#Mc POV#
#Time Skip: About 1 Month Later#
I woke up calm. Collected. No homework hanging over my head, no dread about another mind-numbing day at school. I was already sick of knowing everything before the teacher even opened their mouth. There was barely a reason for me to be there. Thankfully. Today was Saturday.
I sat up slowly, not even bothering to glance beside me. I already knew—Alex wouldn't be there.
Since the train... every night had turned into a battle. Anxiety. Nightmares. Echoes of memories I couldn't silence. Screams. If it weren't for Alex sleeping beside me, arms wrapped around me when I broke down, I doubt I'd get a second of real sleep.
At some point—without a word between us—my bed had become our bed. She didn't make a big deal of it. I didn't ask her to stay. But she did. Night after night.
And that said everything.
Something between us had shifted. Maybe since that night. Maybe long before. It wasn't loud. It was quiet. Subtle. But real. Realer than anything has felt in a while.
We were... closer now. Entwined. Like magnets. Always attracted to one another. We were stuck—permanent. Like the Earth was round, as sure as gravity, and this wasn't going to change.
At school, I saw it in the little things.The way her eyes always searched for me in a crowd.The way she lingered after every hug.The way her fingers brushed mine in passing.The way she stared when she thought I wasn't looking. Even the way she'd sneak sniffs of my hoodie when she thought I was distracted.
And speaking of hoodies—She didn't even try to hide the fact that she kept taking my clothes. And I didn't ask for them back.
Was it inappropriate? Maybe. Probably. But it didn't feel wrong. Just… complicated. Comforting.
Like something inevitable. Something I'd stopped resisting. And maybe she'd never been resisting in the first place.
I still hadn't told her what happened in these nightmares. I don't think I ever would. Some things are better left locked away.
I sighed, swung my legs off the bed, and stood up. My body felt heavy—but not in a bad way. Just familiar. Like it had adapted to the weight it carried. May that be the weight of the nightmares and memories, or the weight of the world itself—I wasn't sure.
I hit the bathroom first. Brushed my teeth. Washed my face. Let the cold water remind me I was still here.
Then I headed downstairs.
The living room buzzed with life. Like it was a holiday morning, or the start of something unexpected.
Even Harper and Zeke were there.
Ever since that day, I paid more attention on the train ride home. Made sure Alex and Harper held hands so they wouldn't get lost.
Harper was the same as always—uncool, unbothered, yet emotional and her own version of fashionable, giddy even—already halfway through a bowl of cereal like she owned the place.
Since that day on the train, her attention had drifted.The old crush she had on me? Gone. Thank god.
Now her eyes were locked on someone else. Zeke.
And honestly? I didn't mind.
Zeke had become someone I was okay calling a friend. He wasn't the smartest guy in the room, sure. But what he lacked in IQ, he made up for in raw charisma.
Thanks to him, I'd even managed to talk to a few other people at school. Which, considering how I started the year? Was basically a miracle.
The guy himself was cross-legged on the carpet, fiddling with some gadget in his lap, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. Probably another DIY robot project. One that'd fail spectacularly. But he'd try nonetheless.
The air felt light. Lighter than it had in weeks.
Maybe—just maybe—Today would actually be normal.
Maybe.
I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bowl from the cabinet.
Maxine was already sitting beside Harper at the counter, both of them eating like it was their last meal. Weirdly enough, those two got along weirdly well. You'd think they'd argue more about stupid things. Or Harper wouldn't know what to talk about with someone younger than her. Maybe some awkward silence. But nope—complete harmony. Chaos recognizes chaos, or more like giddy recognizes chaotic giddy, I guess.
I yawned, grabbing a box from the pantry and muttering to myself as I poured out the cereal.
Fruity Rocks. Peak breakfast. No debate. Best cereal ever. Bite me.
I reached for the milk, still half-asleep, and started pouring it over the colorful little nuggets of joy—Then I stopped.
Sniffed. Frowned.
The smell hit me like a brick wall dipped in rotten cheese.
"Oh god—" I gagged, pulling the carton away and looking inside.
Mold. Chunks. Literal curdled chaos. My bowl now looked like a war crime.
"What the heck?!"
And that's when it happened.
Laughter.
From everywhere.
Alex, Mom, and Dad came strolling down the stairs, laughing like they just got back from a comedy show.
Harper and Maxine in the living room? Also laughing. Zeke was practically wheezing.
I turned slowly, the spoiled bowl still in hand, the scent practically trying to murder me.
"...What are you guys laughing at?"
Dad didn't even hesitate. He looked at me with this cartoon villain grin and said:
"It's war time, son."
Alex chimed in immediately after, her smirk matching Dad's perfectly.
"And payback is long overdue."
