Chapter Text
The end of the school year comes quickly, but not without chaos.
Despite being the new kid, you’ve somehow managed to attract trouble at every turn—not alone, of course. Luigi, Marcus, and Ava made sure of that.
At first, you weren’t sure where you fit in. Moving in the middle of the year meant stepping into a classroom where everyone already had their people. Lunch tables were full, playground teams were picked without hesitation, and every inside joke felt like a language you hadn’t learned yet. It was like trying to catch up to something that had already left you behind.
You had Luigi, sure. But he had other friends—people he’d known longer, people who weren’t new and awkward and overthinking every little thing. A part of you worried he’d slowly drift away, caught up in the familiarity of those who didn’t have to start over.
But he never did.
If anything, he made sure you were never left out. It wasn’t even a question to him—he just included you into conversations, saved you a spot at lunch, and made sure you were part of things. At some point, it stopped feeling like something you had to earn and just became… normal.
Now, looking back, you feel kind of stupid for ever thinking he’d ditch you. Luigi isn’t like that. He never was. He was a great friend, and oh so loyal—annoyingly so.
And somehow, between dares that got you both scolded, detention slips earned as a team, and whispered jokes that made class bearable, you weren’t just trying to fit in anymore.
You already did.
And it wasn’t just Luigi.
Somewhere along the way, Marcus and Ava had fully embraced you too—like it was the most natural thing in the world. Marcus, who always had a wild idea, a reckless plan, a dare he swore would be hilarious, even when it ended in disaster. Ava, who could talk anyone into anything, her confidence so unshakable it made you believe in yourself too.
With the four of you together, trouble wasn’t just possible—it was inevitable.
Like that one time in the cafeteria, when you were all sitting at your usual table, picking at the lukewarm spaghetti and talking about nothing in particular.
Marcus lets out a long, exaggerated sigh, slumping back in his chair. “Man, I wish something exciting would happen around here.”
Luigi, who had been lazily stabbing a meatball with his fork, perks up. His eyes flicker toward the banister by the stairs, then back to Marcus. A slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face.
“Oh?” he says, leaning forward. “Exciting, you say?”
You narrow your eyes. “Luigi, no.”
Marcus, on the other hand, looks intrigued. “What?”
Luigi sets his fork down, tilting his head like he’s just had the most brilliant idea. “I dare you to slide down the banister.”
Marcus snorts. “That’s stupid.”
Luigi smirks. “It’s physics. You’ll be fine.”
Marcus squints at him. “What do you know about physics? We’re literally in third grade.”
Luigi just shrugs. “I read a lot.”
Marcus stares at him like he’s just grown a second head. “Why would you want to read about that?”
Luigi grins. “So I can convince people to do dumb things as an experiment.”
Ava barks out a laugh. You shake your head, already knowing this is going to end terribly.
“You just wanna see me break my neck,” Marcus mutters but pushes back his chair anyway.
The four of you stroll toward the stairs, doing your best to look casual—just a group of friends minding their own business. You chat idly, throwing in a few chuckles for good measure, though the conversation barely makes sense. No sudden moves, no shifty glances. Just normal.
Marcus lags slightly behind, eyeing the banister as if merely admiring the craftsmanship. His foot brushes against the bottom rail, testing it. No one seemed the wiser—or maybe they just didn’t care what the four of you were up to. Either way, that was good enough.
“This is reaaally stupid,” he repeats, more to himself than anyone else.
Luigi gestures dramatically. “Then don’t do it.”
Marcus grumbles something under his breath—then swings a leg over the railing.
You exchange a glance with Ava.
“Three, two, one—”
Marcus pushes off.
For a second, it actually works. He slides down smoothly, picking up speed. Then he overshoots the landing, hurtling straight toward a lunch cart.
Trays, sandwiches, and juice boxes go flying. The lunch lady screeches.
Luigi, doubled over laughing, barely dodges a milk carton aimed at his head.
Ava claps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “Oh my God.”
You gape at Marcus, who is sprawled on the floor, covered in spaghetti.
Marcus groans. “I hate physics.”
Then there’s the time the four of you were supposed to be cleaning the classroom after school. Supposed to be.
Mr. Santos had given you all one simple task: straighten the desks, sweep the floor, and wipe down the chalkboard. Easy. Foolproof. Impossible to mess up.
And yet.
Ava, leaning on a broom she very clearly had no intention of using, eyes the janitor’s mop bucket sitting in the corner. “I bet someone could fit in there.”
You look up from halfheartedly stacking papers. “What.”
“For science,” she says.
“For detention, you mean,” you deadpan.
Luigi, perking up, tilts his head. “Actually, if we consider volume displacement—”
Marcus claps his hands, cutting him off before he can launch into a full-blown rant. Luigi pouts a little at the interruption but lets it slide, settling back with a sigh.
“Yes. Let’s do it,” Marcus declares.
Before you can protest, he nudges you forward, just enough to make you stumble a step closer to the bucket.
“Huh? Wait, why me?” you ask, already regretting your life choices.
Ava grins. “You’re the smallest.”
“That is not a good reason.”
“Too late,” Marcus says, patting the rim of the bucket. “Hop in.”
You groan but, against all logic and better judgment, step carefully into the bucket. It does hold a person. Barely. Your knees are up to your chest, and your arms are crammed against the sides. “Okay. Ha-ha. Hilarious. Now help me out.”
Except now the bucket won’t budge. The moment you try to stand, it tilts dangerously, the wheels rolling slightly across the floor.
“…I don’t like this.”
Marcus, cackling, grabs the handle and gives it an experimental push. You roll forward a few inches, yelping.
