The summer - part 0

1 - 2

The steady hum of the air conditioner battled in vain against the summer heat as beads of sweat gathered at Ezer Wang's temples. July had unfurled its sweltering embrace, and even within the walls of Riverdale High School, the air lay heavy and unmoved. In one classroom, a sanctuary for the studious and the overambitious, the Summer Talent Camp had taken root, transforming the space into a landscape of academic pursuit.

It was Monday, the start of another week, and the room buzzed with subdued energy. Desks that during the regular school year were islands unto themselves now clustered together, piled high with textbooks and notebooks. Their spines cracked open to pages stained with highlighter marks, they formed a makeshift skyline of knowledge against the chalkboard backdrop.

Ezer sat amidst this ordered chaos, his focus not on the lunch he had skipped but on the algebraic equations that danced before his eyes. The lunch break was a mere intermission for some, a chance to fuel their bodies before diving back into the deep end of educational rigor. Yet, for Ezer, it was an opportunity to lose himself further in the numbers and variables that promised a sense of control, a predictable outcome in an otherwise unpredictable world.

Around him, a few other students remained anchored to their seats. Some whispered fervently about theorems and historical dates, while others, like Ezer, found solace in silent study. The camp, a crucible of expectation set by parents dreaming of prestigious futures for their offspring, thrived on such dedication. It was a place where summers weren't meant for leisure but for forging ahead, sharpening minds until they gleamed with potential.

Ezer's fingers traced the path of an equation, his pencil a compass navigating through academic terrain. The date on the corner of the whiteboard served as a reminder that time was both ally and adversary, ticking away moments that could either be filled with progress or squandered in idleness. But for Ezer Wang, there was only one choice—to march forward, unwavering, towards the future laid out before him.

3 - 4

Beams of sunlight fought their way through the thin, insufficient blinds that hung limply by the classroom windows. Even the rays seemed to wilt under the relentless heat, casting a lethargic glow over the room where ambition was meant to thrive. At his desk, Ezer Wang had surrendered to the stifling atmosphere, the energy sapped from his limbs as he nestled into an uncomfortable slumber. His arms cradled his head, elbows creating small islands on the surface of strewn papers and textbooks.

The collar of Ezer's once crisp white shirt had succumbed to the day's swelter, curling upwards as tendrils of his dark, unruly hair escaped to shadow the starkness of the fabric. The sleeves, rolled up in a futile attempt to find relief, revealed wrists pale against the surrounding chaos of ink and arithmetic. Here, in this moment, the prodigious drive that normally fueled his every action was replaced with an oppressive drowsiness, each breath a silent concession to the summer's oppressive grasp.

Without warning, the tranquility was shattered. A cacophony erupted, jolting Ezer from his makeshift repose. He jerked upright, the abrupt disturbance cleaving through the haze of sleep. For an instant, disorientation held him captive; his heart pounded a rapid tempo against his ribcage, a startled deer caught in the glare of unforeseen headlights. His bleary eyes blinked rapidly, seeking the source of the clamor that had so rudely severed his brief escape from reality.

5 - 6

The clamor that had fractured Ezer's slumber seemed to still echo in his ears as he raised his head, the world before him swimming into focus. At the front of the classroom, Mrs. Tong stood disheveled at the podium, her normally impeccable bun now an untidy nest from which strands of hair escaped like tendrils of distress. Her voice, usually composed and authoritative, held an edge of urgency that sliced through the lethargic air.

"Attention, everyone," she called out, her gaze sweeping over the room, where students stirred like a grove of trees rustled by a sudden wind. "Please pack your belongings. You are all to go home immediately."

A murmur rippled through the classroom—confusion knitting brows, whispers passing between lips—as eyes darted about seeking an explanation. Ezer sat frozen for a moment longer, his brain struggling to swim upstream through the remnants of sleep. 

No more summer camp?

The question hung silently in his mind, unvoiced yet echoing loudly against his inner walls of discipline and routine. A knot formed in his stomach, the unexpected announcement sending ripples of uncertainty through the carefully constructed schedule of his summer. He watched as Mrs. Tong avoided their questioning stares, her fingers fidgeting with a loose pen on the podium, betraying a nervous energy that only deepened the mystery.

7 - 8

Ezer's fingers fumbled with the zipper of his backpack, a sluggish motion betraying his reluctance to acknowledge the untimely end of summer camp. Around him, classmates chattered in frenzied tones, their movements brisk and purposeful as they stuffed notebooks and pens into bags with the efficiency of factory workers at the end of a shift. But Ezer moved differently, as if every object he touched was made of lead, each textbook weighing more heavily on his spirit than it did in his arms.

