worked like he’d done this a hundred times—and he probably had.

Mom watched, hands on her hips. “Was it a nail?” she asked.

The mechanic examined the ruined tire and shook his head. “No nail,” he said. “These are run-flats. They shouldn’t deflate like that. Unless…”

“Unless what?” Mom asked.

He pointed to the exposed valve. “Cap’s missing,” he said. “And it looks like someone pressed this open. See that little bend? You don’t get that from the road. You get that from, say, a screwdriver. Or pliers.”

The words hit Benny like a slap. He shrunk lower in his seat.

“So someone did this on purpose?” the other woman asked, horrified.

The mechanic shrugged. “Looks that way.”

Mom’s eyes narrowed, her gaze drifting toward the SUV where her sons sat.

By the time she dropped them at school, first period was almost over. The freeway wreck had turned the whole side of town into a parking lot. Students trickled in late with slips from the office.

“I’ll call the school and tell them it was my fault,” Mom said as they hopped out. “I’m sorry you boys were late. That was stressful.”

“It’s okay,” Benny said. “At least we’re safe.”

She studied his face. “You don’t have any idea how my tire went flat, do you?” she asked.

“Nope,” he said quickly. “Maybe there was a tiny leak or something. Or, uh, a curse.”

“Mm-hmm.” Her eyes flicked to his hands. “Why do you still have grease all over your fingers?”

“I told you,” he said. “I was looking under the car for your keys. Remember?”

She took a breath. “I just find it strange that you were the only one out by the car,” she said. “And a few minutes later my tire mysteriously blows. Are you sure you didn’t… do anything to it? On purpose?”

“Why would I do that?” he said, forcing a laugh. “To get out of a test or something? I studied this time. I was actually really sad I had to miss it.”

She nodded slowly. “All right,” she said. “Have a good day, boys.”

As he turned away, she called his name. “Oh, and Benny?”

He froze.

“You might want to take these,” she said, holding up the pliers she’d pulled from the floorboard. “Before they end up somewhere you really don’t want them to.”

His heart stopped. “Oh,” he said weakly, taking them. “Yeah. I’ll put them back on the shelf.”

He walked into school, hands sweating around the metal handles, his brain scrambling for a new plan.

He didn’t have long.

“Benny,” a voice called from down the hall.

Mr. Patterson—his math teacher—stood outside the classroom door with a stack of scantrons in his hand.

He was doomed.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” Benny tried. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Patterson said. “I heard there was a pileup on the freeway. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Benny said. “Flat tire. Total nightmare. We got stuck like forever. I’m so bummed I missed the test.”

“Oh, you didn’t miss it,” Patterson said cheerfully. “The traffic made half the class late. We just shuffled the schedule and moved it to now.”

“We’re… still taking it?” Benny croaked.

“Yep.” Patterson grinned. “Good thing you did all that studying, huh?”

Benny stared at him, the pliers suddenly heavy in his backpack.

“Good luck,” Patterson added, patting his shoulder as he walked past.

By some miracle—and by some small amount of actual studying—Benny didn’t completely crash and burn. The exam felt like walking through a storm with no umbrella, but he answered enough questions that he wasn’t 100% sure he’d failed.

In fifth period, though, his past caught up to him again.

Mrs. Johnson, their homeroom teacher, stood at the front of the class with a stack of papers in hand. “All right, everyone,” she said. “I hope you remembered to bring your report cards back. They need to be signed by a parent.”

Jay’s signature gleamed on his like a trophy. He slid it onto her desk with a proud grin.

Benny slid something onto her desk too—a slightly crumpled report card with their mom’s signature at the bottom, copied from a check he’d found on her dresser the night before. He’d sat at his desk under a dim lamp for twenty minutes, tongue sticking out in concentration, practicing the loops of her name until it looked convincing enough. Mostly.

He thought he’d pulled it off.

Then, as class filed out for lunch, Mrs. Johnson called his name.

“Benny?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

She held his report card in one hand and Jay’s in the other, comparing signatures. “Why does your mom’s signature look so different on these?” she asked. “This one is neat. This one… looks like she signed it during an earthquake.”

He swallowed. “She was… in a hurry,” he said. “My dog jumped on her when she was signing it. Messed her hand up.”