“Stop—STOP—”
Ava is dying laughing, doubled over next to Marcus, who’s practically wheezing into his sleeve.
Luigi, meanwhile, is laughing so hard he has to brace himself against a desk, his whole body shaking. But when he actually looks at you with your legs awkwardly folded, arms trapped, face twisted into pure regret, his laughter stutters.
“Alright, alright—c’mon,” he says, still breathless but now actually trying to help. He kneels down beside you, grabbing your arms with a firm grip. “Let’s get you out of there.”
But when he pulls, the bucket barely budges. You’re wedged in tighter than he thought.
Luigi’s smile falters, concern flickering across his face. “Uh—okay, hold on, don’t panic—”
“I wasn’t panicking,” you reply quickly, a little too fast, as if that would somehow cover up the fact that, yes, you were very much stuck and, okay, maybe panicking just a little.
Luigi presses his lips together, eyes scanning the situation like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Okay, we’ll tip the bucket, just lean into me when you fall, alright?” His voice is softer now, less teasing, like he actually feels bad about this.
Marcus, however, does not seem nearly as concerned, judging by how he’s pulled out his phone and started taking pictures. “For memories!” he insists brightly when you glare at him. “So we never forget this very important moment.”
With Luigi steadying you, Marcus and Ava tip the bucket over. You tumble out with an ungraceful plop—and unfortunately, you take Luigi down with you. He lands beside you with a surprised oof, blinking up at the ceiling while you process the fact that, at the very least, the bucket had been empty.
Luigi winces. “You okay?”
“No,” you grumble.
“Do you want a juice box?”
“…Maybe.”
Before he can get one, Mr. Santos walks in. He takes one long look at the scene—the knocked-over bucket, Marcus with his phone still out, Ava wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, Luigi looking vaguely guilty, and you, cheeks puffed out, glaring at the wall.
Mr. Santos sighs, rubs his temples, and walks right back out.
You don’t blame him.
And then, of course, there’s Marcus’ ill-fated lemon-eating challenge at the cafeteria.
Why is it always the cafeteria?
Of all the places in school, this is where disaster strikes the most. The poor lunch lady has been through so much because of the four of you—spilled trays, flying juice boxes, Marcus’ failed attempt at parkour that took out an entire stack of plates. At this point, she doesn’t even bother yelling anymore. She just sighs.
And that day was no different.
“I bet you can’t eat a whole lemon,” he declares at lunch one day, shoving the fruit into Luigi’s hands.
Luigi, despite being so smart was also a competitive idiot, smirks. “Watch me.”
You and Ava watch in horror as he takes the biggest bite possible. His smug expression lasts about three seconds before his entire face scrunches up in regret. His eyes water. His soul visibly leaves his body.
Marcus is on the floor laughing, loud and uncontrollable. “I can’t believe you actually did it—”
His laughter is drawing attention now, a few people glancing over with raised brows. Immediately, the three of you shift away, pretending you don’t know him. Ava busies herself inspecting a very interesting spot on the wall, and you dust off your clothes like nothing happened.
Luigi coughs into his hand, then aims a glare at Marcus, who is still laughing, now sitting up and clinging to a chair for support as he tries—and fails—to stand.
“Was it worth it?” you ask, barely holding back laughter.
Luigi wipes at his eyes, exhaling dramatically. “No.”
And just when you think the chaos is over, you hear the dreaded sigh behind you.
You don’t even have to turn around. You know who it is.
The lunch lady.
She just stares, arms crossed, utterly done with all of you. “Of course. Of course it’s you four.”
No one moves.
Then Marcus, still wheezing, grabs his tray and sprints out of the cafeteria.
Luigi groans, head in his hands. “Coward.”
But the most infamous event? The projector incident.
This one started with Luigi’s insatiable curiosity—and his ever-present need to help.
“Our projector’s been acting up for weeks,” he mutters, watching the dim, flickering screen at the front of the classroom. “I bet I could fix it.”
You blink at him. “Lu, what?”
"I read about projectors once," he says, as if that’s the kind of thing any nine-year-old would casually read about.
You squint. “Why though?”
He shrugs. “Why not?”
You let out a resigned sigh. “That’s not an answer.”
Before you can argue, he’s already sliding out of his chair, and somehow—somehow, you end up right behind him. Because if there’s one thing more dangerous than Luigi’s ideas, it’s leaving him alone with them.
“Mr. Santos,” Luigi says smoothly, hands behind his back like a model student. “Can we try fixing the projector? I think we know what’s wrong with it.”
Mr. Santos, already exhausted by the mere existence of the two of you, eyes you both warily. “…Fine. But only if you don’t make it worse.”
No promises.
The whole class watches as the two of you approach the old projector, which had been giving everyone trouble since last week’s movie day. Today was supposed to be another class film, but the screen remains stubbornly blank, flickering weakly.
“What’s the plan?” you whisper.
Luigi rolls up his sleeves like he’s about to perform surgery. “Simple. We troubleshoot.”
He presses a button. Then another. Adjusts a knob. Taps the side. Opens a panel, squints at the wires like he understands them, then closes it again.
The projector hums. Then beeps. Then flickers—
And then—
Shrek.
A giant, frozen frame of Shrek’s face stares down at the entire class.
It takes exactly three seconds before someone bursts out laughing.
“Oh,” Luigi says.
“Oh,” you echo, holding back laughter.
The teacher stares at the screen, then at the two of you, then back at the screen. “Why is—?”
Mr. Santos pinches the bridge of his nose. “I forgot to take the CD out from last week.”
