Los Angeles | 2011
Bradley's POV
The weekend mall rush was in full swing, a chaotic river of shoppers, stroller-pushing parents, and groups of loud teenagers. For once, I wasn't in my head thinking of basketball and problems of the future. I was just a fourteen-year-old guy walking through the Westfield, holding the hand of the smartest, prettiest girl in school.
"So, I got myself bumped to second-year math," Alex said to me, swinging our joined hands slightly as we walked. Her voice had that specific cadence she used when she was proud of an academic maneuver. "I just need Mom to sign off on it, and then I'm off."
"Quite the rush you're in to get out of school," I said in a coy manner, steering us around a kiosk selling overpriced phone cases.
"Well, I don't see the point of just sitting in our math class when I know everything the teacher is going to teach anyway," she said with some level of pride. It wasn't arrogance, exactly; it was just Alex being objectively aware of her own capacity. Efficiency was her love language.
I just levelled a stare at her for that. She caught my look and grinned, her eyes gleaming with intelligence as she grabbed my hands tighter.
"You should do it too," she urged, bumping her shoulder against mine. "Then we can be in the same class." She said excited at her proposal, the logic flawless in her mind: we are both smart, therefore we should both advance.
I considered it. Academically, I could do it in my sleep. My INT stat was 41; high school algebra was trivial. But time... time was the one stat I couldn't level up.
"Hmm, well I could," I drawled, looking down at her. "But what's in it for me?" I said, winking at her.
She seemed to get the hint. She stopped walking, pulling me to a halt near the fountain. She leaned in close to me, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "What would you like to have in it?"
The air between us charged up instantly. I looked at her, at the playful challenge in her eyes. I leaned down, bringing my lips inches from hers, feeling her breath hitch.
Then, I shifted to her ear.
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Lexi," I whispered.
I pulled back and started chuckling as her face grew plump red, the blush spreading all the way to her ears. She swatted my arm, hard.
"You misled me on purpose!" she retorted, though she was fighting a smile.
I continued chuckling, dodging her second swat. "It's not that I wouldn't have taken you up on the offer. I just have too much to do right now. Maybe once things calm down a little bit, I might jump classes."
She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, what is it that the mighty Brad Naird has to do that he can't accompany his poor Lexi?" she said coyly.
"Well, for one, I have to find a Coach for the team," I listed off, ticking fingers. That was the big one. We couldn't run a rogue operation forever; the tournament administration would be asking questions. "Then I have practices to handle over that. And on top of that, I still have my Krav Maga classes. So, you can see how my schedule is pretty much packed up."
That seemed to take the wind out of her sails. The reality of high school—the extracurricular grind—was setting in for both of us. She sighed. "Can't argue with you there. My own Cello and Taekwondo classes are packing up my schedule."
I smiled at that. Taekwondo. We were both turning into fighters, in our own ways.
Then, as if picking herself up on her own, she smiled. "Still, we can have our regular dates, right?"
"Of course," I promised, stepping into her space again, ignoring the mall crowd. "I will make time for us no matter what."
I bent down to kiss her, brief but firm, a seal on the promise.
We left the noise of the mall behind, trading the artificial fluorescent glare for the warm, amber lighting of "The Dusty Spine," a used bookstore within the mall but it felt as if it were a different world. It was our sanctuary. The moment the bell above the door chimed, the tension of the week—the team, the seniors, the secrets—evaporated, replaced by the comforting, heavy scent of lignin and old paper.
"I'm heading to the Science Fiction section," Alex whispered, her eyes already scanning the shelves with a predator's focus. "I want to see if they have that first edition Asimov I saw last time."
"Go ahead," I said. "I'll be in History and Strategy."
We split up, but the separation felt comfortable, a temporary orbit before we realigned. I wandered the aisles, my fingers trailing over the spines. I found a battered copy of The Art of War—cliché, maybe, but always relevant—and a biography of Dad Jackson. I needed to understand how to manage egos.
I found Alex twenty minutes later. She was sitting cross-legged in our usual corner near the back, a stack of three books already by her side, her nose buried in a thick hardback on theoretical physics.
I sat down next to her, our shoulders brushing. She didn't look up, just leaned slightly into my weight, a silent acknowledgement of my presence.
We spent quite a bit of hours reading books in each other's silent company.