Mom stepped in with her classic "I will end you" tone, tossing out one warning like it carried the weight of a thousand punishments:
"Keep the mess to a minimum… or else."
We all froze.
Instant trauma flashback.One threat from Mom and suddenly we were all five years old again, hiding broken vases behind the couch like it was a crime scene.
The tension was thick for a second. Then passed.
I stared at them. Then at the spoiled milk still clinging to my cereal like it had beef with me. Then back at them.
Oh. Oh, it was on.
…
Later, after finding something else to eat for breakfast and everyone else leaving. Plotting something. I found Zeke lounging on the couch, sipping juice like he hadn't just committed high treason.
I crossed my arms, looming over him with full dramatic flair.
"So, Zeke. Old buddy, pal of mine..." I narrowed my eyes, slow and menacing. "Wanna explain how you thought it was a good idea to join their side? To betray me like this? In my house?"
Zeke looked up at me with zero guilt, zero shame, just that dumb, charming grin he always pulled out when he knew he was guilty but also proud of it.
"Listen, man," he said, shrugging like he hadn't just sold me out, "they offered me immunity and freshly made brownies from the other day. What was I supposed to do—not commit war crimes?"
I stared at him, deadpan."...You disgust me."
He shrugged like this was just another Tuesday."Yeah, yeah. You want help surviving the prank war?"
I looked around the room, weighing my options.I could go solo. Ride this out like a lone wolf. But honestly… that sounded exhausting.
"Fine," I sighed. "Yes. I need your help."
Zeke nodded like he'd already seen this coming."Understandable. But—before I agree—I have some demands."
My face scrunched up immediately. I already regretted this.
"What kind of demands?"
He grinned. That same evil little grin people in movies have right before they hit the big red button.
"Oh, just a couple simple things." He held up a finger for each one."One: you build me another DIY robot. But this one has to move. Like actually walk.""Two: I want twenty bucks a week. Every week. For the next two months.""And three: my involvement in the spoiled milk prank? You erase it. Never happened. I was never there. Clean slate. Deal?"
I stared at him like he grew a second head.
Then turned and walked away.
"I'll take that as a maybe!" he called after me.
This was personal now.
This was a prank war.
No one was safe. No one was getting off scot-free.
And no one would win.
Unless it was me.
Let the prank war commence. And good luck to the rest of them. They were gonna need it.
Muahahaha!
Zeke watched me walk away and shouted, "What the heck are you laughing at, you off-brand cartoon supervillain?!"
I ignored him. To busy plotting as I walked out the door...
I was back. Back in my element.The place where it all started—and where everything always came together.
Tricks Emporium.
Honestly? The name was genius.Simple. Iconic. Perfectly chaotic. I smiled to myself as I pushed through the doors.
The bell above the entrance jingled in its usual off-key way, like it was in on the joke.
The place looked better than ever. The shelves were fully stocked—classic pranks, new inventions, limited edition stuff, all perfectly arranged in that "organized chaos" way only pranksters could appreciate.
It made me weirdly happy. Like the shop was alive and thriving. Like it mattered.
And then—there he was.
Behind the counter, in all his goofy glory:
Mr. Cartoon Magician.
My favorite master of mischief. A legend in a dollar-store tuxedo perfect for children's parties, and a top hat that had definitely seen some things. Probably screamed through a few prank wars of its own.
And the pièce de résistance? The ducky bow tie. Bright yellow, squeaky, and always locked and loaded—spraying water in your face, or… other things.
I came by to visit him on occasion. Told him about the prank I pulled. He absolutely loved it. Practically lived for it.
I walked up, and the second he saw me, his grin went full-on cartoon villain.
"Well, if it isn't my best customer!" he boomed. "Put 'er there, pal!"
He stuck out his hand, all innocent-like—but I wasn't born yesterday. The glint in his eye said it all. And yep—there it was. The classic hand shocker, half-concealed in his palm like I wouldn't notice.
I paused. Gave him the look. You know the one. Really, dude?
Then I raised an eyebrow and offered a fist bump instead.
He snorted, that grin stretching even wider as he bumped it back.
"That's why you're my favorite," he said. "You saw right through it. Trickster 101. Never fall for the obvious gag."
"Gotta stay sharp," I said, smirking. "Especially during a war."
His eyes lit up.
"Oho? War, you say?"
I leaned on the counter slightly, lowering my voice like I was about to reveal classified intel.
"Family prank war. It's bad. They hit me with curdled milk. Curdled milk, man."
He winced dramatically. "Yikes. That's cold-blooded. Literally."
I nodded solemnly."I need the good stuff."
His expression turned serious. Like a weapons dealer prepping a top-tier client.
"You came to the right place."
He gestured for me to follow, leading me into the aisles packed with trickster treasures. Glitter bombs, disappearing ink, sound traps, stink capsules—every prankster's dream.
