The Price of the Trade

in a small town tucked between two hills, there lived two boys.

One was named Jake, and he was mean.

He wasn’t just a little rude—he went out of his way to take more than he gave. He cut lines, broke toys that weren’t his, and blamed others when things went wrong. He had a smirk that made grown-ups sigh and kids avoid eye contact.

The other was Eli, and he was kind.

The kind of kind that made people say, “He’ll go far one day.” He helped carry groceries for neighbors. He lent out his only pencil without expecting it back. He was soft-spoken, polite, and honest—even when it cost him.

They were in the same class. They weren’t friends.

Jake thought Eli was boring.

Eli thought Jake was exhausting.

Years passed.

Middle school. High school.

Jake grew sharper. He learned to lie better, to cheat without getting caught, to charm teachers into ignoring late work. He cut corners and climbed over people—and it worked. He won debates with stolen arguments. Got class president with fake promises.

Eli? He stayed kind.

He studied hard, worked part-time jobs, helped his mom fix the leaky roof. He didn’t win awards or popularity contests, but he had a quiet pride in the things he earned.

Then came graduation.

Jake left in a suit his uncle paid for, headed to a big city, full of schemes and ambition.

Eli stayed in town, helping his father’s tiny repair shop after his dad fell sick.

Ten years later, everything had changed.

Jake was rich.

Not just comfortable—really rich. The kind of rich that came with penthouses, luxury cars, and articles in glossy magazines. He owned tech companies, or maybe he sold apps. It didn’t really matter—he had everything.

Eli was poor.

His father had passed. The shop had closed. He worked odd jobs—plumbing, repairs, whatever people needed. He lived in a tiny apartment with squeaky floors and one good coat. But he smiled often. Said thank you. Slept well.

They hadn’t seen each other since high school.

Until one winter afternoon.

Jake’s car broke down outside the town limits. Of all the people to be on-call at the repair shop, it had to be Eli.

Jake almost didn’t recognize him—grease on his hands, worn jeans, wind-chapped face.

But Eli smiled. “Jake?”

Jake smirked. “Eli. Still fixing junk?”

Eli just nodded. “Still breaking it?”

That made Jake laugh, and for a moment, they were just two boys again.

Eli fixed the car quickly, efficiently. His hands moved with quiet confidence.

Jake offered him money—a lot.

Eli refused most of it.

“I charge what it’s worth,” he said.

Jake frowned. “You could charge more. You could make a fortune with your skills. Why not get rich?”

Eli looked up, serious now.

“Because I’ve seen what rich can cost.”

Jake raised an eyebrow.

“My friends?” Eli continued. “They’re real. My time? My own. My peace? Earned. You have money, Jake. But are you... happy?”

Jake scoffed. “Of course I am.”

Eli looked at him for a long moment. Then handed him the keys.

Jake hesitated before driving off.

He sped down the highway in silence, the engine humming beneath him. The car was fixed, but something else had broken loose.

That night, in his penthouse with floor-to-ceiling glass, he stared out at the city and realized—he didn’t know the last time someone had helped him without asking for something. He didn’t know if anyone liked him who wasn’t on his payroll. He didn’t know what he was working for anymore—he just knew he couldn’t stop.

Every message on his phone was a request, a demand, a deal. But no one ever just said hello.

And somewhere in a drafty apartment, Eli drank hot tea with a leaky window beside him and a broken heater that he fixed himself. He was tired. His hands hurt.

But he was content.

He had dinner with neighbors who shared their bread and stories. He had laughter—not the kind people faked in meetings, but real, belly-deep laughter. And he had sleep, deep and undisturbed.