Chapter 5

Every morning of his new life, Nicholas repeated his mantra when he woke up:

I will be unyielding, I will embrace an ascetic path. Every mistake is a lesson, every obstacle will be faced and overcome. I don’t give a fuck about my ego, my shame, or my pain; I will learn and master my life.

A bit theatrical—perhaps. He didn’t give a shit. It said what he wanted it to say.

The halfway house was what he’d been told to expect—a rundown four-bedroom house with peeling paint, narrow hallways, and the lingering smell of disinfectant covering up decades of cigarette smoke. Eight guys, two to a room, metal-frame beds, foot lockers to his few things. But it had a roof, hot water showers, and was within walking distance of the community college and a city library. That’s all Nicholas needed.

His first night there, he met his roommates. Two guys fresh out of juvie like him. Three older ones who’d been in adult prison. One guy, Roger, took one look at Nicholas and decided they were going to have a problem.

“You think you’re better than us, don’t you?” he said, watching Nicholas arrange his notebooks on the small shelf next to his bunk. “With your writing and shit.”

Nicholas didn’t look up. “No. I just like books.”

Roger knocked the books to the floor. Power move. Testing to see if he’d react, if he was a threat or a victim.

The old Nicholas would have put him through the wall. The new Nicholas just bent down and picked up the notebooks, one by one, carefully checking each for damage before putting it back on the shelf. Roger stood there, waiting for a reaction he wasn’t going to get.

“You deaf or something?” he pushed.

“No,” Nicholas said, placing the last notebook on the shelf. “Just not interested in playing this game.”

Roger looked confused, then disgusted. Walked away muttering something about “stuck-up little punk.” Nicholas heard the others snickering. But he meant what he said. He wasn’t going to waste energy on ego battles and dominance games. He’d learned from Marcus Aurelius: “Reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears. The best answer to anger is silence.”

The next morning, Nicholas was up at 5 AM. Push-ups, sit-ups, and squats beside his bunk. Quiet so he wouldn’t wake the others. Then a hot shower and out the door by 6:30. The college admissions office wouldn’t open until 9, but he wanted to walk the campus first, get a feel for it.

It was smaller than he’d imagined. Just a cluster of buildings around a central quad with some trees and benches. Nothing fancy. But to Nicholas, it was Plato’s Academy. It was Athens and Alexandria and every center of learning he’d thought about during those long months in solitary.

When the admissions office opened, he was the first one waiting. The woman at the front desk looked surprised to see him—a tall, serious kid clutching a folder full of carefully prepared documents.

“How can I help you?” she asked.

“I want to apply for fall semester,” Nicholas said, his voice steady despite the nerves churning in his stomach. “I need to get a GED first, I know, but I’d like to know about costs and stuff.”

“Actually, I have the information about the GED right here. We have a program that starts next week helping you get ready for the test. Would you like to sign up?”

“How much is it?” he said cautiously. “I haven’t got a job yet, so I might have to wait.”

She looked at him curiously, like she couldn’t imagine not having seventy-five bucks. “No problem, you have till Friday to sign up. The cost is $75.” Nicholas thanked her politely. And walked away encouraged. He got lucky. This will work.

Next stop: find a job. Nicholas walked to the library first. It seemed the most natural fit, but they weren’t hiring. Same with the bookstore near campus. He tried a coffee shop, a grocery store, and a 7/11. Nobody wanted to hire a kid with no experience and no references.

By late afternoon, he was hungry and tired, but still determined. He stopped at a small diner to spend some of his precious gate money on a cheap meal. While he was eating, he noticed a “Help Wanted” sign in the window of the auto shop across the street.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. Cars had gotten him into trouble in the first place. But beggars can’t be choosers, and he did know about cars, thanks to Half-Ear. Nicholas finished his meal, crossed the street, and walked into Ray’s Auto Repair.

The owner, Ray himself, was a barrel-chested guy in his sixties with massive forearms covered in tattoos. He looked Nicholas up and down.

“You know anything about cars, kid?”

“Yes, sir,” Nicholas said. “I can change oil, rotate tires, replace filters. I’m a quick learner for the rest.”