The class loses it.
Marcus lets out a whoop from the back. Ava is busy consoling a crying Hannah, who—for some reason—is absolutely terrified of Shrek. Ethan and Jamie are doubled over laughing, while Sam just stares at the screen in stunned silence, whispering, “Why is it always Shrek?”
Meanwhile, Mr. Santos just pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, the kind of sigh that carries the weight of years in education and deep, unspoken regret.
You snort, burying your face in your hands. “We are so dead.”
But instead of a scolding, Mr. Santos just shakes his head and mutters, “Thanks for the help, Luigi.” Then, with another sigh, he adds, “It's my fault for forgetting that CD.”
Luigi grins, nudging you lightly, completely unbothered. “See? Told you I could fix it.”
The school days pass in a blur of last assignments, restless energy, and the familiar buzz of everyone counting down to summer break. Before you know it, May arrives—just one month left until vacation. The days stretch longer, the air grows warmer, and anticipation lingers in the halls.
Then the weekend rolls around, and with it, Luigi’s birthday. He turns ten on a Sunday. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it, but his mom sure does, so there’s a party at his house, and of course, you, Marcus, and Ava are invited.
Now, the three of you stand outside the front door, Marcus and Ava craning their necks to take in the sheer size of the Mangione house. It’s their first time here; they live farther away, so up until now, they’ve only heard about it through you and Luigi’s endless stories. But seeing it in person? That’s a whole different experience. Their awe is obvious.
“Are we sure this isn’t a hotel?” Marcus mutters, shifting on his feet.
Ava nudges him. “Forget a hotel. This looks like a whole castle.”
You smirk, used to this sight but still understanding their amazement. The house is big, full of life, and always seems to hum with energy, even from the outside. You rap your knuckles against the heavy wooden door, and within seconds, it swings open.
Kathy Mangione stands there, her face lighting up the moment she sees you. “Ah, there you are!” Without hesitation, she pulls you into a warm hug, then does the same to Marcus and Ava, despite them hesitating for a second.
“You’re just in time, dear!” she tells you before waving the three of you inside. “Go, go—grab a plate.”
The moment you step inside, the Mangione house’s usual warmth and chaos envelops you. Not just the Luigi talks too much kind of loud, but a deeper, richer kind—the kind where laughter, overlapping conversations, and the clatter of dishes vibrate through the walls.
It’s surreal. You’ve seen these faces before, frozen in time in framed photos lining the walls and tables. But seeing them move, laugh, exist? It’s uncanny. And the strangest part? There are so many Luigis. Not just him, but cousins, uncles—variations of the same curls, same thick eyebrows, same sharp smile. A whole assembly line of Mangiones, copy-pasted through the generations.
Then you spot Luigi, his back to you, standing near a small older woman who is squinting up at him, clearly deep in thought.
“Nico! No—Antonio! Have you seen Luigi?”
Luigi just chuckles, offering her a patient smile.
You, Marcus, and Ava exchange amused glances before heading his way, already entertained by the scene unfolding.
“Nonna!” Luigi exclaims, throwing his hands up with dramatic jazz hands, a bright, cheeky smile on his face. “I am Luigi!”
His nonna pauses, giving him a long, skeptical once-over before huffing. “Oh? Sei sicuro?”
Luigi lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Finally, she smiles, cupping his face and pressing a loud, smacking kiss to his cheek. “Buon compleanno, tesoro mio!”
Luigi sighs but melts under her affection anyway, his grin turning softer. “Grazie, Nonna.”
You can’t help but laugh at the sight.
That’s when his nonna turns to you three, her sharp eyes softening with warmth. You straighten, flashing your best smile. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am!”
Luigi, finally noticing you, lights up. “Hey! You guys made it.”
Her face lights up, clearly delighted. “Ah! Such manners! Bravissimo!” She clasps your hands, squeezing them warmly before patting your cheek. “You are welcome here, always.”
You flush under the attention, but before you can say anything else, she turns back to Luigi, cupping his face again. “Enjoy your day, tesoro mio. Eat plenty, laugh plenty, and don’t cause too much trouble, eh?”
Luigi huffs. “Nonna, it’s my birthday. I am the picture of innocence.”
She snorts, clearly unconvinced, then turns to Ava, and Marcus, her expression warming. “And you must be Luigi’s other friends. Benvenuti!” She gestures grandly. “You are family today. Eat, eat, and if anyone gives you trouble, you tell me, yes?”
Ava grins. “Thank you, ma'am!”
Marcus nods. “Yeah, thanks! Everything smells so good!”
She beams, pleased, and waves a hand toward the kitchen. “Good, good. Now, I must make sure nothing burns—though if it does, nobody tell my figlia, eh?” She winks conspiratorially before bustling off, disappearing into the depths of the kitchen.
Luigi shakes his head fondly. “She says that every time, but if something actually burned, she’d be the first to yell about it.”
The scent of garlic, basil, and fresh bread fills the air, mingling with something sizzling in the kitchen. Ava glances around, wide-eyed, while Marcus lets out a low whistle.
“Luigi’s been holding out on us,” he jokes, nudging you, and you can’t help but laugh.
Luigi just grins and gestures for you all to follow. “Come on, let’s eat.”
He leads you to the dining table, which is absolutely covered in food. As he takes a seat beside his cousin, they immediately try to get him to wear a ridiculous birthday hat. Luigi swats them away with a laugh but eventually gives in, letting it sit crookedly on his curls.