It was the best kind of silence. It wasn't the heavy, loaded silence of the hospital waiting room, or the tense silence of the locker room before a game. It was a companionable silence, a shared understanding that we didn't need to fill the air with words to be connected. I read about the Triangle Offense, my mind translating the diagrams into movements for Leo and Patrick. Occasionally, Alex would turn a page, the sound crisp and loud in the quiet shop. Once, she reached out blindly and squeezed my hand, her eyes never leaving the page. I squeezed back.
Time became irrelevant. The afternoon sun slanted through the dusty window, turning golden, then amber, then fading into the blue-grey of twilight.
Finally, the shop owner, an elderly man named Mr. Abernathy, cleared his throat from the front desk.
"Closing time, kids," he called out gently.
Alex blinked, pulling herself out of the quantum realm. She looked at me, her eyes slightly unfocused, a small, sleepy smile on her lips.
"Is it that late already?" she asked, adjusting her glasses.
"Time flies when you're unraveling the secrets of the universe," I teased, helping her up. "Come on. Let's get you home."
We departed back for home, having enjoyed our time. We walked through the cooling evening air, the streetlights flickering on one by one. The drive to the Dunphy house was quiet, but it was a light, happy quiet.
"That was nice," Alex said as we turned onto her street. "I needed that. No drama. No expectations. Just... books."
"It's the simple things," I agreed. "It helps to reset the brain."
We reached her driveway. The porch light was on, a beacon of suburban normalcy. "Thanks for walking me," she said, turning to face me. She stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around my neck.
"Anytime," I said, wrapping my arms around her waist, mindful of the lingering tenderness in my ribs.
"Good luck with the coach hunt," she whispered. "And the team."
"I'll figure it out," I promised. "I always do."
She kissed me, a soft, lingering pressure that promised a future beyond high school dramas and basketball politics. "I know. Goodnight, Brad."
"Goodnight, Lexi."
I watched her unlock the door and slip inside, waiting until I heard the lock click shut. Then, I turned and started the walk back to the car. The peace of the bookstore was still with me, a quiet reserve of strength. I would need it. Monday was coming, and with it, the real work began.
…
Alex's POV
Monday morning arrived with the usual chaotic symphony of the Dunphy household. Luke was trying to blend a smoothie with the lid off, Dad was on a call about getting some line walking equipment, and Haley was frantically trying to find an outfit that said "I don't care" but took two hours to curate.
I, however, had a mission. I slapped the permission slip onto the kitchen island in front of Mom.
"Mom, sign this."
She blinked, looking up from her coffee. "What is it?"
"They finally bumped me up to the harder math class," I said, feeling a surge of satisfaction. "Third period, Mr. Waters."
I saw Haley freeze mid-stride. Her eyes widened in horror. "What? No, Mom, you cannot sign this! This is my class! You're a freshman! What are you doing in second-year math?"
I smirked, unable to resist. "You're a senior. What are you still doing in second-year math?"
Haley glared at me, her nostrils flaring. "Not 'still!'... Again."
"Alex, be nice to your sister," Mom chided, though she signed the paper with a proud little flourish. "Haley, not a good save."
"I knew it would suck having you at my school," Haley groaned, grabbing her bag.
"Well, hang in there," Mom said cheerfully, herding us toward the door. "A couple more years, you'll have it all to yourself again. Come on, girls."
I chuckled at that while Haley stood confused.
The drive to Palisades High was tense. Haley spent the entire ride fixing her hair in the visor mirror and laying down the law for our new shared existence.
"You don't look at me in class," Haley instructed, pointing a manicured finger at me as we pulled into the drop-off lane. "You don't text me."
I rolled my eyes. "Who would text during a class?"
Haley looked at me like I was an alien species she couldn't quite classify. "What are you?"
"Honey," Mom interjected, glancing at us in the rearview mirror. "I realize that this situation is not ideal for either one of you, but sometimes we just rise above things. Yes?"
She stopped the car. I reached for the handle, ready to escape into the sanctuary of academia, when a sharp tap on the window made us all jump.
A woman in a traffic officer uniform—a Circulation Agent with a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp—was standing there.
"Excuse me," the agent barked as Mom rolled down the window. "Did you notice the curb here is painted yellow?"
"Uh, no, I did not," Mom said, putting on her best 'innocent suburban mom' smile.
"Wow," the agent deadpanned. "It means loading and unloading."