The camp, an institution upheld by the high expectations of ambitious Asian parents, had promised to stretch until the calendar bled its dates into August. It was a relentless marathon of enrichment, one that Ezer had run each year without the thrill of a finish line. Now, with this sudden cessation, he felt oddly robbed of a victory he hadn't even sought.

He glanced out the window, where the sun hung heavy in the sky, a golden tyrant indifferent to the upheavals within Riverdale High's walls. Ezer's thoughts drifted to the small apartment his parents had secured for him, just a stone's throw from the school—an academic outpost meant to save him the daily commute from his real home, nestled in the heart of the familiar neighborhood twenty minutes away by bus.

Had he been privy to this premature holiday, he would have strategized his exit with meticulous care. He'd have organized his study materials, contacted his parents well in advance, and arranged his return to that comforting domestic sphere with the precision of a general commanding his troops. But now, caught off guard, his strategy lay in disarray, his belongings defying containment within the confines of his overstuffed backpack.

Resigned, Ezer zipped up the bag, leaving behind the items that wouldn't fit. He hefted the remainder under his arm, the weight of unfinished chapters and unlearned equations pressing down on him. The finality of Mrs. Tong's decree still echoed in his ears, rendering the planned weeks of study and advancement null and void. All that remained was the hushed whisper of pages he might not turn and the quiet dread of time he might not fill with the pursuit of becoming the dragon his parents envisioned.

9 - 10

Ezer's backpack strained at the seams, a fabric bulwark against the chaos of disarray. With a resigned grunt, he hoisted an ungainly stack of textbooks to his chest, their sharp corners digging into his arms as he shuffled toward the door. The humid air outside his classroom was barely more forgiving than the stifling heat within, but it carried with it the cacophony of speculation and rumor.

"Did you hear about the complaints?" one student blurted out as she darted past, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

"Inspection? Now?" another replied, his tone incredulous, books clutched tightly against his chest like a shield.

The hallway teemed with bodies in motion, a river of students surging towards freedom—or uncertainty. Ezer navigated the current, his progress hampered by the weight in his arms and the lethargy that draped over him like a heavy cloak. Around him, snippets of conversation rose and fell, weaving a tapestry of collective bewilderment.

"Mom's going to flip," someone muttered, a touch of fear edging the words.

"Extra tuition, then?" came a resigned sigh, the prospect of relentless study undeterred by the school's sudden capitulation.

Ezer moved with mechanical steps, propelled less by urgency and more by the gentle press of those behind him. Summer Talent Camp, the crucible of academic rigor revered by parents with dragon-sized aspirations, had never felt this chaotic, this unexpected. Complaints, inspections—words foreign to the vocabulary of meticulous planning and rigorous schedules that governed their lives.

He reached the landing, the heat from the mass of bodies around him compounding the oppressive warmth of the day. He wondered fleetingly if dragons ever felt the burden of their own scales, if they too longed for respite from the weight of expectations placed upon them. A sharp elbow nudged him from his reverie, urging him onward, down the stairs and into the uncertain embrace of an unplanned summer.

11 - 12

"Wait for further notice." Mrs. Tong's voice cut through the babble of confused students, sharp as a cleaver in a fish market. She offered no more details, her eyes flickering with a hint of disarray, a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor. There was something final in her tone, a silent command that brooked no argument and permitted no questions.

Ezer, his arms laden with textbooks, edged towards the stairway, feeling his way more than seeing it, the weight of uncertainty as oppressive as the summer heat. Each step was a laborious descent from the structured world of academia into an abyss of unscheduled days. The words of his teacher reverberated in his mind, cryptic and unsettling.

"Further notice..." he mumbled under his breath, echoing the phrase like a mantra, seeking comfort in the rhythm of repetition. 

The staircase was a challenge, a treacherous downward slope where every student was a potential obstacle, every step a potential misstep. His foot caught on something—perhaps the corner of a stray shoe or the shadow of his own fatigue—and suddenly he was lurching forward, the stack of books threatening to tumble from his precarious grasp.

Instinctively, Ezer tightened his hold, his body pitching towards the last step with ungainly momentum. Muscles tensed, bracing for impact, but his outstretched hand found the cool metal of the railing, steadying him. He caught himself with a jolt that ran up his arm, sending his heart into an erratic dance against his ribs.

He stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, gulping down the stale air of the corridor as if it were fresh oxygen. Regaining his composure, Ezer stepped off the staircase and onto solid ground, his equilibrium restored but his spirit still trembling.

With a deep, steadying breath, he pushed through the double doors, leaving behind the cacophony of Riverdale High's hallways. Outside, the sun beat down mercilessly, a reminder that even without summer camp, there would be no escaping the season's relentless intensity.