The food is incredible— as expected, pasta, fresh-baked focaccia, roasted chicken, and a cake so fancy it looks more like a wedding centerpiece than a ten-year-old’s birthday cake. Everywhere you look, someone is talking, teasing Luigi, or making sure everyone has eaten at least three plates of food.
You’ve never seen this many people in one place outside of a school assembly.
Luigi, however, is completely unfazed. He moves through the chaos with the ease of someone who has done this a million times, greeting aunts, uncles, and cousins with cheek kisses and quick quips in rapid-fire Italian.
You, Marcus, and Ava, on the other hand, are struggling to keep up.
One of his aunts—who looks suspiciously like an older, female version of him—grabs your face between both hands and presses a kiss to each cheek before rattling off something you don’t understand.
Luigi smirks. “She says you’re cute.”
You blink. “Oh.”
Then she pats your cheek and adds something else.
Luigi chuckles.
You narrow your eyes. “What did she say?”
“She, uh—” he clears his throat, still grinning. “She also says you need to eat more.”
That explains why, five minutes later, you, Marcus, and Ava are all holding overfilled plates despite having zero intention of getting more food. It’s mostly pasta. And bread. And some kind of meat that smells so good you almost don’t mind that you weren’t given a choice.
Marcus stares down at his plate. “How did this happen?”
“I don’t know,” you say, staring at yours.
Ava shrugs. “Might as well eat.”
“Eat, eat,” someone else urges, pressing a fork into your hand.
Luigi snickers. “Yeah, eat. You don’t wanna offend Nonna.”
You glance toward the older woman watching from across the room—the matriarch of this entire branch of the Mangione family tree. She’s small, but there’s something about the way she observes the room that tells you she knows things.
Not that you’d ever say no to food, but at this point, you’re pretty sure one more bite might make you explode. Still, under Nonna’s watchful gaze, refusal isn’t an option.
So you take another bite.
It’s heavenly.
“Okay,” you mumble around a mouthful of pasta, already feeling the food coma setting in. “This is amazing—but I think I might actually die.”
Luigi laughs and helps you finish your plate.
At some point, Marcus challenges Luigi to see who can eat the most meatballs, and Ava ends up helping Luigi just to make sure he wins. It’s chaotic, but fun.
And just when you think the food is the biggest hurdle, the real chaos begins—his cousins.
You, oblivious, are completely absorbed in a conversation with a small, chubby boy named Chuchy—one of Luigi’s younger cousins—who is enthusiastically explaining the best way to steal extra cannoli without getting caught.
“See, you gotta wait until Zio Franco starts arguing with Zia Lina,” he whispers, eyes darting around. “They get so loud that nobody sees you grab one.”
You nod seriously. “Genius.”
Meanwhile, Luigi is being tortured.
One of his older cousins, Antonio, slings an arm around his shoulder with a sly grin. “So, Luigi… you like her, huh?”
Luigi nearly drops his drink. “What? No! Shut up.”
Antonio laughs. “Ohhh, you totally do.”
“I do not!”
“You’re so obvious.”
Luigi glares. “I hate you.”
But Antonio isn’t done. He nudges another cousin. “Hey, you see how he always follows her around?”
“Yeah,” another cousin joins in. “He’s like a lost puppy.”
Luigi groans and buries his face in his hands.
Meanwhile, you and Chuchy are still deep in conversation, while Marcus and Ava remain thoroughly occupied stuffing their faces with food.
“I tried hiding one in my pocket once,” Chuchy says, shaking his head. “Big mistake. It melted.”
“I respect the dedication, though,” you say.
Before Chuchy can talk more about the intricacies of food stealing, Luigi—red-faced and clearly desperate—shouts over, “Hey! Are you listening? They’re being insane over here!”
You glance up, confused. “Huh? What?”
Before you can even blink, Chuchy is already beside Luigi, moving so fast it’s like he teleported. He claps a hand on Luigi’s shoulder, his expression grave. “Don’t worry, Luigi. You’ll find love one day.”
Luigi looks ready to throw himself off the balcony.
After a chaotic hour of food and family teasing, just when you think things are finally dying down, MariaSanta and Lucia find you.
They don’t just find you, though. They descend.
“There’s my favorite girl!” MariaSanta exclaims, wrapping you in a tight hug before you can react. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“Maria, we saw her last week,” Lucia points out, but she’s already pulling you into another hug. “Still. You don’t visit enough.”
You barely manage to breathe out, “Luigi invites me every other day—”
“I know!” MariaSanta sighs dramatically. “I was hoping you’d get sick of him and come visit me.”
Lucia nods sagely. “A very reasonable reaction.”
Luigi groans. “Can you not steal my friends?”
“Borrow,” MariaSanta corrects sweetly, still holding onto your arm like she might actually keep you.
Lucia turns to Marcus and Ava. “You two are getting hugs too, by the way. No escaping it.”
Marcus, caught off guard, barely has time to react before Lucia pulls him into a hug. Ava gets the same treatment from MariaSanta.
“Wow,” Marcus mumbles. “I feel very loved.”
“You should,” Lucia says, ruffling his hair.
Luigi groans again. “Can you guys not?”
MariaSanta ignores him completely. “So, what have you all been up to? Any embarrassing stories about my dear little brother?”
Luigi freezes. “No. No, no, no—”
“Ohhh, I have some,” Marcus says immediately.
Ava smirks. “Me too.”
Luigi looks personally betrayed. “I trusted you.”
MariaSanta beams. “I knew I liked you guys.”
Lucia leans in. “You know, he used to cry if his spaghetti noodles broke.”
Luigi groans. “I was FOUR!”
“But you cried,” you say, grinning.
“And he got his head stuck in a chair once,” MariaSanta adds.
