Los Angeles | 2010
Bradley's POV
Summer that year ended without much fanfare, and I was thankful for it. The long weeks of enforced rest, dictated by the doctor after the championship game, had been a unique kind of torture. My injuries had healed, the torn muscles knitting back together, the ache in my knees finally subsiding, but the reduced amount of activity had grated on my nerves. Still, it had been necessary. By the time August rolled around, I was back in top shape, maybe even stronger than before, the enforced rest allowing my body to fully recover and rebuild.
True to their word, the team showed up right on time for practice on the agreed-upon date in August. There was no need for threats or ultimatums this time. I could see that even though they had enjoyed summer, they all had stuck to some form of physical upkeep. The laziness that had plagued them before the championship was gone, replaced by focused determination.
"Alright, Captain," Leo said, stretching his arms, "what fresh hell do you have planned for us today?" "Something special," I replied with a grin. "Let's see if you guys remember how to communicate." We ran through the weave drills, the blind passing, the agility courses. It showed even greater during scrimmage when we were able to do even better at coordination exercises. Passes were crisper, cuts were sharper, and the non-verbal communication, the subtle nods and glances that define a truly cohesive unit, was becoming second nature. It was deeply satisfying.
My thirteenth birthday this time around was a much tamer affair than the last. No massive party, no awkward social minefields. I only invited the guys from the team, the Dunphys, the Pritchetts, and Alex. It was a simple backyard barbecue, relaxed and easy. Jay and my dad talked airplanes, Phil tried (and failed) to teach Luke magic tricks, and the guys and I just hung out, arguing about video games and basketball, the pressure off for a little while.
Amidst the rebuilding of the team and the strengthening of my relationship with Alex, there was one unresolved thread: Jenna. In the time since our conversation, Jenna and I had tried to rekindle some form of friendship. I made a point to say hi in the hallways, to ask about her classes, to be... friendly. But it just never seemed to pass a certain threshold of cordiality. Our conversations were polite, brief, and always felt like they were skating on thin ice. I even invited her to the birthday party, but she declined, citing other plans with a cool, distant smile.
At this point, I started giving up on her. I had spent months trying to show that things could be different, that the hurt could be mended, but she just never seemed to respond positively. It felt like trying to force puzzle pieces together that no longer fit.
One evening, Alex and I had a conversation about it. We were sitting on her porch swing, the warm night air filled with the scent of jasmine. "It's just not working," I admitted, frustration lacing my voice. "I keep trying, but it feels like hitting a brick wall." Alex listened patiently, her expression thoughtful. "Maybe the wall doesn't want to be broken down, Brad," she said softly. "You apologized. You made the effort. You can't force someone to forgive you or to want to be friends again."
"So, I should just... let it go?"
"Yeah," she said, leaning her head on my shoulder. "It's probably time to let the past rest in the past. Sometimes things break, and they can't be fixed back to exactly how they were before. And that's okay."
Hearing her say it, giving me permission to stop trying, felt like a weightlifting. She was right. I had done what I could.
The first day of school as an eighth grader was again a novel experience. When I walked down the hall this time, there was a subtle turn of the eyes in my direction. A quiet shift in the usual background noise. Some kids offered shy smiles, others gave excited waves. I was now a senior, a big fish in the small pond of junior high, and more than that, I was one of the most recognizable faces in the crowd for winning the championship. Captain of the Knights. MVP.
While the stares unnerved me to a degree, a lifetime of preferring observation to participation still hardwired into me, I frankly enjoyed them after remembering that this was the path I wanted. To play the game I loved, and to be loved in return by the people. It was a strange, heady mix of discomfort and validation.
There were some new faces in the class as well. Kids who had moved over the summer, their expressions a mix of nervousness and forced confidence as they navigated the unfamiliar social landscape. One of them, in particular, caught my attention, mostly because she seemed to immediately catch Alex's.
Mandella was her name. She was a brown-eyed, auburn-haired, slender-built girl who just transferred from New York. She carried herself with a quiet, self-possessed air, and during English class, when Mrs. Davison mentioned Romeo and Juliet, Mandella's hand shot up, and she launched into a passionate, five-minute monologue about the nuances of Mercutio's character that left the whole class, including the teacher, slightly stunned. She was passionate about literature, especially Shakespeare.
I watched, fascinated, as Alex was the first one to approach her after class. Usually, Alex kept to herself, her social interactions limited to me, my friends, and occasionally, her siblings. But there was something about Mandella, maybe a shared intellectual intensity, that drew her in.
"Hey," Alex said, walking up to Mandella's desk. "That was a really insightful point about Mercutio. I never thought about his Queen Mab speech that way."
Mandella looked up, surprised but pleased. "Oh, thanks. He's just... the best character. So witty, so tragic."
"Totally," Alex agreed. "Anyway, I'm Alex. You new here?"
"Yeah, Mandella. Just moved from New York."
"Cool. Well, if you need help finding your way around, let me know. The numbering system in this school is illogical."
Mandella laughed, a bright, genuine sound. "Tell me about it. Took me ten minutes to find the science lab."
Later that day, Alex invited Mandella to sit with us at lunch. Mandella seemed hesitant, glancing around the crowded cafeteria, but eventually agreed, pulling up a chair next to Alex. The conversation was a little stilted at first, mostly Alex and Mandella talking about books while Leo, David, Patrick, and I discussed practice drills. But it was a start. A real, potential friend for Alex.
Then, things got complicated.
A few days later, I noticed a change in Alex. She seemed distant, trying too hard to act cool, almost... aloof. Especially around Mandella. It culminated one afternoon when Mandella asked Alex a direct question about Hamlet, and Alex just shrugged, pretending she hadn't read it. Mandella looked confused, then hurt.