"Okay, well, I was just dropping off my kids," Mom explained, gesturing vaguely at us.
The agent leaned down, peering into the backseat where Haley and I were frozen. "And yet I see no kids emerging from the vehicle."
"Well, we were chatting," Mom said, her smile straining at the edges. "At the risk of surprising you a third time, officer, I've been dropping off here for years, and I..."
"Move it," the agent snapped.
The car went silent. I watched Mom's knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. The 'rise above' speech was actively warring with the 'Claire Dunphy rage' center of her brain.
"Okay," Mom finally choked out, her voice tight. "You betcha."
She put the car in drive and inched forward.
"What was her problem?" Alex asked, genuinely baffled by the aggression.
Haley, sensing blood in the water, leaned forward. "Oh, you know what you should have said to her..."
"Nothing," Mom interrupted, her voice high and strained. "I should have said nothing, I mean what would be the point. I have to see her every day. I mean, why make it worse? That's exactly what I'm talking about. Awkward, unpleasant situation... Rise above. Have a nice day."
"Yeah," Haley agreed, though she looked disappointed Mom hadn't snapped.
We grabbed our bags and scrambled out of the car before the yellow-curb dictator came back.
"Love you! Bye-bye!" Mom called out, waving frantically as she peeled away.
As I walked toward the school entrance, I could have sworn I heard Mom muttering something violent under her breath about "fists" and "faces," but the engine noise swallowed it up.
"Just remember," Haley hissed at me as we merged into the crowd of students. "I don't know you. You don't know me. We are strangers who share a bathroom."
"Works for me," I said.
…
Claire's POV
My hands were still trembling slightly on the steering wheel as I pulled away from the curb. "Rise above," I muttered to myself, checking my rearview mirror to make sure I hadn't actually run over the yellow-vested tyrant. "Serenity now. Serenity now."
Traffic in the drop-off lane was gridlocked—naturally—so I was forced to inch forward at a glacial pace. That's when I saw it. The beast. The sleek, armored black SUV that belonged to the Nairds. It pulled into the exact spot I had just been evicted from, looking like it was delivering a head of state rather than a high school freshman. Brad has arrived at Palisades High.
I watched through my open window. He too took some time to get off, gathering his bag with a casual, unhurried pace that I envied. And just like clockwork, the bulldog in the vest spotted fresh meat.
The circulation agent came in to tell Harris to move it. She marched up to the driver's side window, tapping on the glass with that same aggressive, rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack she'd used on me.
Harris rolled down the window. He didn't smile. He didn't put on a suburban 'sorry!' face. He just looked at her.
"You can't idle here," she barked. "Loading and unloading only. Move it."
Harris leveled a stare at her. It wasn't mean; it was the kind of look a lion gives a yapping chihuahua—bored, dangerous, and completely unimpressed.
"I will move when my ward has stepped off the vehicle," he told her, his voice calm, deep, and carrying an absolute finality that my 'You betcha' severely lacked.
The agent opened her mouth to argue, probably to recite the penal code of the yellow curb, but she looked into Harris's eyes and... stopped. They both had a staring contest, tension crackling in the air. It lasted maybe three seconds, but it felt like an eternity.
At which point she relented and walked away, grumbling something under her breath and retreating to harass a Honda Civic further down the line.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. It was magnificent.
Bradley hopped out, looking back at Harris. I was close enough to hear them over the idling engines.
"That was a bit aggressive, wasn't it?" Brad commented, hitching his backpack over one shoulder.
"If you don't set boundaries with people like that, they will think they have all the power in the world on their hands," Harris told him, his gaze still tracking the agent like a threat assessment.
"Fair point," Brad agreed, shutting the heavy door. "See you later, Harris."
Brad left, disappearing into the throng of students.
Harris rolled up his window, but before he did, he caught my eye. I couldn't help myself. I leaned over the passenger seat, waved to Harris, and gave him a big, enthusiastic thumbs up for his take down. Thank you, I mouthed. For doing what I couldn't.
Harris just smiled at me, a rarity in itself, and gave me a thumbs up too.
I sat back in my seat, finally putting the car in drive as the traffic cleared. "Boundaries," I whispered, testing the word. I liked it. Maybe next time, I wouldn't 'rise above.' Maybe next time, I'd pull a Harris.
Or, more likely, I'd just panic and say 'You betcha' again. But a mom can dream.