“That was one time!”
“Oh, and he once put on our mom’s lipstick because he thought it would make him run faster.”
Lucia snickers. “Didn’t work, by the way.”
You, Marcus, and Ava burst out laughing.
Luigi looks miserable. “It’s literally my birthday.”
MariaSanta ruffles his hair. “Which is why we’re reminding you of all your most precious moments.”
“You hate me.”
Lucia coos, “Nooo, we love you, Fratellino.”
Luigi turns to you three for help. “Are you seeing this?”
You wipe away a fake tear. “It’s beautiful.”
Eventually, they do let up (after one last round of teasing), and you all escape to a quieter spot where Luigi can open his gifts.
Ava pulls out a neatly wrapped package. “Here. Happy birthday.”
Luigi blinks. “Oh. You guys—” He shakes his head, already looking flustered. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Of course we did,” Marcus says, handing over a second gift. “It’s your birthday, doofus.”
You hold out your own gift last. “And this one’s from me.”
Luigi hesitates for a second before taking them, looking almost sheepish. “I’m not really big on gifts…” But he carefully peels the wrapping away anyway.
Ava got him a book—one she knew he’d been talking about for weeks. Marcus got him a weird but cool gadget he swears Luigi will love. And you? Well.
You got him a Super Mario Bros. Luigi t-shirt.
Yeah, yeah, the joke’s been done a million times before. But can you blame yourself? It’s a classic.
Luigi blinks at it, then at you, then back at the shirt. For a second, there’s silence. Then he lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You’re actually the worst.”
Marcus leans over to read the design and bursts out laughing. “Oh, that’s perfect.”
Ava, trying and failing to suppress a grin, nudges his arm. “You like them, right?”
Luigi stares down at the gifts in his hands, fingers brushing over each one like he can’t believe they’re real. His face turns slightly pink as he mutters, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
Marcus smirks. “You’re welcome.”
MariaSanta and Lucia find you all again before the night ends, pulling you aside with a knowing look.
“Take care of him, alright?” MariaSanta says, nodding toward Luigi, who’s currently locked in a heated argument with Chuchy, gesturing wildly while Chuchy just grins like he’s enjoying every second of it.
Lucia watches him for a moment before turning back to you. “He tends to keep things to himself when something’s bothering him,” she says, her voice softer now. “But he really, really likes you guys.”
You smile, warmth settling in your chest. “We like him too.”
MariaSanta squeezes your arm, her expression soft. “Good.”
And even though Luigi spends the rest of the night grumbling about how unbearable his sisters and cousins are, you notice he never actually tries to get rid of them.
Later, you all settle on the porch, watching the last of his cousins run around with sparklers. The night air hums with laughter and the lingering smell of food, the warmth of the party still lingering in the air. Luigi slouches beside you, looking full, tired, and still a little embarrassed from earlier.
You nudge him. “What’s wrong with you?”
He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Nothing. Just—my family can be so annoying.”
You shrug. “Eh. I like them.”
He turns to you, clearly unimpressed. Then, after a beat, he bumps your shoulder. “Yeah, well… I guess you survived.”
You smirk. “Barely.”
Luigi sighs dramatically, but despite all his complaints, you can tell he’s happy.
And honestly? So are you.
It’s a simple moment, but something about it sticks. Maybe, years from now, you’ll still remember this—the food, the teasing, and the warmth of friends who never made you feel like an outsider.
The night winds down, and soon, the four of you make your way to the front door. Ava and Marcus wait as their parents pull up, headlights bouncing over the bumpy dirt road.
Marcus groans, dragging his feet. “Ugh, I didn’t do my homework.” He perks up, looking at you and Luigi. “Can I see yours tomorrow?”
Ava squints at him. “See it or copy it?”
Marcus just grins. “Same thing.”
Luigi crosses his arms. “That’s cheating.”
Marcus waves a hand. “It’s called teamwork.”
You shrug. “I mean… I don’t mind.”
Ava shoots you a look. “Don’t encourage him!”
You hold up your hands. “This is the last time. Next time, he’s on his own.”
Marcus gasps, clutching his chest. “Where's the loyalty?”
Luigi snorts. “You’ll survive.”
Marcus sighs dramatically, but the smile on his face gives him away. Before he can say anything else, a car horn beeps from down the dirt road.
“Marcus! Time to go!
“Ava–Sweetheart! Let’s go!”
Their parents call out, and Marcus groans. “Ugh, fine.”
Ava rolls her eyes but tugs on his sleeve. “See you two tomorrow.”
“Don’t forget that homework!! Please!” Marcus calls out, pointing desperately at you and Luigi as he heads toward the car.
Luigi just laughs, shaking his head in exasperation.
Marcus’ grin just widens as he waves and climbs in his Father's car. Ava gives you a small wave before following after him, and soon, both cars rumble down the road, kicking up dust as they disappear into the night.
As soon as they’re gone, you turn to Luigi.
“Wait here,” you say suddenly.
He blinks. “Huh?”
“I’ll be back in a second!” You don’t give him time to question it, already bolting down the street.
The run is quick—past the familiar path through the trees, up your front steps, and straight to your room. You almost forgot about this, tucked away in your drawer. A small, dark green journal. Nothing fancy, but when you first saw it, you thought, Luigi would like this.
A place for all his weird theories, random inventions, and whatever nonsense he feels like writing down.
You grab a pen and scribble something on the inside cover before heading back out.
By the time you return, Luigi is exactly where you left him, rocking on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets. He raises a brow as you come to a stop, slightly out of breath.
“You good?”