Then he glanced over at me, just once. Studied me. The fun in his eyes dimmed a little.
"You alright, man?" he asked, casual but… not really. His voice dipped into concern. "You look a little tired."
I gave him a nod, appreciative.
"I'm alright," I said. Then smirked again. "I'll be better when I win this war."
He smirked, eyes glinting like a magician about to reveal his best trick.
"That's the spirit…" he said, lowering his voice. "I'm not supposed to—but for you? Just this once…"
He put a finger to his lips, signaling the universal gesture of top secret stuff incoming.
"Come to the back with me."
I followed him behind the counter, heart already picking up speed. He glanced over his shoulder, almost mischievously, before unlocking a plain, unmarked door.
With a theatrical creeeaak, it opened.
And what I saw inside—
It was beautiful.
A shrine. A sacred vault.The Holy Grail of prankdom.
Shelves upon shelves of chaos incarnate: Exploding chewing gum. Disappearing floor tiles. Instant-balding spray. Industrial-grade itching powder. Traps with warning labels that probably violated multiple health codes.
Some looked like jokes. Some looked like war crimes. All of them looked perfect.
I stepped inside, breath catching in my throat. "I can't tell if half of these are pranks or psychological warfare."
He nodded, voice reverent. "Bit of both. We call this the Back Room of Bananas."
I turned to him slowly. We locked eyes.
And then—pure, silent understanding.
Tears welled up. The kind of emotional moment only two true tricksters could share.
We didn't need words. Only the knowledge that we were standing in the presence of greatness.
"Enough sentimental stuff," I said, wiping the literal tear from the corner of my eye. "Let's get to arming me up."
The tingle hit me. That spark. The rush of chaos in the making.
Plans started slotting together in my head like puzzle pieces soaked in mayhem.
I turned to him, already half-grinning.
"Hey, do you have any drones? Or trackers? Maybe something... stealthy?"
Mr. Cartoon Magician arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
"Oho? Going techy this round, are we?"
He turned on his heel and strutted down one of the aisles like a mad scientist mid-breakthrough.
"Follow me, Agent Chaos."
We passed prank boxes labeled things like The Sneeze of Doom and Poop Illusion Kit Deluxe, until he reached a shelf tucked in the corner, behind a curtain of fake cobwebs and a sign that read:
"Too Nerdy for the Front."
He pulled out a small, dust-covered box and blew it off like he was unveiling a priceless artifact.
Inside:
Two micro-drones with foldable wings and tiny cameras(with a note underneath: Caution very heavy!)
A handful of magnetic trackers, shaped like googly eyes.
A mini controller disguised as a keychain.
And something labeled simply: "Bug in a Mug" (with a note underneath: 100% legal... probably)
"These," he said, voice low and dramatic, "are from my discontinued Spy Prank line. Never really caught on with the 7-and-under crowd. But you? You'll make 'em sing."
I reached for the drones, already picturing the possibilities.
This war just went digital.
I started cackling.
Not just a chuckle. Not a snicker.
A full-blown, head-thrown-back, evil genius maniacal laugh that echoed off the shelves like I was plotting world domination.
Mr. Cartoon Magician just nodded approvingly, arms crossed like a proud mentor watching his student become the final boss.
"Now…" I said, still grinning, eyes wide with the power of twelve terrible ideas forming at once, "I just need a couple more things…"
He leaned forward, hands steepled. "Name your weapons."
I held up a finger, counting off like I was reciting the prank commandments.
"One—industrial strength itching powder. The kind that makes people question their life choices."
"Ah yes, the Regret Blend," he said, already digging through a drawer labeled DO NOT SELL TO GRANDMAS.
"Two—glitter bombs. Three of 'em. Varying blast radius."
"Color preferences?"
"Chaotic rainbow. Obviously."
He nodded. "Tasteful and aggressive. I like it."
"And three—something I can use on Zeke. He betrayed me. I want it annoying, not deadly, but like... emotionally scarring."
"Ah." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Might I suggest the Delayed Squeaky Shoe Inserts? Activate five minutes after putting on shoes. Just long enough for him to be confident, then BOOM—clown mode."
I gasped. "You're a genius."
He shrugged. "I do what I must."
I loaded the items onto the counter like I was assembling a chaos care package. I could feel the revenge brewing. This was art. This was war. This was personal.
And then reality hit me.
I looked at the growing stack. Then at him.
"Also... do y'all do discounts?"
He blinked.
Then burst out laughing.
"Buddy, you just requested enough prank gear to start your own villain franchise. I gotta hook you up."
He pulled out a little stamp shaped like a whoopee cushion and smacked it onto the receipt with flair.
'Certified Mayhem Tier: 25% Off.'
