Los Angeles | 2009
Bradley's POV
I entered the halls of Northwood again after the months of being away. The familiar smell of floor wax and old textbooks filled the air, a signal that summer was officially over. More than the classes, I wanted to be in the gym, on the court. The victory of the summer tournament felt little in comparison to what I wanted to achieve for the school over the school year. The Junior High Championship was the goal, the first step on a long road. The Junior High Championship runs all year with the highest scoring teams qualifying for State Championship, National Championships are a thing for High Schools, and I hope to be there one day as well.
I made my way to my first class, which was math, and scanned the room. I found Alex already seated, and my breath caught for a second. She looked up as if she'd felt my gaze, and a small, warm smile touched her lips. The chair next to her was empty. She had saved it for me.
"Hi," I said quietly as I sat down.
"Hi," she replied, her eyes bright.
The class started, and I took out my notebook. But as Mr. Harrison began his lecture on algebraic theorems, my mind was already on the court. While one part of my brain listened, the other started sketching plays in the margins. Then, I deliberately switched my pen to my left hand and began to practice solving the sums. The motion was clumsy, the numbers awkward, but it was necessary work.
"Since when did you become a lefty?" Alex whispered, her voice a low murmur next to me.
I looked over at her, a small smile on my face. "It's a challenge for myself," I told her.
The class continued, and we fell into an easy rhythm. Alex paid rapt attention, her focus absolute, while I split my time between the lesson and my own private training. At one point, I was so lost in a new play I was designing that I didn't notice Mr. Harrison looking in our direction. I felt a nudge against my arm. I glanced over to see Alex give me a tiny, almost imperceptible nod toward the front of the room. I immediately corrected my posture and focused on the teacher, the ghost of a grateful smile on my lips.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the period, and the familiar chaos of students packing their bags filled the room.
The next class was history.
"Alright, kicking off our summer project presentations," Mrs. Harper said, looking at his list. One by one student groups were called up to give their 15 minute presentation soon it was our turn. "Naird, Dunphy. You're up."
A comfortable, familiar energy passed between Alex and me as we walked to the front of the class. There were no nerves, just the boldness of a well-prepared team. This was our element.
Alex began, her voice clear and confident, addressing the class. "When most people think of colonial trade routes, they think of the basic structure of the Triangular Trade: manufactured goods from Europe to Africa, slaves from Africa to the Americas, and raw materials coming back to Europe. But that's just the textbook definition."
I stepped forward to take my part, my eyes scanning the room and briefly landing on Leo and David in the back, who were already looking profoundly bored. "Our project focuses on a different aspect," I said, turning my attention back to the class. "What's really fascinating is how disruptions to those routes changed the balance of power. The routes weren't just for trade; they were weapons."
Alex picked up the thread seamlessly, her tone becoming more animated. "Exactly. Most people see these routes as static lines on a map, but in reality, they were fluid, constantly contested, and the primary tool for economic warfare long before the first shot of a real war was ever fired. For instance, when the British started interfering with French colonial trade during the Seven Years' War, it wasn't just about capturing territory. It was a calculated strategy to strangle their economic lifelines."
From the back of the room, a loud, theatrical stage-whisper cut through the air. "Yeah you tell us Professor," Leo said, just loud enough for half the class to hear.
"Dude, my brain is cramping," David followed up. "Are you gonna talk about pirates, or not?"
A few kids snickered. I caught Alex's eye, and we shared a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk. She then turned her gaze toward the back of the room with a look of academic pity before continuing, her voice even clearer. "This economic strangulation, in turn, directly impacted France's ability to fund its military efforts on the European continent, proving that the war was won as much on the seas as it was on the battlefield."
Despite the heckling we did not lose our stride and continued the explanation, some were interested some were bored but we finished with our job nonetheless. Despite their heckling I found that Patrick, Leo and David were the first ones to begin clapping when we ended, they did it so enthusiastically that some of the other classmates joined in out of peer pressure.
"An excellent and insightful thesis, both of you," Mr. Harrison said with an impressed nod. "One question: can you provide another specific example of a route disruption being used as a direct military tool?"
I stepped forward. "Yes, sir. The British blockade of French sugar islands like Guadeloupe. It not only crippled the French economy, which was heavily dependent on sugar revenue, but it also forced the French Navy to divert critical resources away from Europe to protect their colonial assets, weakening their position at home."
"Very good," he said. "Excellent work."
As we walked back to our seats, the victory felt good. The bell hadn't rung yet, so we sat down. Under the cover of the desk, I found her hand and gave it a light squeeze. She squeezed back, her fingers warm in mine. The presentation was a success, but this small moment of triumph felt even better.
The rest of the classes went around similarly, a comfortable rhythm of notes and quiet smiles. I was eagerly anticipating the end of the day, but lunch was a welcome break. Alex and I sat together at a small table, an isolated island in the noisy sea of the cafeteria.
"So, did Jenna or the others talk to you?" I asked, keeping my voice low.
