When I woke up, my entire world felt different. Everything I thought I knew had become a temple for my curiosity. I looked at my reflection and barely recognized the boy staring back at me. Plato’s words echoed in my head, and I couldn’t go back to who I was before his visit.
But I needed to shake the feeling — it was consuming me. My mind was flooded with thoughts I couldn’t explain, and there was no one I could talk to. My friends would laugh in my face and call me delusional. And Holly… she didn’t want to hear from me.
I spent the entire day trapped in my thoughts until it began to drive me crazy. I needed a distraction. That’s when I remembered the party my best friend Owen was throwing. Maybe a night out would clear my head. Before I left, I muttered to myself, “Be brave, be beautiful, be Bo.”
When I got to the party, I was expecting to have fun — to lose myself in the music and lights — but I couldn’t. Not after everything happened. The Plato had visited me, how was I supposed to act normally? I sat on the couch, watching everyone dance and have fun. It felt like I had outgrown the scene overnight. As I was lost in thought, a girl sat down next to me. I recognized her, as we used to hangout freshman year. Her name was Sonya J — she was tan with long curly hair, and big brown eyes that looked like they could see right through me.
She looked at me and asked, “What’s on your mind?”
I promptly replied, “Oh, uh nothing. Just tired,”
“Bobby, if this is about the game yesterday, don’t sweat it. Everyone has bad days,” she said softly.
Caught off guard, I stuttered, “Oh, right. The game.”
“Is it something else? Holly? I heard you broke up,” she asked.
I barely got a chance to think before the words came spilling out, “It’s none of that, okay? Something weird happened to me and I don’t know what to make of it.”
I immediately looked down, embarrassed that I had just told random Sonya all of this. She didn’t laugh or roll her eyes. Instead, she looked at me longingly and asked what happened. Hesitant, but desperate to confide in someone, I told her everything — the dream, the rocks, Plato, all of it. Shockingly, she didn’t look at me like I was crazy or with pity.
Instead, she asked, “What are you going to do from here?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I consider myself to be somewhat of a philosopher. I can’t stop thinking of rocks… supernatural rocks, but it sounds ridiculous out loud,” I replied.
Suddenly, her eyes brightened. She told me she knew exactly who would understand. She referred me to her friends Lyla and Coco who had their own “Philosophy Coven” where they talked about all this stuff. They had been studying for years so they would surely understand what I was going through.
Sonya reached out to Coco and Lyla, explaining my “philosophical awakening,” as she called it. The next morning, I had a message waiting for me — an invitation to meet them at a little coffee shop on the edge of town.
For a moment, I hesitated. Did I really want this? Strange new friends. Strange new ideas. A true commitment to everything Plato told me.
But then I remembered my dream — the way I felt standing beside him. Content. Curious. Alive. Astonished that the world was so much more than I knew it to be. Excited to be the best version of myself. Hopeful for my soul and higher self. I couldn’t run away from that feeling. I had to go through with this.
As I approached the coffee shop, a thousand thoughts flooded my head. What if they laughed at me? What if they rejected me? What if they thought I was crazy? I forced myself out of the mindset, held my head high, and pushed that door open.
The smell of espresso and cinnamon hit me first — then two warm smiles and a triple hug.
“We are so glad you decided to come, Bobby,” said Lyla.
“We can’t wait to hear everything. This is a judgement free zone,” added Coco.
Their kindness disarmed me. I smiled, “Thank you. It means a lot,”
They led me to a large table in the corner where the rest of the coven sat, mugs steaming, notebooks open.
“Bobby, this is everyone,” Coco announced, “Everyone, this is Bobby,”
I was greeted with open arms and genuine smiles. It was beautiful — so many different people brought together by curiosity and purpose.
Lyla and Coco were clearly the leaders, and also best friends. Lyla, tall and raven-haired, radiated quiet intelligence — a history buff with a witty sense of humor. She was the group’s unofficial historian, always ready to connect a modern idea to some ancient one. Everybody listened when she spoke; not because she was loud, but because her words carried weight. Coco, pale and blonde, had the look of someone who lived half in reality, and half in the stories she wrote. Her notebook was a mix of rough drafts, observations, and ideas. She was always studying people like they were characters waiting to happen.
Then there was Anna whose bright energy lit the room. She hoped to become a nurse someday. She loved helping people inside and out. There was something genuine about her — the kind of girl whose smile could make your day.
Rhianna sat beside her, short and blonde, with an effortless flair for drama. She dreamed of becoming a Broadway star and carried herself like she was already there — expressive, confident, intentional, and even a little chaotic. I knew she believed in chasing what you wanted no matter what people thought.
Across from them was Hank, an awkward ginger from ElSalle’s football team. I recognized him from the field — he rarely played, but I remembered the look of someone desperate for a chance. He fidgeted with his hands, listening more than he spoke. Our eyes met and he gave me an uncertain wave. In that moment, I didn’t see him as an opponent — just another guy trying to find a purpose and his people.
And finally, there was Niklaus. He went to my school — the kind of kid who always sat in the front row, hand raised, voice calm and sure. A total nerd, obsessed with music, the SATs, and Italy. To be quite honest, he had been a target for me and the guys — harmless teasing; we called it. But looking at him now made me realize it wasn’t so harmless.