Ray narrowed his eyes. “Where’d you learn that?”

Nicholas had prepared for this. Had rehearsed his answer in his head during those last weeks in juvie. No lying—that wasn’t the person he was trying to be—but no unnecessary details, either.

“I worked with cars before. Informal training.”

Ray grunted. “We’ll see. Be here tomorrow at 7. We’ll give it a week. See if you’re worth keeping around.”

That night, Nicholas went back to the library to look for some sort of general auto repair manual. He read until closing time, memorizing oil changes and tire rotation. Simple stuff, he hoped this guy Ray would teach him more. He was determined to prove himself.

He got the job. Lucky again.

For the next month, he lived by a strict routine. Up at 5 for exercise. At the shop by 7. Work until 3, get covered in grease and oil, learn everything Ray was willing to teach him. Quick shower back at the halfway house, then to the library until it closed at 10. Study for the things he needed to know to pass the GED. The workshop proved invaluable. He now had some idea what he didn’t know—a lot. Back to the house just before curfew. Repeat.

Nicholas barely spoke to his roommates. Didn’t socialize, didn’t party on weekends, didn’t waste money on movies. Every dollar he earned went into the bank, after being noted in a small notebook where he tracked his savings. Every hour of his day was accounted for, purposeful. Some of the guys at the house called him “weird.” He didn’t care.

The old Nicholas would have cared. Might have felt the sting of exclusion, the old anger at being mocked. But that Nicholas was long gone. In his place, there was a man who understood that their opinions of him existed only in their minds. He quoted Lao Tzu to himself, “Care about what other people think of you and you will always be their prisoner.”

These days, random bits of knowledge from his voracious reading often popped up in his mind. He was long past wondering how a kid from the projects was quoting an ancient philosopher who lived two thousand five hundred years ago.

Studying for the GED was going to be brutal. Nicholas knew that the future he planned was dependent on his passing, and not just passing—he needed scores high enough to be considered college-ready. The stakes couldn’t have been higher. It was his best shot at a future different from the past he had left behind. But there was so much he didn’t know.

When Nicholas first approached the desk at the Riverside Public Library, he was wearing the stiff new clothes they’d given him upon release. The librarian, a gray-haired woman with wire-rimmed glasses and a cardigan despite the summer heat, looked up with the practiced neutral expression of someone who had seen it all.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice neither warm nor cold.

“I need books to study for the GED,” Nicholas said, his voice low but clear. “All subjects.”

She assessed him briefly, perhaps noting his age, his posture, the institutional haircut still growing out. “The test preparation section is on the second floor, northwest corner,” she said, pointing toward the stairs.

Nicholas nodded his thanks and headed up. He found the section easily enough—a few shelves of workbooks, study guides, and practice tests. He pulled one of each type and carried them to a table by the window. For the next four hours, he paged through them methodically, making mental notes of what he remembered from school and what was completely foreign to him.

By closing time, he had a plan. Six months to prepare. Four subjects. He’d tackle Mathematics first, then Science, Social Studies, and finally Language Arts. He checked out as many books as his new library card would allow.

The next day, he was back at three-fifteen, after his shift at the garage ended. Same table, same laser focus. He spread out his mathematics workbooks and a notebook he’d purchased out of his meager savings. Starting with basic arithmetic, he worked his way through problem after problem, not allowing himself to move on until he fully understood each concept.

Days turned into weeks, and Nicholas became a fixture at that table by the window. Always arriving at three fifteen, always staying until the nine o’clock closing announcement. The security guard got used to seeing him, nodding as he exited each night, sometimes the last patron to leave.

Three weeks into his study regime, the same gray-haired librarian approached his table. He had papers spread out everywhere, algebraic equations filling his notebook, a frustrated crease between his eyebrows.

“You’re here every day,” she observed, not a question but not quite an accusation either.

Nicholas looked up, meeting her eyes directly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Mrs. Edwards, the reference librarian,” she said. “You’re studying for the GED.”

Again, it wasn’t a question. Nicholas just nodded.

“I see, you’re having trouble with the quadratic formulas,” she noted, glancing at his work.

“I can’t seem to get the approach right.”