"Yeah, they talked," she said, picking at her salad. "But it was polite and a little distant. Nothing I haven't faced before." She looked up at me and offered a small, genuine smile. "I don't need them. I have you."
I wanted to stress to her the importance of having a social circle, of not relying on just one person, but I held my tongue when I saw that sweet smile. That was a conversation for another day. For now, she needed support, not a lecture. "Yeah," I said, my voice soft. "You will always have me."
"So, you excited for basketball practice after class?" she asked, changing the subject.
A real, sharp grin spread across my face. "Damn right, I can't wait. Practice is going to be one hell of a torture for everyone today. I'm going to break our team so we can build something greater out of it."
"When you say it like that, I fear for those poor boys," she said, a playful worry in her eyes. "Aren't seniors on the team as well?"
"Yeah, there are, but only two of them," I answered. "And they didn't play well last year. I don't think the coach will keep them if their previous performance continues. Our class will be the brunt of the force on the team."
"Hey, Alex, mind if we sit with you guys?"
I looked up to see Leo approaching from behind me with David and Patrick, all of them carrying loaded lunch trays.
"Uh, sure, why not," she said, a little taken aback by his direct approach.
As soon as he sat down next to me, I punched him on his shoulder, hard enough to sting but not hurt. "Owwww! What the hell was that for?!" he yelped.
"For being an asshole in class today," I said with a smirk. "I'd hit David too if he weren't sitting too far away."
David started chuckling while filling his mouth with his lunch. "Sorry, dude. You know we didn't mean anything by it. We were just yanking your chain."
"Oh yeah?" I smirked back. "I'll be busting your balls on the court today, so be prepared. You two get a little something extra because of the shit you pulled in history."
"Woah, woah, dude, we are your teammates! You can't do us dirty like that, man!" Leo said, a look of comical panic on his face.
"Oh, I'm gonna," I said, my voice turning serious. "It's my responsibility as captain to instill discipline."
"When did you become the captain?" David asked, genuinely confused.
"I will be by the end of practice," I said with absolute conviction. "You have my word on that."
"Ah, shit," they both said collectively, a look of dread on their faces as I just smiled. Patrick and Alex giggled at their misfortune.
The laughter died down, and David went back to his lunch, the argument forgotten. Leo, however, had a new topic of conversation. He turned to me, a hopeful, excited glint in his eye.
"So, I was talking to Patrick," he began, "and he's decided he wants to try out for basketball and see how it goes."
I stopped, my fork halfway to my mouth, and turned my full attention to the new kid. The playful, friendly atmosphere at the table immediately shifted, becoming more serious, more focused. This was my court, my team he was talking about.
"I welcome it, but I need you to understand something, Patrick," I said, my voice even and direct. "Our court isn't a place to just mess around. We're serious about this. If you are genuinely serious on playing and putting in the work, you'll be a welcome addition. If you're not, if you're just looking to have a casual game, then you should be ready to be booted. No hard feelings, but that's the standard."
Patrick didn't flinch under my intense gaze. He just met it with his own quiet, thoughtful one. "I'm serious," he said, his voice calm. "But I'll confirm if I want to play or not after I've been to a few practices with you all. I'd like a week, at max, to see if it's the right fit."
I was impressed. He wasn't just agreeing to please us. He was setting his own terms. He was being careful with his commitment. I respected that.
"That's fine with me," Brad said.
They all finished lunch, the easy chatter returning now that the "business" was settled. The bell for the next period rang, and Alex and I stood up to head for our final class of the day.
The final class of the day was English, and the air in the room was thick with the sleepy, late-afternoon heat. We were reading a short story by Edgar Allan Poe—"The Fall of the House of Usher." I could feel Alex's unease from the seat next to me, the way she would subtly shudder at the more gothic descriptions.
"This is… dark," she whispered to me during a quiet moment, her expression a mixture of fascination and distaste. "It's a little too macabre for my taste."
I looked up from the page, a different feeling stirring in me. "I'm impressed by the comeuppance faced by the characters," I whispered back. "The idea that the decay on the inside is perfectly reflected on the outside, until the entire structure, both the family and the house, collapses under the weight of its own corruption. It's a perfect, closed system of justice."
"I guess," she conceded, "I admire the message of the story nonetheless, but I could do without the premature burial."
The final bell shrieked, a welcome release that jolted the class back to life. The room instantly filled with the chaos of students slamming books shut and scraping chairs against the floor.
"I'll see you at my place later?" I asked Alex as we gathered our things.
"Definitely," she said with a warm, easy smile that was a world away from the story's gloom.
I bid farewell to Alex as she headed out, and the moment she was gone, my focus shifted. The intellectual world of Poe and colonial history dissolved, replaced by the familiar, driving need for the court. I finally set my eyes on heading to the court, my mind already running plays, the boredom of the day burning away, replaced by a clean, sharp, and eager anticipation for the work to come.
"Time for a demolition"
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Kinda sick today so I may not be able to finish the chapter for tomorrow. No worries though will cover up over the weekend.