Los Angeles | 2010-11
Bradley's POV
The months after Halloween were spent mostly in competition, a relentless rhythm dictated by the League starting its fresh season. We wore the mantle of reigning champions, a heavy but satisfying weight. I made sure it didn't get to our heads, drilling the team harder than ever, reminding them that the target was now firmly on our backs.
In spite of all this, as we rolled through the early games, a part of me felt increasingly detached. Victory after victory blurred into a monotonous routine. We weren't just winning; we were dismantling teams. Twenty-point blowouts became the norm. The fierce, desperate battles of last year's playoffs felt like a distant memory. I had, in a sense, outgrown the entire junior high basketball scene, and my team was also on the cusp of doing the same. It was just us easily pushing through opponents as we made our way through the schedule, the path back to the finals looking less like a challenge and more like an inevitability.
Except for one glaring, joyful, infuriating exception.
Max and the Ravens were the only team of note. They hadn't just recovered from their finals loss; they had used it as fuel. They came after us like bloodhounds, every match report detailing their improved defense, their faster pace, their relentless intensity. Max himself had been working throughout the break, honing that unpredictable, electric style of his. He was genuinely a freak of nature, possessing skills that should not be present in a thirteen-year-old. Especially that formless playstyle, the way he could contort his body, release shots from impossible angles, see passes no one else could. I was envious of it at times. It was a raw, untamed talent, given by nature, while I had to develop my own advantages painstakingly through exercise, repetition, and tireless effort.
When his team and ours had matches on the court, it was always a heated affair. It was a clash of styles, of philosophies. Him shining that million-dollar smile, playing with a loose, infectious joy, while me and mine carried on with determination and coldness, executing our plays with ruthless precision.
They even beat us the first time around we contested with them that season. It was early November, a regular game but it felt like the finals all over again. Our guys came in cocky, riding on the high of winning against them previously. We expected another victory lap. Instead, Max dropped thirty points on us, hitting circus shots that defied physics, his laughter echoing in our stunned silence as they ran us off our own court.
After the game, as we lined up for the handshakes, Max sought me out, his grin wide and triumphant. "Told ya I'd bury you," he said, clapping me on the shoulder. I just glared at him, the sting of defeat sharp and unfamiliar.
"Don't get used to it."
"Oh, I plan to," he replied cheerfully. "The only reason I got this good was to beat you."
I had the urge to rebuke him, to dismiss his victory as a fluke. But then I realized he was a godsend. That loss, that single, infuriating game, had shattered our complacency. It had reminded us of what it felt like to be challenged, to be pushed. My growing uninterest with the tournament was squashed by Max's relentless positivity and victory mentality. He was competition, real, unpredictable, exhilarating competition. And that, I liked more than anything. The rest of the league might be practice, but the Ravens? They were the real war. And I couldn't wait for the next battle.
Amidst the relentless focus on the court, I didn't forget to expand my social circle. There were evenings where I would deliberately step away from the game, spending hours on end with Alex and Mandella, who were now as thick as thieves.
Their friendship was a fascinating thing to observe. Alex, usually so reserved and analytical, seemed to bloom in Mandella's presence. Mandella, with her sharp wit and unabashed love for Shakespeare and literature, drew Alex out of her shell. They'd sit for hours, dissecting sonnets, arguing about character motivations in novels I'd never heard of their shared intellectual energy a vibrant force.
I even formed my own growing bond with Mandella. We found common ground in the most unexpected place. As it turned out, she was quite the nerd and likely the first person I'd met in this life who actually watched anime. Seriously watched it, beyond just the mainstream stuff. I was beyond surprised when I found out. And it was all thanks to my little sister.
One rainy Saturday afternoon, I was trying to map out some new defensive schemes when Erin burst into my room, her eyes wide with pleading. "Come on, Brad, watch it with me, please! It'll be so much fun!" She was holding the DVD case for Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.
"Why do you want to watch it with me?" I asked, feigning indifference, though a part of me was already intrigued. "I told you I have already seen it."