You shove the journal into his hands. “Here.”
He blinks down at it, flipping it open. His eyes skim over the note inside:
"For all your ridiculous thoughts. Try not to blow anything up."
He stares for a second. Then he exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. His face is pink again, but he doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he closes the journal, holding it just a little too carefully.
“…You’re still the worst,” he mutters.
You grin. “Yeah, yeah.”
Luigi shakes his head, but there’s a small smile on his face as he tucks the journal under his arm. The night is quiet now, the party reduced to a few lingering voices inside, the hum of cicadas filling the gaps.
And just like that, May slips into June.
The last days of school pass in a blur—final assignments you barely pay attention to, games of tag during recess, whispered plans for summer. The days stretch longer, the sun hanging in the sky just a little later, as if even time itself is eager for break. The air is thick with anticipation, students restless for break more than ever, teachers barely trying to contain the chaos.
It doesn’t feel like school anymore. Not really.
On the last day, the final bell rings, louder than usual—or maybe it just feels that way. A moment of silence lingers before the halls erupt into noise, a rush of bodies spilling out of classrooms, laughter and shouts bouncing off the walls.
You walk with Ava, Marcus, and Luigi, weaving through the crowded hallway. Lockers slam, kids dart past in a hurry, teachers call out last-minute reminders that no one is listening to. Sunlight filters in through the high windows, catching the dust in the air, making the whole school feel almost golden.
Outside, the afternoon heat settles over everything, but the excitement buzzing through the air makes it easy to ignore. Parents wait in their cars, younger kids run wild across the pavement, and the four of you slow your steps, dragging out these last moments together.
A familiar blue car pulls up by the curb, and Ava’s mom leans over to roll the window down.
“There’s my girl!” she calls, beaming. “Come on, baby, let’s go home.”
Ava groans dramatically. “Ok mom! Hold on a minute.”
Her mom just laughs. “ Sure thing, Hon.”
Ava turns back to you, Marcus, and Luigi, pulling you into a quick, tight hug before stepping away. “You better not disappear over break.”
Marcus smirks, stretching his arms behind his head. “Yeah, we actually tolerate you now.”
You snort. “What an honor.”
Luigi rolls his eyes. “Joke’s on you guys, I get to spend summer with her.”
Ava gasps, spinning to face you with exaggerated betrayal. “No fair!”
Luigi just shrugs. “Sounds like a you-problem.”
Ava sticks her tongue out at him before hopping into the car. With a final wave, she’s gone, her mom pulling away from the school.
Marcus glances down the street. “Dad’s here.” He nudges your shoulder. “See you, nerds.”
He gives you both a lazy salute before heading off, leaving just you and Luigi on the sidewalk.
Luigi hums, rocking back on his heels. “So, what’s the plan? Am I getting shotgun or are you making me sit at the back?”
You roll your eyes. “It’s my dad’s truck, you get what you get.”
Luigi gasps. “The disrespect.”
“Besides,” you add, “You should be grateful we’re giving you a ride at all.”
Luigi grins. “Yeah, yeah. Remind me to pay you back in terrible decisions this summer.”
You shake your head, amused, just as your dad’s truck pulls up near the school entrance. The passenger window rolls down, and he gives a small nod in greeting. “Need help loading in the troublemaker?”
Luigi gasps dramatically, stepping in front of you like a knight defending your honor. “Zio, how could you? She’s been good today! The best behaved I’ve ever seen, actually.”
You roll your eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
Your dad exhales—not quite a sigh, not quite a chuckle—just a quiet acknowledgment of Luigi’s antics. He eyes the both of you, shaking his head slightly. “Get in,” he says simply, but there’s the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes.
Luigi, unbothered, grins and hops into the backseat without further protest.
Your mom appears a moment later, walking out from the main entrance, her bag slung over one shoulder. She spots the two of you and smiles, ruffling your hair as she passes. “Did you behave today?”
“No,” Luigi answers immediately.
You elbow him. “She was talking to me.”
Your mom chuckles, shaking her head. “Alright, alright. Let’s get going.”
And just like that, summer has officially begun.
Hardly a day goes by where Luigi isn’t dragging you off to do something. The sun is high, the air thick with warmth, and even late afternoons are fair game—granted your parents don’t come looking for you first.
He’s practically your shadow. If you so much as step outside, there he is—sometimes already sitting on your porch, waiting.
“Get dressed,” he says one morning, dangling a pair of roller skates in front of you.
You stare at them, then at him. “Where exactly are we supposed to skate?”
Luigi gestures vaguely to the world around you. “Outside.”
You raise an eyebrow. “We live on dirt roads.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
You cross your arms. “If it ‘can’t be that bad,’ why aren’t you skating at your place?”
Luigi hesitates. “I, uh… might be banned from skating in the house.”
You blink. “Why?”
He grins sheepishly. “One time—okay, a few times—I may have knocked over a vase.”
“Luigi.”
“Look, are you getting dressed or what?”
So you do. And rush outside to Luigi waiting in your backyard.
The moment you put on the skates, you realize just how terrible of an idea this is. The dirt roads are uneven, small rocks threaten to trip you every few inches, and your balance is awful. Luigi, of course, is having the time of his life.
“Just push off like this,” he says, gliding effortlessly ahead.
You attempt to mimic him. It goes poorly.
Within minutes, you’ve crashed into the same bush twice, nearly face-planted onto the dirt, and clung to Luigi’s arm more times than you can count. He’s laughing so hard he nearly loses his own balance.
“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” you grumble, struggling to stay upright.
“Oh, come on,” he says between breathless laughs. “You’re improving.”