“Your dog jumped on her,” she repeated. “While she was signing your report card. But not Jay’s.”

“He likes me more,” Benny tried.

She didn’t smile.

“I’ll give this back to you,” she said, handing it to him. “Bring it back tomorrow, signed. Properly. And tell your mom I’d like to talk to her.”

His stomach dropped. “Sure,” he said weakly.

At lunch, his anxiety mixed with excitement. Alicia waved him over the second he walked into the cafeteria.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” she asked. “To the party?”

“Definitely,” he said, trying to sound smooth. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“And you’re bringing your board?” she added. “Taylor told everyone you can do crazy tricks. They all want to see.”

His insides twisted. “Yeah,” he lied again. “No problem.”

His brother Jay sat alone at a table near the back with his new tablet, playing some word game where cartoon animals hopped around as you spelled things. A few tables over, their cousin Ali hunched over a laptop, streaming a game to exactly two viewers. Benny saw him talking quietly into a mic, his voice barely above a whisper.

Shy kid, he thought. Never going anywhere like that.

He had no idea how wrong he’d be.

By the time the final bell rang and they were back in the car, Benny’s lies were stacked so high it felt like living under a teetering tower.

Mom drove them to the VR arcade, a neon-lit building in a strip mall beside a frozen yogurt shop. A banner out front read BIRTHDAY PACKAGES! in big cartoon letters. Posters on the windows showed kids in headsets laughing like nothing bad had ever happened to them.

“Remember,” Mom said as she parked, “we need to talk about your report card tonight. I called your teacher.”

Benny’s pulse spiked. “Sure,” he said. “We can talk after the party. No big deal.”

His mom glanced toward the entrance. A familiar face caught her eye. “Oh, is that Mr. Johnson?” she asked.

Panic shot through him. Mr. Johnson, with his salt-and-pepper hair and plaid shirt, stood by the door, talking to another parent. His son, Brian, ran inside with a group of kids.

“You boys go ahead,” Mom said. “I’ll just say hi.”

“No!” Benny said too quickly, then tried to recover. “I mean… you don’t have to. You’re always telling me not to bother teachers outside school. Give the man a break.”

She gave him a look. “I’m just saying hello.”

While she walked toward Mr. Johnson, Benny turned to Jay. “I need a favor,” he whispered. “Go distract Mom. Talk about… I don’t know. The dog. Anything. Just don’t let her ask about my report card.”

Jay crossed his arms. “I told you. I don’t want to get involved in your lying.”

“Do it,” Benny hissed, “or I’m uninstalling every game on your tablet tonight.”

Jay glared at him, but a few seconds later, he trudged over toward Mom and tugged at her sleeve. Something about the dog acting weird, about needing to go out. Distracted, Mom turned away from Mr. Johnson, who shifted his attention to Alicia’s mother instead.

“Hey, you made it,” Alicia said, appearing at his side.

Benny forgot everything for a moment. “Yeah,” he said, suddenly shy. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Did you bring your board?” she asked, eyes bright.

He froze. “You know,” he said, scratching his neck, “funny story…”

“Taylor!” Alicia called, ignoring him. “Can Benny borrow your board?”

Taylor—ponytail, knee pads, and a bored expression—rolled over on a sleek black skateboard. “Sure,” she said. “I want to see this. Alicia said you’re amazing.”

Benny took the board, his mouth dry. A semicircle of kids gathered around the low concrete ledge in front of the arcade where he supposedly did tricks “all the time.”

“Let’s see what you got,” someone called.

He set the board down, stepped on, and tried to remember everything he’d seen on YouTube. His foot pushed, the wheels rolled, and for a glorious second, he thought maybe his body would mysteriously know what to do.

Then the board wobbled. His ankle rolled in the worst possible way, and he flailed spectacularly, arms pinwheeling. The board shot out from under him like it had decided to pursue its own dreams without him. He landed hard on his backside.

Laughter exploded around him.

“Wow,” Taylor said, snatching her board back. “So much for ‘crazy tricks.’”

Alicia’s face fell. “You told me you were good,” she said, disappointment threading her voice.

“I—I’m still learning,” he stammered. “I mean, I know some stuff, it’s just—”

“Come on,” one of her friends said, tugging her arm. “Let’s go inside. They’re starting the games.”