"I give those out to the real ones," he said with a wink.
Oh. Yeah!
"It doesn't include the drones"
Dang It!
…
After carefully stashing my new toys in my secret hiding spot (beneath a recycling bin down the street—classic), and locking in the final pieces of my master plan, I headed home.
I was ready. Focused. Practically vibrating with anticipation.
I sprinted up the stairs to the apartment like a man on a mission, adrenaline in my veins, vengeance in my heart.
Threw open the door.
Boof.
I froze.
Too late.
COUGH COUGH—My lungs betrayed me. My soul left my body.
My eyes watered instantly. The stench hit me like a flaming wrecking ball made of expired burritos and regret.
Fart. Spray. Pure. Unfiltered. Disrespect.
"WHAT IN THE TOXIC WASTELAND IS THIS?!"
I stumbled back, wheezing, waving my arms like that would help. Spoiler alert: it didn't.
Somewhere inside, I heard snickering.
No—cackling.
They knew I was coming. They had planned for this. Ambush.
These monsters were playing dirty. And I respected it. Almost.
Almost.
"Alright!" I shouted into the cursed air. "Whoever deployed the biological warfare? You just moved to the top of the list!"
More laughter. Probably from the living room.
My eye twitched. It made the pain worse.
This was no longer a game.
This was warfare.
And I had trackers.
…
After scrubbing myself raw in the shower to erase the lingering scent of unholy fart gas (and a little bit of my dignity), the battle hit a temporary ceasefire.
Lunch.
We gathered around the table, all pretending like things were normal. Peaceful. Just a family sharing sandwiches.
But it was a lie.
Everyone ate in tense silence, chewing with suspicion in their eyes. It was like a mafia meeting. If the mafia used glitter bombs and fake spiders instead of guns.
My eyes swept the table, gauging the threat level.
Dad? Distracted. Probably plotting a big finish. Mom? Calm. Controlled. Probably planning ten steps ahead. Harper? Giddy. Twitchy. A chaos goblin barely holding it in. Zeke? Quiet. Focused. Playing his part.
Maxine? Quiet. Joyful. Really just along for the ride. But Alex?
Alex was the problem.
She didn't even try to hide the smirk tugging at her lips as she casually sipped from her drink. A knowing look in her eye. Like she'd already won.
So it was you.
I narrowed my eyes slightly. She raised an eyebrow. Game on.
If there was one person in this house who could challenge me, it was her. Alex didn't play fair. She played smart. Street smart. Tactical. Ruthless.
But I was done playing nice.
I glanced at Zeke. Just a flick of the eyes.
He caught the signal.
The nod.
He "accidentally" dropped his sandwich. "Whoops."
Smooth. Real smooth.
He ducked under the table, fumbling theatrically. Everyone kept eating like nothing happened—except me. I watched.
Zeke moved fast. Like a raccoon with a mission. He popped the magnetic trackers onto each foot. One by one.
Mom. Dad. Harper. Alex.
All tagged.
Zeke was also tagged. And Maxine. But they didn't need to know that.
He came back up a few seconds later, grinning like nothing had happened.
I sipped my drink slowly. Smirked. Let the silence stretch.
Now I could track everyone.
Let the games begin.
…
After lunch, the house emptied out again. Everyone scattered like cockroaches when the lights come on—off to plan, prep, and most importantly… avoid being within arm's reach of retaliation.
Cowards. Smart cowards.
I stayed behind. Sat on the couch like a general surveying the battlefield.
Pulled out the keychain controller. Watched the little blinking dots. Each one pulsing with the promise of future vengeance.
Here comes Johnny.
Zeke was already on the move, out gathering supplies. Getting the materials for what would be remembered in family history as The Mother of All Pranks.
Everything was lining up.
I stood. Calm. Ready.
Walked to the front door with purpose.
Gripped the handle, planning to step outside, maybe get some air—maybe check on Zeke's progress in person.
But then—
ZAP!
"AUGHHH—WHAT THE—?!"
My whole hand jolted. A sudden, sharp shock raced up my arm like I'd just high-fived a live wire.
I staggered back—
PSSHHHT!
"NO. NO—DON'T YOU—"
FFFFRRRRRRRTTT.
I was hit again.This time, directly in the chest. A fresh blast of liquid skunk fart spray.
I choked. Wheezed. Sputtered like I'd just stepped into a tear gas factory run by raccoons.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"
Somewhere—somewhere—I knew Alex was laughing.
Probably high-fiving herself. And everyone else.
Or worse—filming.
I stood there, frozen in betrayal, stinking like a dumpster fire on taco night, hand still twitching from the shock.
My eyes narrowed.
They wanted war?
They just got nuclear.
I took another shower.
Another!
