The sun baked the asphalt, casting long heat shimmers across the half-empty skate park. Cal was already at the top of the ramp, his ruddy hair a wild mess in the wind, arms stretched like he was about to take flight.

  "You're gonna eat it," Leo called from the shade of a nearby tree.

  Cal grinned. "Nah. I only eat dirt on Thursdays. Today’s Wednesday.. Science."

  Kit, crouched nearby with a pencil sketchpad balanced on one knee, didn’t look up. "Your face says Thursday."

  Leo laughed, the sound short and sharp. The boys had spent nearly every summer like this—sweat, scraped knees, inside jokes that didn’t make sense to anyone else. Cal, loud and loyal. Kit, quiet but deadly accurate with sarcasm. And Leo… Leo used to be the one who raced them all, climbed too high, ran too fast. Before.

  He squinted at the sky, as if the glare might answer something. It didn’t. His eyes didn’t work like they used to. He could still see shapes, light, movement—but the world blurred around the edges like a dream trying to forget itself with dark spots blinking in and out of vision.

  "Alright, alright," Cal said, pulling Leo’s thoughts back. "For science and the record: I’m landing this. You’re all gonna weep."

  He dropped in, wheels biting into the curve, shirt whipping behind him. Leo tilted his head, tracking movement like a shadow. Kit winced as Cal hit the bottom too fast and barely held the board.

  "You almost died," Kit offered.

  "Almost counts in skateboarding," Cal replied, breathless.

  Leo smiled. Even with the blur, he knew exactly where his friends were. That was the thing about them—Cal’s reckless heart and Kit’s grounded mind. They’d been orbiting each other for years, gravity pulled tight.

  He didn't know it yet, but this would be the last ordinary summer of their lives.

  Kit tossed his skateboard aside, stretching his arms. “Ready to head out, Leo?”

  “Yeah,” Leo replied, picking up his board, feeling the familiar weight of it in his hands. It was comforting, even without sight.

  Cal, nearby, laughed and high-fived another skater. “Come on, let’s go!”

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  Kit grinned, picking up his board again. “Last one to the house buys dinner.”

  Leo smirked. “You’re on.”

  They walked to the exit, the city’s hum growing louder as the sky darkened. Kit’s house wasn’t far, just a few blocks away, and soon the familiar scents of fresh grass and the distant smell of dinner filled the air.

  Kit’s house came into view—well, for everyone except Leo. But Leo knew the layout by heart: porch light on, old oak tree with a swing, bike tires stacked near the garage.

  “Home sweet home,” Kit said, pushing open the door. Inside, the air was cool, and the familiar smells of pizza and old books welcomed Leo.

  “Pizza’s on the counter,” Kit called. “Let’s eat before we start losing brain cells.”

  Leo followed, feeling the warmth of the house around him. Whatever the future held, for now, this was enough.

  The pizza box sat open between Leo, Cal, and Kit, the warm smell of melted cheese and pepperoni filling the air as they lounged in the living room. A stale light from the TV flickered over their faces, casting shadows on the walls of Kit’s cluttered room. The video game controller was a familiar weight in Leo’s hands, but his focus was drifting, his mind elsewhere.

  Cal leaned back against the couch, grinning as his character on screen took out another enemy. “You guys are falling behind! Catch up!”

  Kit, sitting cross-legged on the floor, rolled his eyes. “You’re just lucky your character is faster than mine.”

  “I’m just that good,” Cal teased, wiggling his eyebrows at Leo. “Your turn. You gotta beat this level, man.”

  Leo nodded but didn’t pick up the controller. His fingers twitched around it, but he couldn’t focus on the game. His thoughts kept drifting back to the letter he’d received earlier that day—the scholarship offer. The one that promised a future, a chance for something more. The kind of future Leo had always dreamed of—if he was being honest with himself. The kind of future that might fix the mess he was in.

  He turned the letter over in his hands, feeling the crisp paper beneath his fingers. His heart raced, but the words were just a blur. It was strange, holding something so important, and yet being completely unable to read it. The ink meant nothing to him. He had to rely on Kit.

  Leo glanced over at his friend, who was playing with his phone, not paying attention. His stomach twisted a little. He hated being this way—helpless, dependent. But when it came to reading, there was no choice. Kit had already read the letter for him earlier. Leo felt a slight flush of embarrassment at the thought, though he knew Kit didn’t mind.

  Kit had skimmed through it, his voice casual as he read aloud, giving him the gist of the offer. “It’s from some school,” Kit had said, his words flowing easily. “They’re offering you a scholarship. Something about becoming part of the future of humanity. Pretty vague stuff, but... it’s a chance, Leo. A real chance.”

  A real chance. Leo’s hands tightened around the controller as he remembered Kit’s words. His future, his sight—it could all change. It was too good to ignore. But something about the vagueness of the letter unsettled him. Why was it so unclear? Why not explain things more directly?

  But for now, he had to trust it. After all, what other choice did he have?

  “C’mon, Leo, play!” Cal’s voice broke him from his thoughts, his grin wide and teasing. “You can’t just sit there forever. We’re almost done with this level.”

  Leo nodded, trying to shake off the anxiety swirling in his chest. He picked up the controller, his hands steadying on it this time. He could still hear the action unfolding in the game—the rapid sound of footsteps, the distant thrum of gunfire, the shouts of characters.

  Cal leaned forward, speaking quickly. “Okay, you’re approaching the enemy camp. You’re going left, just a few more steps… now jump—good, you landed on the ledge! There’s a sniper up ahead, so keep your head low, yeah? Keep moving forward.”

  Leo’s fingers wrapped around the controller, doing his best to follow Cal’s instructions, but his mind was still elsewhere. The game was just a distraction now, a temporary fix for the gnawing feeling of uncertainty.

  But the more Cal described the game, the more Leo’s heart seemed to race. Was it the excitement of playing? Or was it the thought of what the future could hold—the scholarship, the cure, the promise of a new life?

  “Alright, move right,” Cal said. “There’s a group of enemies closing in on you, but you’re in cover. Perfect position. You’re about to take them down.”

  Leo exhaled slowly, feeling the rush of focus that came from the game. It was the only thing in his life right now that felt normal—something he could still do, even with his blindness. A chance to still be part of something. To still keep up.

  As the game continued, Leo couldn’t shake the thought of the letter. A future—one he couldn’t quite understand yet, but one that could be his, if he took the chance. And with that thought, a quiet, nervous excitement bubbled up inside him