She walked away without looking back.

The humiliation burned hotter than the scraped skin on his elbows.

By the time they’d finished the VR session and eaten cake, he was certain nothing worse could happen that day.

He was wrong.

At home that night, Mom stood in the kitchen holding two pieces of paper: the report card he’d forged and a fresh copy Mr. Johnson had printed and emailed over.

“Do you have anything to tell me?” she asked quietly.

He shifted from foot to foot. “Not really,” he said. “Other than, you know, traffic was crazy.”

She held up the two report cards side by side. “This signature,” she said, indicating the neat, smooth one on Jay’s, “is mine. This one…” She turned the other slightly. “…looks like a raccoon got into the ink.”

He tried to smile. “You were tired,” he said. “Long shift. Dog jumped on you. Earthquake. Solar flare.”

She didn’t laugh. “Don’t,” she said softly. “Not this time.”

Her eyes glistened, and that hurt more than any yelling would have. “You lied to me about your grades,” she said. “You sabotaged my car to get out of a test. You let a mechanic think a stranger had messed with my tire, when you knew it was you. Do you know how dangerous that was? For all of us?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. There was nothing he could say that didn’t sound pathetic.

“And,” she continued, “you forged my name. That is not just wrong, Benny. It’s illegal.”

His chest tightened. “I just… I didn’t want you to be disappointed,” he said, voice cracking.

“Well,” she said, “I am. But I’m more scared than disappointed. This isn’t just about a test or a party. This is about who you’re becoming. That’s what frightens me.”

He blinked fast, tears stinging his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She held his gaze for a long moment, then sighed, some of the anger melting into tiredness. “You know what I always tell you,” she said. “What happens in the dark…”

“…always comes to light,” he finished, the words heavy.

“Exactly,” she said. “And today, a lot of things came to light.”

She set the papers aside. “You’re grounded for a month,” she said. “No games. No parties. No extra screen time. And you will be paying me back for the tire with every bit of allowance you get until it’s covered. You will also apologize to the mechanic the next time we see him.”

He nodded miserably.

“And tomorrow,” she added, “you’re tutoring with someone who actually respects learning. Your cousin Ali is coming over. He’s going to help you with math.”

“Ali?” he blurted. “The shy gamer?”

A small smile tugged at her mouth. “The shy gamer who just signed a big contract with a professional esports team,” she said. “And landed a sponsorship. And bought his own car yesterday. Did you think he was just playing for fun?”

Benny’s jaw dropped. “He… what?”

“You’ll ask him yourself,” she said. “After you apologize to him for calling him a loser at Thanksgiving.”

He swallowed hard. “Okay.”

The next afternoon, Ali showed up in faded black jeans and a hoodie with a logo Benny didn’t recognize—until he realized it was the emblem of one of the biggest esports organizations in the world. The same one his favorite streamers shouted out every other video.

There were dark circles under Ali’s eyes, but he smiled easily, laptop bag slung over one shoulder.

“Hey,” he said. “Your mom said you needed help with trig.”

“Yeah,” Benny said, still staring at the logo. “And, uh, congrats. On… everything.”

“Thanks,” Ali said. “It’s been crazy.”

“How did you… I mean—you’re so quiet,” Benny blurted, then winced. “I mean, you were. Before. And now…”

Ali chuckled. “Still shy,” he said. “That doesn’t go away. I just stopped letting it decide what I could or couldn’t do.”

“I thought being shy meant you couldn’t succeed,” Benny admitted.

“That’s what people told me,” Ali said. “Especially my brother.” He shrugged. “But then I met one of my favorite YouTubers at a mall in San Diego. He told me being shy could be a superpower. That a lot of people online like someone who listens more than they talk. Someone thoughtful. I decided to believe him.”

“And now you’re… buying cars,” Benny said.

Ali laughed. “Well, there’s a lot of hard work between shy kid and Porsche,” he said. “And a lot of nights where no one watched my streams. But yeah. It paid off.”

They spent the next hour working through math problems. Ali’s explanations made more sense than anything Benny had heard in class. He never made Benny feel stupid, even when he had to explain the same concept three times.

At one point, Sam—Benny’s quiet neighbor, who was on the autism spectrum and had transferred into his math class two weeks earlier—knocked on the door.