"Well, because—because it's just fun watching it with you!" she insisted. "You explain things I don't get, and that just helps me like the show more. Besides, you said Fullmetal is more complicated than Naruto was. So help meeeee!" she whined, drawing out the last word for maximum effect. Resistance was futile.
"Well, alright, let's go," I acquiesced.
Erin was more than excited as she set it up in the living room, bouncing on the sofa as the opening credits began to play. We were maybe a few episodes in, right around the time Hughes starts getting suspicious, when the doorbell rang. It was Alex and Mandella, seeking refuge from the rain.
"Hey, what are you guys watching?" Alex asked, shaking out her umbrella. Erin didn't even pause the show. "Fullmetal Alchemist! It's awesome! Brad's helping me understand it!" Mandella's eyes lit up. She walked over, peering at the screen.
"Wait, Brotherhood? Seriously? You guys watch this?" Mandella was immediately down for watching the anime.
"Yeah, we do," I said, giving her a pointed look.
"Oh dude, you're an anime watcher?" she asked, a surprised chuckle escaping her. "Damn, I did not think the jock would be a nerd too."
"Haha, very funny," I said sarcastically. "I'll have you know I have seen more anime than anybody I have ever known." Probably true, considering my past life.
"As have I," she replied, her eyes sparkling with a competitive glint I recognized all too well.
"Prove it," I challenged, leaning forward. "Tell me you watch obscure stuff without telling me."
Alex lightly knuckled my back. "Don't antagonize her," she whispered. I gave her a disarming smile. "I got this."
Mandella didn't hesitate. "Have you seen Mononoke?" she asked with a glint in her eyes. "Of course, I've seen Princess Mononoke," I replied dismissively. "It's one of Miyazaki's greatest works. Not exactly obscure."
"Ah-ah-ah," she said with a gleam, wagging a finger. "I never said Princess."
"Oh, shit." The realization hit me. She meant the otherMononoke. The horror anthology series. The one with the Medicine Seller. Way more niche. "You're good, Mandella. Better than good. It was my loss."
She just giggled at that, a bright, infectious sound. "Don't worry, Jockstrap. Plenty more where that came from."
We all then went about watching FMAB. Alex initially protested, claiming she had homework, but the combined force of Erin's pleading, Mandella's enthusiasm, and my strategic blocking of the doorway forced her to watch it with us. By the time Scar made his first appearance, she was hooked, completely drawn into the complex world and the heartbreaking story. That's how I got my girlfriend addicted to Anime as well. Our weekends now often involved marathon viewing sessions, dissecting plot points and character arcs, a whole new dimension added to our relationship. It was... unexpectedly perfect.
The quiet periods were invariably shattered by the unique brand of chaos endemic to the Dunphy family. There was even one day on the weekend where Alex was not allowed outside her place and even had her phone confiscated by Phil because of some new-age parenting thing he and Claire were trying. Apparently, they had read an article about the dangers of "screen addiction" and decided a 24-hour digital detox was in order for the entire family.
I found out when my texts to Alex went unanswered for hours, an unprecedented silence. Concerned, I finally called the Dunphy landline. Phil answered, his voice strained. "Dunphy residence, Phil speaking. Please state the nature of your electronic emergency."
"Mr. Dunphy? It's Bradley. Is Alex okay? She hasn't been answering my texts."
"Ah, B-Money! Good to hear your voice, my man," he said, though he sounded distracted.
"Yeah, Alex is fine, physically. Mentally? We're all on edge. Claire and I implemented Operation Unplugged. No phones, no TV, no computers. Just good old-fashioned family time. It's... going." I heard a distant crash followed by Luke yelling,
"My Jenga tower!"
"Right," I said slowly. "So, Alex can't use her phone at all?"
"Nope! Doctor's orders. Or, you know, Claire's orders. Same difference."