You shoot him a glare. “I’m not even moving.”
“Exactly! That means you’re not falling either.”
You shove him lightly, but since you’re still unsteady, the motion sends you stumbling backward—straight into the bush again. Luigi wheezes with laughter.
And somehow, that sets the tone for the rest of the summer.
One afternoon, the two of you decide to climb the biggest tree you could find—an old oak with thick, sprawling branches that look sturdy enough.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you say, eyeing the branch Luigi is currently testing with his weight.
Luigi glances down at you with an easy grin. “Then why are you still climbing?”
You don’t have a good answer for that.
The climb itself isn’t hard. The bark is rough under your hands, the branches spaced just right to make hoisting yourself up easy. Luigi moves like he’s done this a hundred times before, and honestly, he probably has. You follow, hesitant at first but growing more confident the higher you go. The world looks different from up here—smaller.
Luigi settles on a sturdy branch, glancing around before grinning. “Hey, this could be a good place for a treehouse. You think our dads would help us?”
You pause, looking around with fresh eyes. It would be a good spot. Shaded, hidden just enough, high enough to feel like a secret hideaway.
“Maybe,” you say, then add, “If we don’t fall and break something first.”
Luigi laughs. “Fair point. Guess we just gotta prove we won’t.”
Being reminded of that, you glance down.
Your stomach drops. The ground is far. Much farther than it felt while climbing. Your hands tighten around the branch, fingers suddenly clammy.
“Do you think if I jump, I’ll land on my feet?” you ask, mostly as a joke—mostly.
Luigi snorts, though there’s no teasing in his voice. “That’s a terrible idea.”
You try to laugh, but it comes out weak. You shift slightly, and the branch creaks beneath you. Immediately, you freeze.
“I… I don’t think I can get down.”
Luigi, perched a branch above you, straightens. “What do you mean?”
Your heart pounds against your ribs. The thought of moving, of stepping down onto another branch, makes your whole body lock up.
Luigi studies your face, and his usual playful energy dims. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll go slow,” he says gently. He swings down to a lower branch with ease and reaches a hand out. “Just step down, I’ll help you.”
You grip the tree tighter. “I can’t.”
Luigi hesitates, then nods, like he understands. “Okay. Don’t move—I’ll be right back.”
You watch as he scrambles down the tree, moving quickly but carefully before running toward the house. You feel ridiculous, just sitting here frozen, but the thought of climbing down on your own makes your stomach twist.
A few minutes later, your dad appears beneath the tree, arms crossed as he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable—stoic as always—but there’s something warm in his eyes, the way there always is when he’s amused but doesn’t want to show it.
“Having fun?” he asks.
You scowl. “No.”
He nods, unsurprised. “Alright. Let’s get you down.”
With slow, careful instructions, he guides you step by step, making sure you move at your own pace. Luigi stands off to the side, watching you closely, like he’s ready to jump in if something goes wrong. His usual joking is gone—he’s actually worried.
Eventually, after what feels like forever, your feet finally hit solid ground. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
Your dad pats your shoulder. “See? Easy.”
You shoot him a look. “That was not easy.”
Luigi steps closer, eyes flicking over you like he’s checking for injuries. “You okay?”
You nod, though your legs still feel wobbly. “I think I’ll stay on the ground forever.”
Luigi cracks a small smile, but there’s still a crease between his brows. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d get stuck.”
You sigh, brushing dirt off your hands. “Neither did I.”
Your dad shakes his head. “Next time, maybe don’t climb a tree without a plan to get down.”
Luigi nudges your arm. “Next time?”
You groan. “There is no next time.”
That night, your legs ache, your hands are scratched up, and there’s still dirt smudged on your face. But when you sit on your porch, a cold bottle of soda resting between your palms, it doesn’t feel so bad. Luigi sits beside you, his shoulder warm where it presses against yours.
He nudges you lightly. “Still mad at me?”
You take a sip of soda, then hold it out to him. “Maybe.”
Luigi accepts the bottle with a grin. “Fun, though, right?”
You roll your eyes, leaning back against the porch. “Sure. If you like almost dying.”
Luigi just laughs, tipping his head back to drink from his can.
The next week, you go bug hunting.
Not for any particular reason. Luigi just shows up with an empty jar and says, “We’re catching fireflies.”
It’s broad daylight.
You squint at him. “You do realize they only come out at night, right?”
Luigi grins. “Obviously. That’s why we’re catching other bugs first.”
You stare at him. “Why?”
He shrugs. “Gotta practice.”
…Okay. That actually makes sense.
With a sigh, you grab your shoes, slipping them on before following him outside.
By the time you catch up, Luigi is already running into the fields, overturning rocks and peering under logs. You roll your eyes but trail after him anyway.
At some point, Luigi picks up a beetle and holds it out to you like a gift. “Look.”
You take a step back. “Luigi.”
He wiggles it closer, eyes gleaming. “You’re scared.”
You swat at him. “I am not.”
The next hour is spent catching bugs (and occasionally yelping when one gets too close to your face). You don’t manage to find any fireflies—because, again, it is broad daylight—but you do discover a weird-looking caterpillar crawling along a leaf.
Before that, you’d found a ladybug, which flew away before you could even scoop it up, and a bright green grasshopper that leapt out of your hands the second you caught it.
You sigh dramatically. “They got away.”
Luigi pats your shoulder like he’s comforting a fallen soldier. “Tragic.”
That’s when you spot a caterpillar, carefully scooping it up. “Sir Wiggles the Third.”
Luigi peers at it. “It looks weird?”