“Hey,” Sam said, eyes on the chessboard he hugged to his chest. “Jay said you play chess. I was wondering if maybe…”

Benny’s first instinct was to brush him off. He remembered how he and some kids had laughed when Sam tried to warn him about a bad chess move at lunch, remembered the words that had slipped out—“You’re not smart enough, just leave me alone”—words that had made Sam flinch like he’d been slapped.

Ali glanced between them. “You play?” he asked Sam.

Sam nodded eagerly. “Yeah. I mean, yes. I’ve been practicing.”

“Cool,” Ali said. “I’m terrible at chess. You should show us a game.”

Benny hesitated, then moved aside. “Yeah,” he said. “Come in.”

They set up the board on the coffee table. Sam’s hands moved quickly, confidently. Within ten moves, it was clear he saw everything three steps ahead.

“You’re good,” Benny said, genuinely impressed.

Sam’s cheeks went pink. “Thanks,” he said. “Sometimes people at school say I’m… weird. Because I care about chess and math and stuff. But it’s how my brain works. Patterns.”

“Patterns are useful,” Ali said. “Especially in games. And in trading. And in life.”

Benny watched Sam’s face brighten under the simple compliment, and something soft shifted inside his chest.

Maybe, he thought, being different isn’t a bad thing. Maybe being shy, or autistic, or obsessed with words, or anything else… maybe those were just different kinds of superpowers.

Maybe the problem wasn’t them.

Maybe the problem was him.

That night, as Mom set dinner on the table, the house smelled like garlic and tomatoes and something sizzling in a pan. Jay rattled off a new high score in his word game; Sam explained how he’d won a math contest at school; Ali pulled out his phone and showed a screenshot of the email offering him a sponsorship.

“I still can’t believe it’s real,” he said. “They said they like that I’m different from most streamers. Calmer. More… me.”

“See?” Mom said, glancing at Benny. “Different isn’t less. It’s just… different.”

Benny took a breath. “Mom?” he said. “I’m… really sorry. For the tire. And the signature. And everything else. I know I messed up. I was scared. And jealous. And stupid. And I hurt people who didn’t deserve it.”

She studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “That means a lot.”

“I want to be better,” he said. “I don’t want to be the kid who lies to get out of tests. Or… lets some guy run off with your card. Or laughs at people because they’re different. I want to… I don’t know. Actually earn things.”

“That’s a good start,” Ali said quietly.

Mom smiled, tired but hopeful. “Well,” she said, “lucky for you, tomorrow is a new day. And you have a lot of work to do. Starting with an apology to your teacher.”

“And the mechanic,” Jay added.

“And Sam,” Benny said, looking straight at his neighbor. “I’m sorry. For the stuff I said at school. You’re… actually way smarter than me at chess. And probably a lot of other things.”

Sam smiled, wide and real. “It’s okay,” he said. “We can play again tomorrow.”

They ate together as the sky outside darkened over their little slice of America—a strip of tract homes and palm trees under a big California sky, not that different from a hundred other neighborhoods on a hundred other quiet streets.

In some other house, a kid might be sneaking a credit card number to buy game currency. In another, someone might be hiding their report card under the bed. In another, a shy teenager might be staring at a webcam, wondering if anyone would care about their voice.

But in this house, at this table, a boy who had spent too long running from the light finally sat still in it and let it show him everything he didn’t want to see.

It wasn’t comfortable.

It was necessary.

Later, in his room, Benny stared at his reflection in the dark window. He saw the kid who’d tried to cheat his way out of consequences, the one who’d mocked “weird” kids and shy cousins, the one who believed success meant showing off, not showing up.

He also saw something else now: the possibility of being different.

On his desk, his math book lay open. Beside it, his phone buzzed with a message from Alicia.

hey sorry about earlier, the text read. didn’t know you were still learning. that ledge is hard. my cousin fell too lol. want to hang at the arcade next week? we can both practice.

He smiled.

Sure, he typed. Maybe this time I’ll be honest about how many tricks I know.

As he set the phone down, Mom’s voice echoed in his head again: What happens in the dark always comes to light.

This time, he wasn’t afraid of it.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t planning anything in the dark at all.