Niklaus didn’t seem nervous like I expected him to be. Instead, he had a quiet confidence about him — like he didn’t need anyone’s validation. He sat there, quietly tapping his finger on the table to the rhythm of some song only he knew. When he caught me staring, he offered a gentle smile — the kind that said, “I know who I am. I hope you discover who you are, too.”
Something in that look spoke to me. I reached out my hand to shake his, and he took it with no hesitation. In that moment I understood what Plato had been trying to tell me. Niklaus and I weren’t opponents; we were equals. Two imperfect versions of something bigger, both trying to find our place in this world.
I sat eagerly, waiting for the meeting to begin.
“Before we begin, want to tell us what brought you here Bobby?” Rhianna asked with a teasing smile.
Lyla added gently, “You don’t have to, but we’d appreciate if you did.”
I took a deep breath and told them everything — Holly, football, the fall, the rock, the dream, Plato, the shift in my heart that I couldn’t shake. I braced myself for judgement. Instead, they looked at me in awe.
“I wish Plato would visit me in my dreams! “Anna exclaimed.
They asked a ton of questions — the good kind, curious and eager — eventually thanking me for opening up. It felt incredible to be surrounded by people who understood what I was going through.
“We’re with you,” said Coco, “Whatever Plato told you — we’ll help you figure out what it means.”
“So, it sounds like Plato wants you to become the highest version of yourself,” Niklaus said thoughtfully.
“That’s perfect for today’s question!” Hank added quietly.
“He’s right,” Lyla said, “That ties directly into our topic of the day,”
Confused, I asked, “What’s today’s question?”
Coco grinned, “What does it mean to be a good person?”
Everybody’s eyes widened. I panicked a little. How was I supposed to know what made someone a good person? I’d spent 17 years thinking it was about winning. I decided to keep quiet and just listen.
Lyla began, “I think a good person is someone who does things for the big picture, not just themselves. Like your life doesn’t affect just you. Every choice you make becomes part of history. So… being good means thinking outside of yourself and considering the effect your actions have on others.”
The table snapped their fingers in agreement. I panicked even more. That was… brilliant. I could never think of that.
Coco continued, “For me, it’s about curiosity. A good person asks questions instead of assuming they already know everything. It’s about going deeper than what’s presented on the surface. Good people try to understand things and people — not judge them. Good people want to learn for the greater good.”
“Wow I needed to hear that,” I thought to myself as everyone applauded Coco.
Anna spoke next, “I think being good is trying to make others feel safe. Like when they’re with you, it feels like a weight lifted off their shoulders, like they can breathe a little easier. Even if you can’t fix things, you can be there for them and make their world a little brighter.”
That one tightened something in my chest.
Rhianna went on, “Being good is living honestly and staying true to yourself. Good people don’t fake nice or pretend to be cooler than they really are. They show the real them — mess and all. Fakeness is fear.”
Everybody turned to Hank. He took a deep breath and softly said, “I guess being a good person means trying. Even when you mess up. Especially when you mess up. Putting your best foot forward and showing up when it matters is what makes a good person. Oh, and keeping a positive attitude too.”
“That was really deep Hank,” said Niklaus, “Being good is being intentional. You can fail, you can fall apart, but if your heart is in the right place — and you’re willing to improve it — that’s goodness. Imperfect goodness is all goodness. If you have good intentions, you’re being a good person, or you’re at least halfway there.”
I was stunned. They had all thought about this so deeply. Then the table fell quiet and they all looked at me.
My throat tightened. I swallowed and muttered, “I… okay. I used to think being a good person was being the best — being the strongest, always winning, impressing people, I thought that was enough,”
I looked down at the table for a moment. Everybody was staring at me.
I continued, “But you guys… you all just described things I never even thought about. Like making people feel safe, or listening, or still trying when you fail — all of it. I needed to hear it. I never realized how small my version of good was.”
I immediately looked back down, but this time the silence was broken by applause — real, supportive applause.
Lyla smiled softly, “Growth isn’t quiet, Bobby. It’s loud in your heart, and subtle everywhere else. And you’re doing it. You’re changing.”
Coco scribbled furiously into her notebook before looking up and whispering, “You do belong here.”
The meeting carried on, each idea bouncing off another. When it was over, I didn’t feel like a football star or hometown hero. I just felt like a person — an imperfect copy of something greater. And honestly, it felt amazing.
As I headed for the door, I hesitated, looked back, and said, “Thanks again, guys. This was everything,”
I smirked a little, “Also, you can call me Bo from now on.”
I walked into that coffee shop, scared and unsure. I walked out with six new friends. I was definitely going to be back.
I stepped out of the coffee shop and into the cool night air, feeling lighter than I had in months. The town looked different — sharper, quieter, and somehow, more important. Every streetlamp seemed to glow a little warmer, and each gust of wind seemed to whistle a little softer. It was like the whole world had shifted a few inches, and I finally noticed the small things.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and began walking. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t obsessing over Holly, or football, or the game I’d blown, or what people thought of me. I kept walking, with a newfound sense of freedom. I also listened. To my breath. To the hum of the cars in the distance. To the echoes of the coven’s voices in my mind. Safe. Honest. Curious. Intentional. Part of something bigger. I replayed each word like it was a lyric, something to memorize, something worth living by. Somewhere between the coffee shop and my street, I realized I didn’t feel like Bobby Vono at all— I felt like Bo.