You shake your head, expression solemn. “It looks weird now, but it'll turn into a beautiful butterfly.”
Luigi nods seriously. “Then maybe you should put it back. You wouldn’t want to interrupt its transformation.”
You glance at the little caterpillar, watching it wiggle in your palm, and after a moment, you carefully place it back on the leaf. “Good luck, Sir Wiggles,” you murmur, as if sending it off on a grand journey.
By the time the sun starts dipping below the horizon, the air is warm and buzzing with the sounds of summer. Shadows stretch long across the fields, and at last—tiny specks of golden light flicker in the distance.
“Finally,” Luigi huffs, shaking out his jar. “Time for the real hunt.”
The two of you take off, running through the tall grass, hands swiping at the air. Fireflies dart around like tiny stars, blinking in and out of sight.
“I got one!” you shout, cupping your hands together.
Luigi rushes over, peering between your fingers. “Woah,” he breathes.
You slowly open your hands just enough to see it—the soft glow lighting up the space between your palms. It flickers once, twice, before taking off into the sky.
Luigi grins. “Think we can catch another?”
You smirk. “Race you.”
And with that, you take off running again, laughter echoing in the open air. The fields stretch endlessly before you, the sky overhead turning deep blue, speckled with the first stars of the night. Fireflies swirl around you both, blinking in and out like tiny lanterns guiding your way.
The game only ends when a familiar voice calls out in the distance.
“Come inside! It’s dinner time!”
You skid to a stop, hands on your knees as you catch your breath. Luigi, equally out of breath, groans. “Already?”
“Yeah, yeah,” you say, brushing dirt off your clothes. “Let’s go before they come looking for us.”
With one last glance at the glowing field, you and Luigi race back home, fireflies still flickering in the grass behind you. The warm night air hums with crickets, and the smell of dinner drifts from open windows. You hear your parents calling in the distance, their voices carrying through the summer dusk, and with one final laugh, you and Luigi skid to a stop on the porch, breathless but grinning.
Then comes the little exploration at the lake.
Luigi insists there are fossils there. Real fossils.
“What kind of fossils?” you ask.
“Dinosaur bones,” he says with absolute confidence.
The two of you spend hours combing through the rocky shore, picking up cool-looking stones and debating whether or not they count as fossils.
Luigi finds a spiral-shaped rock and gasps. “This is it. This is a real fossil.”
You squint at it. “That’s a snail shell.”
“A fossilized snail shell.”
You’re not sure if that’s true, but Luigi is so excited that you don’t argue. Instead, you help him collect more “fossils”—a jagged rock that definitely looks like a dinosaur tooth, a smooth stone with weird lines that has to be ancient fish bones, and something that might just be petrified wood but, according to Luigi, is actually proof of a prehistoric forest.
At some point, he turns to you, eyes gleaming. “Do you think we could sell these to a museum?”
You stare at the mismatched collection in his hands. Then at your own.
There’s a long pause before you both burst out laughing.
“Yeah,” you wheeze. “We’ll make millions.”
“We’re basically paleontologists.”
By the time the sun starts setting, you’re both exhausted, but Luigi still insists on skipping stones before heading home.
It takes you five tries before you finally get one to bounce.
Luigi whistles. “Nice.”
You smirk. “Bet I can skip one further than you.”
“Oh, you’re on.”
You don’t make it home until it’s almost dark, your fingers pruny from the lake and your pockets still full of weirdly shaped rocks.
The weeks pass in a blur of adventures, and before you know it, the months are slipping by too. Somewhere along the way, you and Luigi decide that just climbing trees isn’t enough—you needed a treehouse.
At first, the idea sounds ridiculous. You’d only just gotten comfortable with climbing, after all. The first time you managed to haul yourself up a tree was a traumatic experience for you.
You’d think, after that, you’d actually stick to your dramatic swearing-off of tree climbing. But, apparently, you were more resilient than you thought.
After a few more weeks of pulling yourself up branches, getting used to the rough bark under your palms, and seeing the world stretch out beneath you, you realize something—you actually like being up here. The view is nice. Peaceful, even.
So one afternoon, as you both sit perched on a sturdy branch, you turn to Luigi and admit, “Maybe the treehouse idea isn’t so bad after all.”
Luigi gasps, dramatically clutching his chest. “Finally! You see the vision!”
With the help of your dads, you spend afternoons hammering planks and tying ropes, watching as your hideout slowly comes to life. It takes time—longer than either of you expected, but when it’s finally done, it’s not just a treehouse. It’s yours.
It carries both of you in its very bones, the space is crammed with trinkets Luigi is tinkering with, half-built contraptions and tiny mechanical bits strewn about, alongside a stack of books he’s reading through. Some are new, their spines barely cracked, while others have soft, worn pages from being read countless times. On the other side, nestled into a cozy corner, are a bunch of your stuffed animals, squished between pillows and blankets. Sheets of paper and drawing materials are scattered all around, some pages covered in doodles, others filled with half-finished sketches and ideas. It’s messy, warm, and lived-in—a perfect mix of the both of you.
As you sit there, inside your new treehouse, legs dangling over the edge, Luigi leans back with a satisfied sigh, looking up at the sky.
“Best summer ever,” he says.
You don’t know if you’d call it that, but as the first fireflies of the evening begin to blink around you, lighting up the fading warmth of the season, you think maybe, just maybe, he’s right.
You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. “One of the first, anyway,” you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Plenty more to come.”
Luigi hums in agreement, and for a moment, neither of you say anything. Just two kids, sitting in a treehouse filled with their world, watching the sky shift above them—knowing, somehow, that this is only the beginning.