Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 98823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“I’d tell you to be nice, but it’s true. Voted best place in Ohio to raise a family ten years running.”
“Wow.” The GPS directed us away from downtown past what seemed like dozens of soccer and baseball fields, teeming with kids despite the early hour. “That’s a lot of soccer fields.”
“Yup. Little league, soccer, football, and hockey. Something for almost everyone.”
“Almost?” I hadn’t missed the way he’d drawn out that word.
“It’s possible I’m too fabulous for organized sports.” He did a fake yawn, but there was something else there, some long-held hurt.
“You are, but I still would have picked you for my team.” I gave him a fast pat on the leg, earning a small, tender smile from him. “And for what it’s worth, I used to dream of baseball during enforced lessons with the tennis pro.”
“Poor you.” He laughed, but his eyes were sincere. More than others, he seemed to get how far from ideal my childhood had been. And likewise, I understood how his own experiences had layers of nuance, not always the glittery overnight success story showcased in the media.
“Oh look, they’ve added on to my old elementary school.” As we slowed for a red light, Ezra pointed at a large school surrounded by an impressive playground structure and still more soccer and sports fields. “I can still remember the exact scent of the auditorium and the butterflies in my stomach the first time I took the stage.”
“Did you always want to sing?” I asked, trying to picture him as a cute kid in some school production, fresh-faced and eager but full of that restless pre-show energy that plagued him to this day.
“Always.” His smile turned distant as he stared off at the school complex. “I was the odd duck trying to choreograph the line waiting to bat and always wanting to put on a show for the neighborhood.”
“Were you lonely?” I asked softly. This town might offer an iconic picture of small-town America, but I could also see how someone with Ezra’s bright internal glow might stand out. A disco ball in the middle of rows of identical sixty-watt bulbs.
“Yeah.” He nodded slowly. “Until Geek Chorus, I didn’t have a place I truly fit in. Nothing like the bullying you had at boarding school, but I never quite fit here either. Getting the part on the show was where I found my people for the first time. It’s why I’ll always be grateful to my parents for being willing to move us out there so I could take the opportunity.”
“It’s really neat that they did that for you.” The light changed, and we continued our slow drive through town, past a neighborhood of Victorian-looking historic homes surrounding the school.
“My parents really are the best. I’m not sure they ever understood my love of performing, but they still encouraged me with music lessons and let me do auditions. And they both hated living in California, but they did that for me. Pretty awesome.”
“It is.” My lower back tensed. I hadn’t had parents willing to put me first, and while I was glad Ezra’d had a great support system, part of me would always be angry for my younger self.
“Because of my parents’ sacrifices, I got to find a circle where I did belong. Not everyone gets that.” The gratitude in Ezra’s voice was another thing I liked about him. He never lost sight of how lucky he was, and in doing so, he helped remind me of my own blessings. “And that’s why I love the band so much. I still remember what it was like to be lonely and not have my people.”
“Me too. That’s probably why I take my obligations to my fellow SEALs so seriously.” I took a deep breath at another stop sign, glancing over at him. Our eyes met, two like souls who knew what it was like to be surrounded by others and still be alone. My chest was warm and full, so much that I needed a few extra seconds at the stop sign. Ezra was a pleasure I hadn’t realized I needed, having someone who got me on a fundamental level.
“Turn here,” he indicated at the next intersection.
“The GPS says—”
“Ignore it.” Ezra waved his hand, the emperor I never could deny. “I want to show you something.”
He directed me to a smaller park near a meandering creek, not too far from the school, and near an old-fashioned ice cream parlor with a quaint sign advertising the Dairy Den. We parked in the mostly-empty lot so Ezra could point out a path leading from the parking lot to a large earth sculpture and a nearby whimsical, space-themed playground. A few families were playing on the rocket slide and the planet-shaped climbers, and I could easily see a little Ezra eagerly exploring this park.