Los Angeles | 2009
Bradley's POV
As the game started, our different mindsets were immediately obvious. I was, as always, in competitive mode, analyzing the lane, taking my time with a precise, controlled form. Leo, feeding off my energy, engaged with me, talking trash after every pin he knocked down. David, true to his word, was reluctant. He participated, but without the competitive spirit, often taking a bite of his chicken popcorn between his turns and just casually rolling the ball down the lane.
Patrick, though, was a little awkward in the beginning. He stuck close to Leo, his movements hesitant, his first ball rolling sadly into the gutter. He clearly felt like the outsider, only knowing Leo. It was time to change that.
During his next turn, I spoke up. "So, Patrick," I said, trying to sound casual. "That comment you made to Leo earlier... I couldn't help but overhear. Are you Australian?"
He seemed a bit startled by the direct question. "No, I'm not," Patrick said. "But I spent most of my time in Australia until I was ten, and I guess I picked up the accent. I've been trying to relearn the American accent for the past three years." He shook his head with a small, self-conscious laugh. "I'm amazed that you caught it."
"I notice details," I said with a shrug.
The ice seemed to be broken. The game continued, and Patrick started to relax, his rolls getting straighter, his conversation a little easier. He even managed a spare, earning a high-five from Leo. Our group felt a little more whole, a little more settled.
I took my spot, my eyes narrowing as I focused on the pins. I took a deep breath, activated my Sharpshooter talent, and released the ball in a smooth, perfect motion. The sound of the strike was deeply satisfying. I turned back to the group with a grin.
"Btw Patrick, got any plans on joining the team?" I asked, still buzzing from the competitive high.
He looked at me a little strangely, as if the question came from another planet. "Uh, I've never played basketball before," he said. "The most I have done is thrown a few balls into the hoop with my dad, but that's all."
"Oh, really? Why don't you come play one of these days at my place?" I offered. "Who knows, you might be good at it."
He looked thoughtful. "I mean, I could give it a try, but I can't commit to anything," he answered after a moment of contemplation. "I'm new, you see, so I wanna explore things a bit. Give myself time to build a new identity."
"That's perfectly alright," I said, though I was already calculating his potential.
"Yeah, man, if you joined us, the four of us would be unbeatable on the court!" Leo voiced in excitement. "After we train you, that is."
"Yo, new guy, I advise against it," David suddenly said, his tone dead serious, a stark contrast to his usual goofy vibe. He pointed a thumb at me and Leo. "These two maniacs are freaks when it comes to b-ball. Absolutely, completely, utterly obsessed. Trust me, I know them. If you dip your toes in this, they will drag you underwater."
"Hey, hey, that's a little harsh, David," I said.
"Yeah, junkie, we aren't that bad," Leo added. "I mean, you survived, and look at you now."
"Sure, I did, but that's also because I like playing," David said, his gaze fixed on Patrick. "I don't want him to get into something he isn't fully ready for. But if you want to place your head on the chopping block, then be my guest. I'll just enjoy the view."
"Let's—just finish the game for now," Patrick said, clearly a little rattled by David's intense warning. "We can think about basketball later." I could see David's words had affected him. My recruitment pitch had been successfully sabotaged. David will have his day when we practice next term, I thought, a flicker of annoyance cutting through the fun of the game.
The bowling game finished with a predictable outcome: I won, Leo came in a close second, Patrick was a respectable third, and David came in last with a score that was less than the price of his chicken popcorn.
"Alright, my treat," I said, leading the way out of the noisy alley. "Let's go get some ice cream."
As we were walking through the mall, Leo suddenly stopped and nudged me hard in the ribs. "Dude, look." He pointed toward a small, upscale café.
I followed his gaze and saw her. Alex was sitting at a small table with Gloria. They were deep in conversation, Alex looking serious and Gloria gesturing passionately as she spoke. For a moment, I felt a pull to go over, to say hi. But she was with her family. I decided I shouldn't intrude. Just as the thought crossed my mind, she must have felt my eyes on her. She looked up, and our gazes met across the crowded concourse. A small, surprised smile lit up her face. I waved at her, and she gave a little wave back before turning her attention back to Gloria. I felt a quiet satisfaction settle in my chest and moved along to the ice cream parlor.
The shop was a blast of bright pink and the overwhelming, sweet smell of sugar. We stood in front of the glass case, a vibrant array of two dozen flavors.