"Okay," Mandella said, her voice sharp. "You know, for someone who seemed so passionate about literature the other day, you're acting incredibly phony right now." She got up and walked away, leaving Alex looking stunned and miserable.
That evening, Alex explained what happened. Haley suggested some mean girl shenanigans to Alex in order to bolster her social standing. "She said I needed to act less interested," Alex confessed, her voice thick with frustration.
"That playing hard-to-get was the only way to make cool friends like Mandella respect me."
"And you listened to Haley?" I asked, incredulous.
"Well, she's popular! She said it worked for her!" Alex defended weakly.
"Alex, Haley's idea of making friends involves strategic insults and social sabotage. That's not you." She seemed to realise that but even then Alex and Haley got into a fight about how she'd ruined Alex's chances. When I found out I had to remember that this was becoming a pattern and Alex needed to work out of this constant toxic feedback loop.
Alex and I had a long conversation about it. I pointed out that trying to be someone she wasn't, especially someone as calculatingly cool as Haley, was never going to work for her. "Haley's method of being queen bee isn't the right way for you, Alex. You connect with people through shared interests, through being smart and genuine. That's why Mandella liked you in the first place."
She sighed, the fight going out of her. "I know. I just... I panicked. I wanted a friend so badly."
"You will find them," I assured her. "Just be yourself. The right people will see how amazing you are."
It took a few awkward days, and a very sincere apology from Alex (delivered with a perfectly quoted Shakespearean sonnet about regret), but eventually, she and Mandella started talking again. This time, Alex was just herself. And it turned out, that was exactly who Mandella wanted to be friends with.
Summer faded into fall, and with October came the inescapable approach of Halloween. My own plans were simple: basketball practice, maybe a scary movie with Alex. But then came the phone call.
"Bradley? It's Claire. We need to talk. Operation: Nightmare on Dunphy Street."
Just like that, Claire roped me into her scheme. Her ambition this year was legendary: to transform the cheerful Dunphy suburban home into the undisputed champion of Halloween horror, a place that would scare the living daylights out of trick-or-treaters and finally earn them the respect (or fear) of the neighborhood. I was in, partly because resisting Claire when she was on a mission was futile, but mostly because I wanted to prank Alex, and this provided the perfect cover.
The planning phase was intense. Claire had blueprints, mood boards, and a schedule timed down to the second. My role was specific: Operation: Spiders. Knowing my ahem intense dislike for arachnids, Claire thought it would be ironic, and therefore funnier, if I was in charge of rigging fake webs and dropping plastic spiders on unsuspecting victims near the entryway. I agreed, mostly because it gave me proximity to Alex when she arrived.
The night itself was chaos. Unfortunately, my well-thought-out plan and Claire's extravaganza did not go as planned. Phil's smoke machine malfunctioned, filling the entire downstairs with an impenetrable, acrid fog. Luke, dressed as some kind of zombie astronaut, got genuinely terrified by one of Claire's animatronic ghouls and refused to come out from under the kitchen table. And Gloria, arriving in a skin-tight Catwoman costume, somehow managed to short-circuit the entire sound system with a misplaced heel. Claire ended up blowing up on the entire family, her screams of frustration arguably scarier than any of the decorations.
Ironically, her meltdown ended up working. Word spread through the neighborhood like wildfire about the 'psycho lady' at the Dunphy house. For weeks after that, the Dunphy house was the scariest place a child could get candy on Halloween. Mission accomplished, albeit unintentionally.
My own scary tactic for Alex was, I thought, brilliantly executed. Earlier in the day, I presented her with a beautifully wrapped gift. "Happy Halloween, Lexi," I'd said with my most innocent smile. "Ooh, what is it?" she'd asked, tearing into the paper. Inside was a custom-made latex mask, a perfect cast of my face, but designed to look like it was melting off the skull, gruesome and detailed. I was giddy thinking how she would react.
Her reaction was... unexpected. She stared at it for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she looked up at me and smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of her lips. "Oh, Brad. You shouldn't have." She then produced a small, elegantly wrapped box of her own. "I got you something too."
Suspicious, I carefully opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of red satin, was a fucking tarantula. Massive. Hairy. Legs curled in a hideously lifelike pose. My face drained of all color. My breath hitched. The room started to spin. I dropped the box and sat up on the bed.
"Brad? Brad, hey!" Alex was with me, her hands suddenly on my shoulders, her voice cutting through the panic. "It's okay. Breathe." She gently took the box up from the floor before flashing it in my direction and closing it. "Calm down."
It took a few minutes, but she managed to talk me down from the ledge of pure terror. Once my heart rate had returned to something resembling normal, she whispered into my ear, her voice a low, chilling promise. "It's a dead, taxidermied tarantula. But next time you think about scaring me, remember that a dead gift can be a live one too."
I had meekly nodded along then, utterly defeated and completely terrified of her newfound dark side. But once I had my bearings, plans upon plans started forming in my head for next year. Oh, it was on, Lexi.
I later found out how she'd known. Mandella had been a best friend to Alex by then, their shared love of Shakespeare and mutual disdain for high school clichés forging a strong bond. Apparently, Mandella told her that I had been acting strangely in the days leading up to Halloween. My not-so-subtle questions about Alex's fears, my secretive trips to the prop store... Mandella had picked up on it all.
How did Mandella figure out I was acting suspiciously? Simple. I had Brutus in my posse. Leo, that damn numbskull, had taken a liking to Mandella. In a misguided attempt to impress her with his 'insider knowledge' of my plans, he had thrown me under the bus, spilling the entire prank. He tried to deny it when I confronted him, but his guilty blushing gave him away. He would get his karma, too. Oh yes, payback was coming for everyone.
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On Break till Next Wednesday. Have to Attend a Conference. See you soon.