My poor skin was about two layers away from vanishing completely, but I wasn't about to walk around smelling like a skunk's revenge.
Once I was clean (again), I grabbed a plastic bag, cautiously covered the knob and cracked open the front door—and paused.
No more surprises. Not today.
I peeked outside. Nothing obvious.
Good.
I stepped out slowly, carefully—
Jumped back.
A strip of gum. Extra sticky. Lined across the top step like a candy-coated bear trap.
I stared at it, narrowed my eyes. Harper. That had her chaotic energy all over it. Maybe even Mom helped her pull it off, just to make sure it was "clean-up friendly." Diabolical.
Made my way down the stairs like I was dodging laser beams.
Almost free—
PFFFFFT.
I flinched.
Looked down.
Whoopee cushion.
Maxine's doing. Definitely her brand of cute chaos. I rolled my eyes, tried not to laugh. It was harmless.
...At least, I thought I was in the clear.
Until it started.
Sneeze.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
"Wh—ACHOO—what the—ACHOO—WHY?!"
That's when it hit me: Dad and Maxine.
Pranks of inconvenience. Not flashy. Not messy. But just irritating enough to ruin your day.
They'd probably hidden sneeze powder in the whoopee cushion or something. Classic Dad move. Subtle sabotage. Maxine must've learned from the best.
I kept walking, head high, sneezing like a busted sprinkler.
This wasn't just a war.
It was a gauntlet.
And I was going to make them pay.
I swore to myself as I finally made it to the front door of the Waverly.
Almost there. Freedom in reach.
Then—CLANG! SPLASH!
A pan full of water dropped straight down onto my head like a cartoon anvil.
I stood there, dripping.
Drenched in water that smelled suspiciously like… floral perfume.
At least the sneezing stopped.
I blinked, processing it all. Then it clicked.
Mom.
She was playing this like a seasoned general. Ten steps ahead. Always.
She knew she wouldn't win if she tried going toe-to-toe with me. She also knew she couldn't resist joining the chaos.
So she walked the line.
She gave me a clean hit—harmless, technically—but laced it with meaning.
That flowery perfume? Her signature scent. A coded message.
"I'm in this. But not really.""Fix the sneeze stuff before it wrecks your plan. I helped you this time.""And don't come for me. I'm not the one you need to worry about."
This wasn't just a prank.This was a boundary, dressed up as a splash.
A way to say: "I'm not your enemy. Keep me out of whatever final boss nonsense you're planning."
She went easy on me… because she knew. Knew what I was capable of. Knew I was planning something big. And she didn't want to be in the blast zone.
I looked up at the ledge the pan dropped from. A perfect setup. No mess, no cleanup. Just vibes.
I nodded once.
Message received, General Mom.
She was out. Which meant I had full clearance to go all in.
The final boss was still out there.
Alex.
And I was coming.
I closed the door behind me and started running out into the sunny New York street. Let's see what you guys got…
I finally almost made it to Zeke. Almost.
Because apparently, the universe—and my family—weren't quite done with me yet.
First, there was more sneeze spray. Then a blinding strobe light rigged to a doorknob that flashed so hard I swear it could've re-blinded a blind man. For a week. Yeah. You heard me.
And then—because this day hadn't reached max chaos—some random cute girl tried to rope me into what she claimed was a "fun neighborhood water fight."
Only… it wasn't water. Skunk spray. Industrial-grade.
There were two reasons I dodged that bullet:
I wasn't interested. Period.
Despite not being interested, I felt it.That chill. That sudden shiver of "oh no, I'm being watched."
I turned my head slightly. She felt it too. Her smile faltered for just a second.
Alex.
No way she signed off on that one. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. That girl and I both felt the air change. She just handed me the water gun and walked off like nothing happened.
I didn't follow. Because now wasn't the time to unpack whatever that meant.
Instead, I kept moving.
Finally, I pulled up to the alley where Zeke was waiting—hoodie up, juice box in hand like some kind of laid-back tech informant. He rounded the corner, spotted me, and froze.
His eyes went wide.
"DUDE," he said, voice full of secondhand pain, "what took you so long? And—what happened to you? You look like you lost a fight with a rave, a flower shop, and a trash panda."
I stopped in front of him, deadpan.
"Zeke. I have seen things. I have smelled things. I have sneezed things. And I'm pretty sure at some point I went blind for twenty seconds."
He blinked. "So... a solid evening, then?"
I exhaled. "Let's just say... I'm ready. This war ends today."
Zeke cracked his knuckles and took a long sip from his juice box. Somehow ignoring the smell of the trash can we were next to and the New York rats scattering by.
"Then let's break out the good stuff."
"I already placed everything and paid those guys off like you wanted," Zeke said, dusting his hands like a man who'd just orchestrated a government-level sting operation. "It's all in place. Now we just have to get there in one piece and watch it all go down."