It was all well and good, a noble experiment in theory. In practice, Alex only lasted some five hours before she felt the need to text and talk to me. As Alex recounted later, the withdrawal was intense. She described pacing her room like a caged animal, rereading old books, even attempting conversation with Luke about the structural integrity of his blanket fort.
The experiment ended, predictably, in failure and Haley ended up winning by scheming her way through the whole thing. While Alex, Luke, Claire, and Phil were locked in a tense board game standoff (Monopoly, naturally), Haley had feigned a texting incident wherein she had used a bar of soap to create a makeshift dummy phone that she fake texted on. Phil caught her and then proceeded to switch on his own laptop in relief but then to their horror they found out what Haley had done. Haley jumped up in pride and joy declaring that she would be getting a new car, part of their bet. She also fished out her real phone, which Haley then used to text her friends, order pizza, and, presumably, gloat about her victory. It was quite ingenious, actually. A rare showing of cunning that impressed Alex even, despite her own suffering.
As December rolled around, the festive lights appearing on houses were overshadowed by a different kind of intensity. Alex got into the super study mode she used to adopt before big exams. Considering this was our final year in Junior High, she was gunning for Valedictorian. Suddenly, our easy afternoons watching anime or just talking were replaced by intense study sessions, flashcards, and practice tests. The relaxed, affectionate girlfriend was temporarily shelved, replaced by a laser-focused academic rival. It was during exam time that my Lexi abandoned me.
She would see me as competition and do everything in her power to outdo me. If I mentioned I'd finished studying a chapter, she'd stay up an hour later to finish two. If I aced a practice quiz, she'd analyze her mistakes until she could practically recite the textbook backward. Sanjay Patel also came into view during these times, his own competitive fire stoked by Alex's intensity. The three of us became the unwilling points of a high-stakes academic triangle.
Frankly, I didn't care that much about being Valedictorian. My path was set. But seeing Alex push herself so hard, seeing the stress lines forming around her eyes, worried me. I had even considered telling Alex that I was not interested, hoping to take the pressure off. Bad idea.
"What do you mean you're 'not that interested'?" she'd demanded, cornering me by my locker after I'd made the ill-fated suggestion. "Don't you dare half-ass your way through the exams, Bradley Mark Naird! I want to really compete with you! I want to beat you fair and square and prove that I can be just as good! If you snatch that opportunity from me, then—then I will stop all the kissing!" she'd finished, exasperated.
Man, was that a bummer. The threat, though slightly ridiculous, was effective. Being denied affection was a powerful motivator. "Okay, okay! I get it!" I'd reassured her. "I'll give my level best." And for the most part, I remained true to that statement, pushing myself in my studies, partly for her, partly because her competitive drive was annoyingly infectious.
But her obsession started to take a toll. There was even a night, close to finals, when I got a call from Claire, her voice tight with worry. "Bradley? It's Claire. Alex... she hasn't slept. Like, at all. She's just been studying, and she's starting to look... unwell."
I threw on clothes and rushed over. I found Alex in her room, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks, her eyes wide and bloodshot, a frantic energy radiating off her. She had developed some sort of insomnia in her obsession of beating me at the exams. I was genuinely worried for her.
Claire, Phil, and I had to sit her down. "Honey," Claire started gently, "this isn't healthy. You need to sleep."
"But the exams..." Alex protested, her voice thin.
"The exams will be fine," Phil said, trying for a reassuring tone. "You're the smartest person we know! You don't need to do this to yourself."
"It's just a grade, Alex," I added softly, taking her hand. "It's not worth sacrificing your health."
It took a while, but eventually, faced with our united front of concern, she relented, letting Claire lead her to bed. Though I sensed that Phil and Claire were going through some intellectual crisis of their own; I saw them exchange a look, a silent conversation about pressure, expectations, and maybe their own roles in creating this academic arms race. It was a complicated family.
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I'm Back sorry took a longer break than expected but I needed the reset. Thank you all for waiting and still sending love to the story and welcome to the new readers.