"Okay, this is the real competition," I declared. "Best ice cream flavor. Go."
"Easy," Leo said immediately. "Black Currant. It's the only one with any character. It's sweet, but it's got a kick. It's not for babies."
"I don't know, mate," Patrick countered, his Australian accent making the words sound relaxed. "You can't beat a good fruity flavor on a hot day. Mango sorbet. Clean, refreshing. Simple."
"Simple is boring," Leo shot back.
I shook my head at both of them. "You're both wrong. Chocolate is the alpha and omega of ice cream. It's the foundation. Everything else is just a variation." I pointed at a deep, dark brown tub. "And I'm choosing Choco Fudge this time."
We all looked at David, who had been staring at the flavors with the focused intensity of a bomb disposal expert. He just shrugged. "Dude, why are you arguing? It's all ice cream. It's all good."
We ordered our favorites—a double scoop of Choco Fudge for me, Black Currant for Leo, a Raspberry-Mango mix for Patrick, and a massive, teetering concoction of Rocky Road, Cookie Dough, and Superman for David. We found a table and continued the passionate debate.
"The point is," I argued, "chocolate can be anything. It can be dark and bitter, it can be sweet and milky, it can have fudge, chips, nuts..."
"But it's always just... brown," Patrick said with a laugh. "Fruity flavors have color! They're exciting!"
"Exciting?" Leo scoffed. "It's frozen fruit juice. Black Currant is complex. It's mysterious. It's the flavor James Bond would eat."
David, who was somehow already halfway through his mountain of ice cream, just looked at us, a drip of chocolate on his chin. "You guys are weird," he said happily. "This is delicious."
Leo scoffed, pointing his spoon at me. "You like chocolate now, but just you wait. In a month, your favorite flavor will be whatever Alex's favorite flavor is. That's how it starts, man."
The others laughed at this. David let out a loud, booming laugh that made a few people at other tables look over, and even Patrick chuckled, a quiet, amused sound.
I tried to maintain my calm. "Chocolate is a constant, Leo. It's reliable," I said, sticking to my guns. I took a spoonful of the rich Choco Fudge, letting the cool, sweet flavor settle on my tongue. I looked at their grinning, expectant faces and decided to give them what they wanted. "But," I conceded with a small smile, "I'd also be willing to do things with Alex I usually wouldn't."
The reaction was immediate. Leo and David let out a loud, synchronized "Oooohhh!" that echoed through the parlor, a classic display of teenage hooting and cheering. I just shook my head, laughing along with them.
Patrick, the curious newcomer, leaned forward. "So, what's the story between you and Alex? Leo mentioned you guys just got together."
Leo's eyes lit up. He loved being the storyteller. "Oh, man, it's epic, dude. Like, straight out of a TV show," he began, launching into a detailed, and slightly exaggerated, explanation of the end-term bet, the disastrous birthday party, the confession from a rival girl, and the dramatic, last-minute apology. He was in his element, and I just sat back with a resigned smile, letting him have his moment.
Leo finished his dramatic retelling of the last few weeks with a grand, sweeping gesture. I just shook my head with a smile, while David applauded like he'd never heard the story before.
Patrick, who had been listening with a thoughtful intensity, looked at me with a new understanding. "That's actually a really good start to a love story, mate," he said, his Australian accent, making the observation sound both sincere and incredibly cool.
"I hope it continues to be so," I replied, and the honesty in my own voice surprised me.
With the bowling game done and the story told, we spent the next few hours just being kids at the mall. We invaded a sneaker store, where we had a blast trying on the most expensive and ridiculous shoes we could find. David was in awe of a pair of bright orange high-tops in his size, while Leo argued passionately that the new LeBrons were objectively better than my beloved Jordans.
From there, we migrated to the video game store, where we dominated the demo station for a new fighting game. The button-mashing was intense, the trash talk was merciless, and the laughter was loud. We checked out the sports gear next, our hands naturally gravitating toward the perfectly inflated basketballs, before finally admitting that our energy and David's prize money were running low.
As the afternoon light began to fade outside the mall's glass doors, the day felt like it was coming to a natural, satisfying end. I called Harris, and a few minutes later, the familiar black SUV pulled up to the curb.
The ride was full of the easy, tired chatter of a day well spent. We dropped Leo and Patrick off at their neighboring houses first, with promises to hit the court for practice once I returned from my trip. Then we took David home.