I nodded, grinning like a villain watching the final domino tip over.
"This is gonna be beautiful."
But before we started moving, I slowed my steps. Turned slightly.
"Hey, Zeke—real quick."He looked at me, already suspicious."Remember how you betrayed me, pal?"
He winced. "C'mon, man. I thought we said—"
"Water under the bridge," I said smoothly, extending a hand for a shake. "Seriously. No hard feelings."
He eyed me like I was holding a snake but took the handshake anyway.
I gave him a charming pat on the shoulder as I turned to walk away.
Click.
I pressed a tiny button on my keychain.
Zeke took one step forward—and instantly froze. His shoes stuck in place like glue. And then—
Squeak.Squeak-squeak.SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK.
Each step now a shrill, cartoonish betrayal.
Made worse thanks to the very empty and airy ally. As the sound traveled far and wide.
I watched Zeke as he looked down in horror. "Oh come on! Seriously?!"
I didn't even turn around. Just raised a hand in farewell and said over my shoulder:
"Forgiveness, my dude... doesn't mean forgetting."
I didn't look back as I heard Zeke struggle with his now-immovable shoes. His feet were practically glued to the ground, but I was already a few steps ahead.
"And don't bother trying to take 'em off," I called back, my grin growing wider. "It won't work."
Zeke groaned in the distance, but I wasn't about to show mercy. Not yet.
I picked up my pace. "Now, follow me, and remember what you've done."
He stumbled after me, the squeaks of his shoes echoing behind like a soundtrack to his misery.
It was time. The park was the final battleground.
It was do or don't. The moment of truth.
I stepped forward, cautiously eyeing my surroundings. Zeke trailed behind, his shoes squeaking like a horror movie soundtrack. Every step, a betrayal.
Then—"Not so fast, boys."
We froze.
Harper.
We both turned, only to see her, drenched from head to toe, reeking of something far worse than sweat. Fart spray. A lot of fart spray. And—wait for it—a water gun.
"I couldn't beat Alex," she said, her grin wicked. "But I can at least take you two down."
Without hesitation, I took off, sprinting as fast as my legs would carry me.
Zeke, however, was... not so fast.
"Wait up!" he yelled, but—of course—his shoes betrayed him.
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
I glanced back briefly, a wicked smile creeping across my face.
"Come on, Justin, please! Don't leave me!" Zeke pleaded, helpless, as Harper aimed the fart gun square at him.
I turned just enough to give him a soldier's salute.
"Good work, soldier. Despite your betrayal, you will be missed," I called, pushing my legs harder, racing away.
Behind me, I heard screams. Gags. The unmistakable sounds of someone trapped in a nightmare. A fart-scented, squeaky nightmare.
And all I could do was laugh as I sprinted into the distance.
All the way to the park.
…
Finally.
I reached it. The park was right before me in all its glory.
The breeze was light, the sun was warm, and everything looked so... normal. Kids ran around with popsicles, parents lounged on benches or pushed swings. Laughter and joy filled the air. None of them suspected that this tranquil playground was moments away from becoming a glitter-covered war zone.
Then I saw them—my targets.
Dad, Maxine, Mom, and Alex. They were walking cautiously, eyes darting, their bodies tense. You could tell they'd just dodged their own wave of pranks—probably some light skirmishes between them. But now, they were sticking close together, not out of trust, but mutual fear.
They knew something was coming.
I crouched behind a tree, scanning the area. The four of them were perfectly placed—right in the middle of a setup I'd had Zeke get rigged earlier. Water pipes surrounded them like the bars of an invisible trap.
It was showtime.
I tapped a button on my keychain.
Almost instantly, Mom glanced down at her shoe, eyes narrowing. She felt it. A hum. A tracker—one she probably just noticed too late. Her eyes flicked up and locked onto mine for the briefest second before she smirked. That familiar smirk that said I know exactly what you're about to do, and I respect the hustle.
Then she turned, whispered something to the group, and bolted.
I didn't wait.
I dashed to the side of the pipes and yanked the lever.
FWOOSH.
Water erupted everywhere—but not just water. Glitter bombs burst in the spray, coating the area in shimmering rainbow chaos. Mixed in with it was my not-so-secret ingredient: industrial-grade itching powder. The kind that gets in every crevice and stays there like a bad decision.
They froze for one second… then the scratching began.
Dad let out a string of half-formed curses. Maxine screamed and started spinning in circles. Alex dropped into a crab-walk position, trying to scrape the glitter off using pure kinetic energy. And Mom? Somewhere off in the distance, probably laughing her head off while safely out of range.
They all hit the grass, rolling like human tumbleweeds, trying to escape the horror. Maxine finally gave in and sprinted toward the lake. She jumped in with a splash that sent a rainbow cloud into the air, glitter trailing behind her like some mythical, chaotic dolphin.