13 - 14

The heat was a physical weight upon Ezer's shoulders, heavier still with the burden of his books. He trudged along the sun-baked sidewalk, feeling every degree of the scorching day seep into his bones. The air was thick, almost tangible in its oppressiveness, and it clung to him like a second skin. There was no trace of the usual eagerness for summer break in his steps; he was drained, his thoughts sluggish and heavy as he contemplated the now-cancelled camp that had promised structure to his days.

Ezer paused at the edge of the school grounds, squinting out at the chaotic bustle of students around him. They were a frenzied swarm, all intent on one thing: escape from the sudden void of their schedules. Their voices melded into a cacophony of relief and excitement, punctuated by the occasional honk of a car horn as parents navigated the throng to collect their offspring.

He watched them for a moment, the desire to join the line for rides home flickering weakly within him. But the thought of standing in the sweltering heat, packed between other sweaty bodies, was enough to douse even that small flame. With a resigned sigh, Ezer turned away, his grip tightening on the textbooks that seemed to anchor him to this unexpected turn of events.

Instead, he made his way to the nearest bus stop, where a half-empty vehicle sat idling, its doors open like the mouth of some great mechanical beast. It was an unfamiliar route, but Ezer barely registered this fact as he climbed aboard, the cooler air inside providing scant relief. He settled into a seat near the back, his mind adrift on a sea of lethargy.

As the bus pulled away, the landscape outside began to change. Stop after stop flashed by, each one unfamiliar, yet Ezer remained oblivious, ensnared in his own exhaustion. It wasn't until the bus lurched to a stop for the fourth time, disgorging a handful of passengers, that he glanced up and felt a jolt of confusion.

This wasn't his neighborhood. The stores were different, the street signs unknown. Panic fluttered in his chest, an unwelcome sensation that roused him from his stupor. He hurriedly gathered his belongings and made his way to the front of the bus, muttering an apology as he disembarked into a world that felt alien compared to the orderly rows of Riverdale High.

Now standing at a deserted bus stop with the relentless sun glaring down, Ezer realized his mistake. He had boarded the wrong bus, a simple error, but one that left him stranded miles from both the comfort of his rented apartment and the familiarity of his true home. His shoulders slumped, the weight of the day pressing down upon him once more.

15 - 16

"Alright, alright," Ezer muttered to himself, a dry chuckle escaping his lips as he acknowledged the day's latest twist. He stepped off the bus and into the sweltering heat that seemed even more oppressive now that it was mingling with his frustration.

He glanced around, feeling the sun beat down mercilessly on his already weary frame. It was one of those neighborhoods where every street appeared to mimic the next—a maze of sameness that offered no comfort to an outsider like him. Here, amidst the unfamiliar, Ezer felt like a misplaced piece in a puzzle, longing for the familiar grooves of his own corner of the world.

Finding refuge under the meager shade of a spindly tree, he exhaled deeply, allowing himself a moment of respite. The books in his arms, once symbols of his relentless pursuit of knowledge, now just felt heavy, burdened with the weight of uncertainty. With care, he set them down at the base of the tree, their pages fluttering slightly in the tepid breeze—silent witnesses to his predicament.

Ezer fished out his phone from the depths of his overstuffed backpack, the screen lighting up to reveal the time and a slew of unchecked notifications. Not now, he thought, swiping them away. He needed focus, and his immediate concern was figuring out where he was and how to get back to something resembling home.

His fingers moved with practiced ease, tapping the familiar icon of the Map app. As the digital grid materialized before his eyes, lines and names superimposing themselves over the reality of his situation, Ezer leaned against the trunk of the tree. He squinted at the glowing display, pinching and zooming in on his blue-dot beacon—a solitary blip adrift in a sea of streets.

17 - 18

Ezer's focus on the labyrinthine streets on his screen was broken by an abrupt movement in his peripheral vision. He glanced up, catching sight of a figure emerging from the dark maw of an alley across the road. The stark daylight seemed reluctant to chase after the retreating shadows that clung to the tall person like a second skin.

The stranger moved with an uneven gait, one black backpack slung carelessly over a shoulder. It wasn't the odd rhythm of their steps that snagged Ezer's attention; it was the alarming contrast of crimson against white. His eyes traced the length of fabric clinging to the person's torso, finding the hem soaked through with fresh blood—a deep, unsettling red that called out silently for concern.

As if unfolding from a nightmarish tableau, the man's right arm hung at an angle that defied normalcy. It jutted out from the shoulder, twisted and wrong, an aberration that tugged at Ezer's sense of reality. The limb looked completely broken, yet the stranger walked as if unaware of the grotesque disfigurement, or the pain that should have been crippling.

A chill prickled at the back of Ezer's neck, a visceral reaction to the scene before him—an instinctual empathy for suffering, even as his rational mind grappled with confusion and a touch of fear.