"See you later, man," he said, grabbing his now-empty tub of chicken popcorn. This was his third throughout our outing, "Don't have too much fun without us."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I said with a laugh.
As David's door shut, I turned to Harris. "One last stop. Alex's place."
He nodded, pulling the car smoothly back into traffic. The car fell quiet, and my thoughts, which had been filled with the loud, happy chaos of my friends all day, now focused on one person. I leaned my head against the cool window, a quiet, happy anticipation settling in my chest as we headed to see my girlfriend.
…
I walked up to the Dunphy house, a relaxed, happy smile on my face. The day had been simple, easy. I was looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe helping Alex with her project or just talking. I rang the bell.
The door wasn't locked, and it swung open from the force of my knock into a wall of sound.
The scene in the living room was one of pure, uncut chaos. Phil was lying dramatically on the sofa with a piece of bloody tissue pressed to his nose, looking utterly betrayed. My dad was sitting calmly in an armchair beside him, looking more like a visiting therapist than a participant. Claire was pacing back and forth, her expression torn between concern for her husband and anger at her father. Gloria was standing over Jay, reprimanding him in a loud, rapid-fire mix of English and Spanish. And in the corner, Cam and Mitchell were having their own separate, but related, crisis.
"He tried to murder me, Mark!" Phil wailed, pointing a shaky finger at Jay. "With a remote-controlled weapon of war!"
"Oh, for the love of God, it was an accident!" Jay barked back. "He shouldn't have been standing in the landing zone!"
"What landing zone?!" Claire shot back. "Dad you have never shown an ounce of concern for Phil in 16 years of our marriage. How do you think that makes me feel!?"
"See, Mitchell, this is exactly what I'm talking about!" Cam said loudly to his partner. "Jay does not show love! Not to me, not to his own son-in-laws!"
I stood in the entryway, my brain trying to process the overlapping data streams. Okay. Dad is here. Phil has a bloody nose. There's a broken model plane on the coffee table. Conclusion: Dad's relaxed day with Jay did not go as planned.
Then, through the whirlwind of accusations and drama, my eyes found her. Alex was standing at the other end of the hallway, leaning against the wall, a safe distance from the epicenter of the chaos. She wasn't angry or amused; she just looked… weary. Resigned.
Our eyes met, and in that instant, we had a silent, perfect conversation. Her look said, This is my family. Welcome to the madness. My look said, You have got to be kidding me.
We both let out a long, slow sigh at the exact same time, a shared moment of profound, exasperated understanding.
I stepped into the chaos, and my dad noticed me, giving me a look that said, don't get involved. He pointed to a chair. "Sit down, Bradley. This will take a while."
Just then, Gloria stepped in, her hands on her hips, her expression leaving no room for argument. "Jay, hug him," she commanded.
"What?" Jay asked, looking utterly appalled at the idea.
"You heard me. You hit him in the face with your toy plane. Now you give him a hug," she insisted.
With a look of profound reluctance, Jay shuffled over to the sofa and gave Phil a stiff, awkward, one-armed hug that looked more like he was trying to pat him down for weapons.
"There. Happy?" Jay grumbled.
"See, Mitchell?" Cam said from his corner, his voice full of theatrical drama. "That could be us. If he ever showed me a shred of physical affection."
Mitchell stepped in. "He's right, Dad. If you can hug Phil, you can certainly hug Cam."
"Oh, for the love of—fine!" Jay snapped, throwing his hands in the air. "Get in here, both of you!"
And so I witnessed one of the strangest things I had ever seen: my new neighbor, Jay Pritchett, trapped in a deeply uncomfortable group hug with both Phil and Cam. My dad caught my eye from across the room and gave a slow, almost imperceptible shake of his head, an acknowledgment of the sheer absurdity of the moment.
After the hug finally broke apart, my dad stood up. "All in all, this was a fun and chaotic day," he announced, his voice carrying a dry amusement that cut through the remaining tension. "And I'm saying this as a man who serves in the United States Air Force. Jay, I'm open for any future invites."
He turned to Claire. "Phil will be okay. The bleeding has stopped. Just some ice and a little less drama." He looked at me. "I have some work to do. Be home for dinner."
"You're leaving?" Claire and Gloria asked, but Dad simply nodded. He complimented Claire and Gloria for the wonderful coffee and then, with a final, firm look at me, he and Harris left.
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A good Summer Arc incoming I hope you guys enjoy it.