I couldn't hold it in. I was doubled over laughing.
This was perfect.
At least, until I heard the voice.
"Nice. Not bad for an amateur."
I froze. My spine chilled. I turned.
There she was. Alex.
Right behind me.
I whipped my head back toward the group I just annihilated. Alex—fake Alex—was still scratching like the rest. My brain glitched.
"What the—how—"
She smirked, stepping closer, arms crossed like a final boss waiting for her moment.
"Don't bother. I paid a girl who looks just enough like me to fill in. While they were distracted, I slipped out. Figured you'd go big... but this?" She gestured to the mayhem still happening. "This is legendary. I almost feel bad ruining it."
Almost.
She tilted her head slightly. "I'm definitely giving that girl a bonus though. You went full war criminal."
"Why did I agree to this!" Was yelled by the one in question.
We ignored it.
I blinked, gears turning fast.
She was here. Not just to taunt.
She had a plan.
And suddenly... I wasn't sure I was winning anymore.
Alex took a step closer, eyes glinting with that signature rebellious spark—wild, untamed, and way too pleased with herself. Her smirk widened with every step, like a villain mid-monologue. And that's when I saw it.
The ball.
Small, unassuming… lethal.
I knew that ball.
I saw it at Tricks Emporium, locked away behind a glass case with a handwritten sign: "DANGEROUS. DO NOT SELL. SERIOUSLY."
It was a cocktail of nightmares. Industrial-grade scratching powder, sneezing powder, fart spray, glitter, and just enough of a blinding flash to ruin your life for a good five minutes if you were standing too close. A literal grenade of chaos.
And she was holding it like a trophy.
That's when it hit me. All the escalating pranks. The shift from goofy chaos to borderline psychological warfare. It wasn't just the family stepping things up.
It was Alex. Whispering in ears. Nudging the madness just far enough. She'd been orchestrating the entire thing behind the scenes like a prank war puppeteer.
"You didn't really think you were the only one that knew about the Tricks Emporium did you?" She asked. I gulped. "No.", I said … I did.
She looked down at me, smug as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. "Any last words, brother?"
I glanced around. Nothing left on me. Maybe one last glitter bomb and some itching powder—but that was back in the alley with Zeke.
So I did the only thing I could.
I raised my hands in surrender, swallowing my pride along with the lingering scent of fart spray. "Do your worst."
She laughed—actually laughed—and wound her arm back like a pitcher ready to deliver a fastball straight to my dignity.
And then—
FWAP.
A blur of motion. A flash of silver.
A butterfly net.
Mom.
She stood there, hair slightly windswept, arm still extended from the catch, looking every bit like a PTA ninja. Her gaze shifted to Alex, calm but deadly. The look. You know the one.
Disappointed mother mode: activated.
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice someone trying to manipulate me, sweetheart?" she said coolly. "I wasn't born yesterday."
Alex froze mid-smirk. Her pupils dilated. "Mom, I—I don't know what you're talking about. I mean—let's all just chill for a second, okay?"
Mom didn't blink. She just turned the net, carefully extracting the prank bomb from it.
"I think what you did deserves a little punishment," she said, voice sweet like syrup—and just as thick with menace.
She lobbed the ball underhand.
"Catch."
Alex screamed and bolted across the grass like a cartoon villain caught mid-heist. The ball soared through the air in slow motion, a glittery harbinger of doom.
And I?
I collapsed to the ground, cackling like a lunatic.
The battlefield was chaos, but in that moment?
Victory had never smelled so much like fart spray and justice.
Mom turned to me with a smile, while behind her, Alex twitched violently. She was soaked in rainbow coloring, smelling like pure liquid death, and her face slowly shifted into an expression of pure, unadulterated discomfort as the itching powder really kicked in.
Mom gently drew my attention back to her. "Now, that prank of yours was just cruel. They're still itching over there," she said, her tone caught somewhere between proud and horrified.
I turned just in time to see everyone else flailing in the lake, desperately trying to scrape the itching powder off their skin. A few nearby families watched from a distance, stunned, probably questioning their life choices.
"But," Mom continued, "at least you played by the book. You used pure cunning, not manipulation. And you took your pranks like a champ." She smiled proudly. "You won."
I stood up and gave her a hug."No, Mom—you won."
She hugged me back, warm and comforting, all the chaos melting away in that one second of peace.
We pulled apart. "Now let's get everyone home for a shower. You all stink. And I think your dad is one minute away from carving off his own skin."
I looked over. Sure enough, Dad was still in the lake, beating a stick over his back, screaming curse words like a sailor with a vendetta against glitter.
I scrunched my face, trying to show sympathy. "Yeah… let's do that."
