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The sky overhead was painted in late-afternoon gold, the desert horizon endless. Elio sat on the edge of the community center steps, sunglasses on, scrolling through a flood of messages on his phone. His life had changed overnight. First contact. The boy who’d spoken for Earth. Fame didn’t feel real, or at least seemed unreal for a boy his age, but at least Bryce had been there to help him adjust.
But not everyone was celebrating.
“Look who it is,” a familiar voice sneered. Elio froze, the hair on his neck prickling. He knew that voice. Caleb.
The older boy strutted across the parking lot, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, a scowl carved across his face. “Big man Solis. The little space hero. Guess you think you’re hot stuff now, huh?”
Elio said nothing, keeping his eyes on his phone.
“I should’ve been the star, not you. But nooo, I get kicked out of camp ‘cause of one stupid mistake. And Bryce? My Bryce? Suddenly he’s all buddy-buddy with you.” Caleb’s voice cracked, more bitterness than anger.
“Caleb… just go,” Elio muttered, standing up slowly. “This isn’t worth it.”
But Caleb stepped closer, circling him like a hyena. “Not worth it? You’re a joke, Solis. Just a skinny little crybaby who lucked out. Aliens probably felt sorry for you.”
Elio’s fists tightened. His heart pounded in his ears.
“C’mon, hit me. Show me how ‘tough’ you are. Or maybe Bryce will come save you? Huh?” Caleb jabbed a finger into Elio’s chest. “You’re nothing, Solis. NOTHING.”
Something in Elio snapped.
With a yell, he tackled Caleb, who's laugh of bravado suddenly transformed to a scream of horror, to the pavement. Years of feeling lonely boiled over. His fists hammered down, connecting with Caleb’s nose, his cheek, his jaw. Each strike landed heavier than the last, fueled by everything Elio had held back. Caleb thrashed beneath him, but the fight was gone almost immediately.
Blood smeared across Elio’s knuckles. Caleb’s face was a mess—his lip split, nose gushing, eyes swollen. He started to sob, tears streaking through the red.
“STOP!, STOOOOP!!!” Caleb whimpered, curling in on himself.
Elio froze, chest heaving, fists trembling in the air. He stared at what he’d done... the boy who used to tower over him now reduced to a weeping heap. For the first time, Elio realized Caleb was just another kid, broken and angry, not some untouchable monster.
But Elio didn’t say a word. He stood, brushed the blood off his knuckles onto his shorts, and turned away.
His stride was steady. Confident. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel small. He didn’t feel helpless.
Behind him, Caleb’s muffled sobs echoed in the empty parking lot.
Elio tried walking on. Bryce jogged up behind Elio, seeing the fire in his little friend’s eyes even as his fists trembled. “Elio—hey, cool it, man.” His tone was low, steady, but edged with urgency. “You can’t go around blasting off like that. What were you thinking?”
Elio’s voice cracked with leftover adrenaline. “He... he pushed me too far! Always with the masks, the insults, the pranks! I had to defend myself.”
“Defend yourself? Or prove something?” Bryce folded his arms, taller and calmer, but his eyes sharp. “You’re the Ambassador of Earth, remember? Ambassadors don’t start wars.”
The words landed heavy. Elio’s jaw tightened, but the storm behind his eyes softened. “I… I just wanted him to stop. I didn’t mean…” His voice dropped.
From the ground, Caleb stirred, his face pale and weary. The smirk that usually lived there was gone. “Elio… I shouldn’t have messed with you. Not like that. I thought it was funny, but… it wasn’t. I regret it.” His tone was fragile, stripped of the bravado that usually kept him safe.
Elio hesitated, biting his lip. Caleb was bigger—older—but right now he looked small. Slowly, awkwardly, Elio crouched down and tried to hoist him. Caleb was heavy, a bit too heavy for an 11-year-old to manage, his knees wobbling under the strain. Bryce stepped in smoothly and lifted Caleb with ease, slinging his other arm onto his back like it was nothing.
“You don’t have to do it all yourself,” Bryce said softly to Elio.
Elio exhaled, then turned to Caleb. “Truce?”
Caleb nodded weakly. “Truce. No more masks. No more insults.”
“Good,” Elio said firmly, though the heat in his voice was gone. “But your dad’s gonna wonder what happened. We need a story.”
Elio’s eyes lit up with his trademark spark of imagination. “Kung Fu Hobos.”
Both Bryce and Caleb blinked. “…Kung Fu Hobos?” Bryce echoed.
“Yeah,” Elio insisted, arms flailing a little as he painted the scene. “They came outta nowhere—bam! hi-yah!—and Caleb tried to fight them off, but they were, like, black belt level. We barely escaped!”
Caleb actually chuckled, despite his bruises. “Kung Fu Hobos, huh? That’s… ridiculous. But Dad’ll buy it.”
When they finally reached Caleb’s house, his dad’s worried frown turned into wide-eyed disbelief at the tale. Bryce kept a straight face, Caleb backed it up with weak nods, and Elio delivered the whole story with dramatic gestures, complete with sound effects. By the end, Caleb was tucked into bed, his father muttering about “those dangerous streets” and vowing to keep an eye out for martial-arts vagrants.
Outside, the night air was cooler, calmer. Elio looked at Bryce, his shoulders no longer tense. “Maybe I went too far.”
“Yeah,” Bryce said gently. “But you caught yourself. That’s what matters. Next time… use diplomacy. You don’t need to win with fists.”
Elio nodded, eyes searching the stars. “If I’m gonna be Earth’s ambassador… I have to be better than that.”
As they walked away, Caleb’s muffled voice called from his window: “Hey… thanks, Elio.”
Elio smiled faintly. “Anytime.”
And with that, two enemies had become something closer to allies, if not friends yet, then at least no longer at war.