School Halls and Hard Talks

Sunday passed in a strange, quiet limbo. The adrenaline high from the tournament victory slowly faded, leaving Kaizer feeling both deeply satisfied and curiously adrift. The immediate, driving goals of the past two weeks – survive Benny's garage, secure the cue money, win the tournament – had been achieved. Now, the path forward felt less defined, stretching out into the mundane realities of tenth grade, minimum wage work, and the ongoing, complex negotiation of his double life.

He spent part of the morning meticulously cleaning the new McDermott cue, applying shaft conditioner he'd found buried in his dad's garage (likely leftover from some long-forgotten woodworking project), treating the cue with the reverence it deserved. He practiced his stance and stroke in his room again, the movements feeling smoother, more natural now, even without hitting balls. The memory of the cue's performance under pressure yesterday filled him with a burgeoning confidence.

Later, seeking both to solidify the fragile truce with his father and perhaps earn a little extra goodwill (and maybe future cash), he voluntarily went down to the dining room office. Tom was, predictably, already buried in Henderson Realty's remaining chaos.

"Need more help, Dad?" Kaizer asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Tom looked up, surprised. "Thought you'd be… celebrating? Or resting after your… exertions yesterday?" He still seemed slightly uncomfortable acknowledging the tournament directly.

"Nah, I'm good," Kaizer shrugged. "Figured you still had a mountain to climb here."

A flicker of something – appreciation? relief? – crossed Tom's face before being quickly masked by his usual sternness. "Well… if you're offering… I need these vendor payment records cross-referenced against the bank statements. Need to identify any discrepancies, missing checks, that sort of thing." He gestured towards another daunting pile. "It requires absolute accuracy, Kaizer. No guessing."

"Understood," Kaizer said, pulling up the chair he now considered semi-permanently assigned to him. He spent the next few hours meticulously comparing check numbers, dates, and amounts, creating neat lists of discrepancies, his mind finding a familiar focus in the numerical puzzle. They worked mostly in silence again, but it felt less tense than before, more like two colleagues sharing a workspace, however mismatched their skill levels and true occupations were. His father didn't offer payment for this Sunday session, and Kaizer didn't ask; this felt more like an investment in goodwill, a down payment on future trust.

Monday morning arrived too quickly. Before heading to the bus stop, Kaizer performed a crucial errand. He took two hundred dollars of his prize money, folded it neatly, and placed it in a plain white envelope. At breakfast, under his father's watchful eye, he announced, "Dad, I'm heading to the bank before school to deposit this." He held up the envelope. "Like you suggested. For savings."

Tom looked genuinely surprised, then nodded slowly, a look of grudging approval softening his features. "Good," he said simply. "That's… responsible, Kaizer."

Sarah beamed. "That's wonderful, honey!"

Depositing the bulk of the cash felt right. It fulfilled his promise, eased parental concerns, and aligned with his goal of managing money better this time around. He kept thirty-three dollars tucked away in his wallet – enough for bus fare, lunch money if needed, and maybe that reconciliatory gesture towards Mark.

The walk to the bus stop felt different today. News of the tournament win had clearly circulated over the weekend. He noticed more kids than usual glancing his way, whispering to their friends. A couple of guys from the football team actually nodded at him, something that had never happened before. He felt a strange mix of gratification and unease. Attention was nice, but it also made hiding his true nature more difficult.

He spotted Mark waiting, headphones off today, seemingly scanning the crowd. Kaizer braced himself as he approached.

"Hey," Kaizer offered, trying for casual.

"Hey, Kaizer," Mark replied, his voice level, but his eyes held that familiar searching quality. "So… heard you won that tournament."

"Yeah, it was… surprising," Kaizer admitted, opting for modesty.

"Surprising?" Mark raised an eyebrow slightly. "People were saying you played like… well, like someone who really knew what they were doing. Beat Jesse Riley and everything."

"Got lucky in the final match," Kaizer deflected quickly. "Jesse choked on the nine-ball when I was down 4-6… I mean, 6-5. He missed, then I cleaned up." He offered the partial truth, hoping the element of luck would temper the perception of overwhelming skill. (He conveniently omitted his own choke at 4-3).

Mark absorbed this, looking thoughtful. "Still… beating guys like Peterson and Jones 5-0 and 5-2 before that… that's more than luck." He paused, then seemed to make a decision. "Look, Kaizer… can we talk? Like, actually talk? Maybe after school today?"

Kaizer's stomach tightened. This was it. The confrontation, or at least the serious conversation, he'd been both anticipating and dreading. Ignoring it further felt impossible, damaging. "Uh, yeah," he agreed, trying to sound nonchalant. "Sure, Mark. After school? Meet by the library entrance?"

"Cool," Mark nodded, then looked slightly relieved, as if getting the words out had been difficult. The bus arrived, and they boarded, finding seats together but lapsing into a somewhat awkward silence for most of the ride, the usual easy chatter replaced by the weight of the unspoken questions hanging between them.

The school day felt like one long prelude to the afternoon conversation. Kaizer struggled to focus on classes, his mind rehearsing explanations, justifications, deflections. How much could he reveal? How much should he reveal? The truth was off the table. A complete fabrication felt too complex, too likely to unravel. The vague acknowledgement of weirdness, combined with the GhostCue misdirection… maybe that was the best path?