Hours later…
We were all back home. Showered. Scrubbed. Probably missing layers of skin. And finally—finally—sitting in the living room, plates of burgers in front of us, we had ordered on the way home while everyone's complained, soaked in post-war silence.
"I don't think we should ever do that again," Dad muttered, still recovering from the horrors he'd endured.
"Noted!" Zeke, Alex, Harper, and Maxine all shouted in unison, shivering at the thought of repeating this madness.
Me and Mom just chuckled.
"Y'all did it to yourselves," she said casually, sipping her drink.
Zeke looked betrayed. "I didn't even do anything! He," he pointed at me with a dramatic flair, "left me to rot in the smell of absolute, infallible stench."
I sipped my Hazelnut Latte, unbothered."You betrayed me. And it was war. Every man for himself."
"Besides, Harper's the one who hit you with the skunk water. What I did just… didn't help."
"You bought industrial-grade itching powder and made thirty minutes of hell feel like thirty years," Dad said, still gently scratching at his arm. Maxine shook her head solemnly in agreement.
"Okay, okay. But if I have to give you one thing," Zeke admitted, "that prank was absolute genius."
The others shot me glares—but couldn't help nodding. Respect given where it was due.
"And thanks again for letting me get those shoes off," Zeke added. "Walking around sounding like a clown was real awkward."
We all laughed.
"No laughing," Alex snapped, still curled up on the couch. "I can still feel my skin burning."
Mom and Dad both turned to her, unimpressed.
"You're lucky you're not grounded, Mrs. Manipulation," Mom said, crossing her arms.
Dad chimed in. "You getting a taste of your own master plan is only fair."
Alex pouted. No one cared.
And for one peaceful second, between the burgers and bandages, we could all feel it. The war was over.
Alex looked around, blinking. Confused. "Wait… that means Justin won, right?"
I shook my head, leaning back with a smug little half-smile. "I almost lost to you. If Mom hadn't stepped in, I'd be in your itchy, glitter-covered shoes right now. Nah. Mom's the one that won."
Before Mom could even get a word out, Dad suddenly stood up, his face twitching like he just remembered something important. "I'll be right back," he said quickly. "Gotta grab something from downstairs."
He turned to Harper and Zeke on his way out the door. "And don't worry about rides—I called your parents. They'll be here soon to pick you up."
He rushed out the door, way too quick for someone just going to "grab something."
The cozy, childlike peace that had settled in the room vanished like mist. At least to me. I knew where he was going. I had waited two whole months for this chance.
And I wasn't going to waste it.
"I gotta go too," I said casually, standing up. "Pretty sure I left a prank set up somewhere... I should probably go disarm it before it, y'know, goes off or something."
The message lingered in the air.
In perfect unison, everyone yelled:"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? GO!"
I laughed, playing it cool, and slipped out the door—quietly trailing Dad.
I had to do this. I felt it. The nightmares.The confusion. The way certain memories felt like pieces from the wrong puzzle. I'd cried over this, screamed over it in silence. I needed answers. No—this was more than that.
This was Russo family legacy.
I watched from the shadows as Dad crept down the stairs. Followed him silently as he passed through the lobby and slipped into the Waverly kitchen like he'd done it a hundred times.
He stopped at the freezer.
Placed his hand on the handle.
And whispered, "Wiz-Tech—Tech-Wiz… love was more important."
The freezer shook.
When he opened it… it wasn't a freezer anymore.
I followed him down a spiraling stone staircase, heart pounding, every step echoing like a countdown.
At the bottom, he opened a door.
I stayed close to the wall, easing just far enough to peek inside.
And what I saw nearly made me gasp.
A massive room, walls lined with towering redwood bookshelves, filled with ancient books that hummed with magic. Desks cluttered with scrolls and quills. A globe spinning on its own. A cauldron bubbling with something too bright to be natural. And at the center, a massive book—open, glowing faintly.
But it wasn't any of that that shook me.
It was the door in the far corner.
It was open.
And glowing blue like it was alive. Like it was a portal.
And through it walked an old man in gray robes and a tall top hat. White beard flowing. Presence undeniable.
He shook my dad's hand.
"It's nice to see you, Jerry. Sorry to appear on such short notice—"
He stopped.
He turned to where I was peeking.
As if the air was under his control. I was pulled from where I was hiding. Falling over on the floor.
I looked up.
I saw him.
He saw me.
Dad turned with him, eyes wide.
"Oh my," the old man murmured. "This is… quite unexpected."
Dad's face hardened as he stepped forward, disappointment written across every line of his face.
"Yes, it is, Professor Crump," he said tightly. "And quite too soon."
And in that moment, I realized:
Whatever came next… I wasn't ready.
But there was no going back now.
…