He received a few more awkward congratulations in the hallways. Someone asked if he gave lessons. Someone else asked if he was related to Efren Reyes (a question that hit unnervingly close to his internal inspiration). He brushed them all off with vague smiles and noncommittal answers, feeling increasingly like an imposter in his own skin.

Finally, the last bell rang. Kaizer's heart pounded as he walked towards the library entrance, spotting Mark already waiting, leaning against the brick wall, looking nervous.

"Hey," Mark said as Kaizer approached.

"Hey," Kaizer replied. "So… what's up?"

Mark pushed his glasses up his nose, taking a deep breath. "Look, Kaizer… this is gonna sound weird, okay? Probably crazy. But… things have been weird lately. With you."

Kaizer braced himself. "Weird how?"

"Just… different," Mark struggled for words. "Ever since… well, for a few weeks now. You seem older, sometimes. Quieter. You blew me off that day after school, then showed up at the pool hall, a place you never cared about. Suddenly, you're playing pool like… like you've been doing it your whole life. Then I hear rumors about Benny's garage, about Vince… then you win the tournament, beating Jesse Riley? It doesn't add up, man."

Kaizer listened, his expression carefully neutral, though Mark's summary was chillingly accurate.

Mark continued, gaining momentum. "And then… there's that GhostCue guy online. On the BBSes. Giving out this insane, pro-level advice about physics and spin and strategy. And he just happens to show up online right around the time you start getting weirdly good at pool? And he seems to know the Northwood scene? I asked if he was you… and he gave this really slippery, non-answer answer." Mark looked directly at Kaizer now, his eyes searching. "It is you, isn't it? GhostCue? How are you doing it, Kaizer? How did you suddenly become… this?"

The direct accusation hung in the air. Kaizer felt trapped. Denying it outright felt futile now; Mark had clearly connected too many dots, his logical mind piecing together the improbable. But admitting it? Admitting he was GhostCue opened a Pandora's Box of impossible questions.

He opted for a variation of his planned strategy – acknowledge the weirdness, deflect the source.

"Mark," Kaizer began slowly, choosing his words carefully. "You're right. Things have been weird. I can't… I can't really explain it." He looked away for a moment, feigning confusion. "It's like… something just clicked. With pool. I started hitting balls down at Mel's, messed around a bit, and suddenly… it just started making sense in a way it never did before. Angles, spins… I don't know. It's weird for me too."

He paused, then addressed the GhostCue part, hoping the misdirection would hold. "And yeah, I saw that GhostCue guy's posts too after you mentioned him. Maybe… maybe reading his advice helped somehow? Like, unlocked something? It sounds crazy, I know." He tried a self-deprecating shrug. "Honestly, Mark, I feel like I'm just as confused about it as you are. I just know when I step up to the table right now… it works."

He looked back at Mark, trying to gauge his reaction, praying the combination of acknowledging the strangeness while offering a vague, almost mystical explanation (and pointing towards GhostCue as an external influence) might be enough.

Mark stared at him, his expression shifting from searching to skeptical, then finally settling on something Kaizer couldn't quite decipher – maybe frustration, maybe reluctant acceptance of the inexplicable.

"So… you're saying you're not GhostCue?" Mark asked directly.

Kaizer met his gaze. "I'm saying I'm Kaizer Saint. Sophomore. Decent at algebra, apparently getting weirdly good at pool all of a sudden." He offered a small, hesitant smile. "GhostCue sounds like someone way cooler, probably some old pro hiding out online."

Mark continued to study him, chewing on his lower lip. Kaizer could see he wasn't entirely buying it. The pieces didn't quite fit Mark's logical framework. But Kaizer hadn't offered a blatant lie Mark could disprove, just an absence of a rational explanation and a pointing finger towards the convenient online expert.

Finally, Mark sighed, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. "Okay, Kaizer," he said, his voice tired. "Okay. It's weird. Really weird. But… okay." He didn't sound convinced, but he sounded willing to drop the direct interrogation, at least for now. The friendship, perhaps, mattered more to him than solving the puzzle. "Just… be careful, man. Winning that tournament? Getting that kind of attention? And whatever happened at Benny's… guys like Vince don't just forget stuff."

A wave of relief, quickly followed by gratitude, washed over Kaizer. Mark wasn't pushing it. And he was still concerned for Kaizer's well-being. "I know," Kaizer said sincerely. "I will be. Benny's was… a mistake. Not doing that again."

"Good," Mark nodded. An awkward silence fell again, but the crushing tension had eased slightly. "So," Mark said, trying to shift back towards normalcy. "Pizza Chalet? My treat? Celebrate the big tournament win?"

Kaizer hesitated only a second. This was the olive branch, the chance to start rebuilding. "Yeah," he said, managing a genuine smile this time. "Pizza sounds great."

As they walked towards the Pizza Chalet, falling back into slightly hesitant conversation about school and games (Kaizer forcing himself to engage), Kaizer knew the GhostCue issue wasn't truly resolved. Mark's suspicion lingered. But for now, they had found a way to step back from the brink. He had bought himself time, kept his biggest secret safe, and maybe, just maybe, saved his friendship. It felt like another small, crucial victory in the complex game of his second life.