Chapter Text
Bradley was not well acquainted with humiliation. Not until Max Goof entered his life.
Really, success just came naturally to him. It was unavoidable with his perfect hair, winning smile, natural charm, inherited wealth, intrinsic athleticism— and, when all else failed, he was really, really good at cheating. So yeah. Losing was not his thing.
Enter Max Goof, freshman extraordinaire with talent in spades, and the delicate house of cards Bradley had been building up his entire life completely fell apart.
His embarrassing defeat at the X Games wasn’t so bad once the dust had settled. After several heartfelt apologies and no shortage of (manly!) tears on his part, Tank had finally forgiven him. Once he was won over, the rest of the Gammas were quick to follow. While he had lost his title of fraternity president, he hadn’t been kicked to the curb either, and that alone was a win. Even better, his father hadn’t called to disown him yet, but Bradley wasn’t sure if that was because he was too disappointed in him to acknowledge his existence or if he simply forgot he had a son. Neither would surprise him too much.
Piece by piece, he was putting his life back together. It wasn’t quite the same as before, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Losing his title in the Gammas allowed for more free time in his otherwise busy schedule. And public humiliation had surprising perks as well. The pedestal he had been balancing on was, admittedly, rather lonely. Shame and disgrace made him approachable where he had previously been untouchable. He had gained a number of new acquaintances and, dare he say it, friends.
Including Max Goof. Sort of.
For weeks after the games, he had purposely avoided his rival. He had ducked out of coffee shops, skipped class, crossed sidewalks, and even dove into the women’s restroom on one desperate occasion.
In Bradley’s defense, he thought it was the janitorial closet.
Three days after the bathroom incident, Max cornered him in the library.
“Brad.”
Bradley snapped shut his copy of War and Peace, whirling around to face Max. He grimaced at the sight of him. “Come to take back your take back, Goof?”
Max’s eyebrow rose. “Say what now?”
“You had said the bet was off,” Bradley reminded him, fighting to keep his tone even. He may be a cheater, but a deal was a deal. “Have you come to ask me to be your towel boy after all?”
“What?” Max looked almost affronted. “No.”
“Then what do you want?”
“For you to stop freaking the hell out every time you see me, for starters.” His tone was flat, one eyebrow arched. “Seriously, Brad. It’s weird seeing you like this.”
“Brad ley ,” he corrected. He couldn’t help himself.
Max almost looked please. “There’s that spark. I was beginning to miss the psychotic look in your eyes.”
“Psychotic? I’ll have you know I was voted ‘dreamiest eyes’ my senior year of high school! My picture was in the yearbook!”
“Oh, really? Was that contest rigged, too?”
“No,” he scoffed.
It was. But he didn’t need to know that.
“Anyway,” Max said, rolling his eyes. “I was being honest when I said the bet was off. So you don’t have to run off every time you see me. Same goes for Bobby and PJ.”
“I kind of figured I was doing both of us a favor,” Bradley admitted. He realized he was anxiously drumming his fingers on the cover of the book, stilling them quickly. “I know you’d rather not see me around.”
“That’s not true.”
Bradley stared at him. Max stared back, his expression calm.
“You… really?”
“You rigged the games. We won anyway. No point in holding anything against you.”
He gawked at him. “I also recruited your own father to compete against you, embarrassed you in front of the entire student body—”
“I told my dad to join your team,” he corrected. “And in terms of public embarrassment, I think we’re square, yeah? There’s, like, a million slow-mo edits of you getting clocked by a horseshoe on YouTube.”
Bradley almost laughed. This may have made him appear lighthearted, but he had been sobbing over his tainted digital footprint for weeks now. Thank goodness for lawyers. “Point taken, Goof. Point taken.”
Max smiled at him then. A real, sincere smile.
Bradley absently wondered why the room suddenly increased in temperature. He pushed up the sleeves of his sweater, feeling flushed.
“So I won’t be seeing you hurl yourself into any more women’s restrooms?” Max’s smile had become lopsided, his tone taking on a teasing lilt. “Unless that’s just a hobby of yours.”
He searched for a quippy remark, but his brain felt foggy. “Uhh…no. I’m more into other things. Golf, for example.”
“Of course you are.” He slid past him, squeezing one of his shoulders as he brushed by. The contact sent tingles down his spine. “See you around, Uppercrust.”
Before he could lose his nerve, Bradley reached out and grabbed his wrist. Max froze, glancing down at his hand. Then back at him.
“Why are you being so nice to me, Max?” He had meant for it to sound interrogative. Instead, he sounded pathetic to his own ears.
Max’s stunned expression softened. His gaze flitted away, almost self-consciously. “To be honest? I’m not entirely sure.”
And then Bradley’s grip had slackened, and Max, mumbling something about a biology exam, had left.
And that was that.
But not really.
Because now, when he passed Max in the halls, or saw him in class, or ran into him at the Bean Scene, he couldn’t avoid him anymore. And he didn’t want to.
Sure, it was tremendously uncomfortable at first. Students would gawk as they passed each other, Bradley offering a stiff greeting in response to Max’s casual wave. One freshman had even pulled out their phone, shamelessly recording the moment when Max and Bradley had happened to stand next to each other in the line to the cafeteria. Max had glared in their direction until they sheepishly shoved it back into their pocket, muttering a weak apology. Privately, Bradley was grateful. Outwardly, he opted to feign ignorance.
Then, when the novelty had died down, greetings had turned into small talk. Bradley had nearly jumped out of his skin when Max had sat next to him in their only shared class, asking if he had a spare pencil. After handing one over, he was surprised to see that Max wasn’t making a beeline for his usual seat in the front.
“PJ and Bobby drank too much last night,” he had explained, casually dropping his textbook onto the desk and flipping through its pages. “I promised I’d take notes to catch them up. Mind if I sit here?”
“Not at all,” he had said, his mouth weirdly dry.
And he didn’t mind. The company was nice.
On days when his friends weren’t in class, Max would sit with Bradley. Sometimes they’d show up, and he’d sit with him anyway. Between lapses of silence, they would talk about the class, or about skating, or about their summer plans. And every time their professor dismissed them, Max would haphazardly scoop the contents of his desk into his backpack and tell Bradley he’d “see him later.”
Bradley found himself longing for “later” more often than he’d care to admit.
They’d talk outside of class, too, when the opportunity arose. Skating across the quad, Max would stop and change direction to catch up with Bradley if he spotted him. Bradley would run after Max if he had been walking ahead of him in the halls, matching his stride and pretending not to be out of breath once he shouldered up next to him. Their conversations grew deeper as their familiarity grew. Bradley asked how things were going with his dad and Ms. Marpole. Max asked how things were going with Bradley’s dad and his fifth wife (spoiler alert: not well.) On one glorious, disgusting occasion, Bradley had been invited to sit with him and his friends in the cafeteria. Enjoying uninterrupted conversation with Max for 37 minutes had been heavenly. Watching Bobby smear his face with cheesy nachos had been vaguely nauseating.
But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
For some reason, Max Goof had invaded his thoughts. He kept wanting to see him, skulking around his favorite haunts in hopes of “casually bumping into him,” and then immediately leaving as if he hadn’t been nursing the same cold cup of coffee for three hours just so he could say hi. He had furiously ripped out at least 20 sheets of notes where he had accidentally doodled his name all over the margins. He started daydreaming about what it would feel like to be hugged by him, nestling close to his chest while enjoying the comforting pressure of his arms.
To be fair, that wasn’t a new daydream. Bradley hadn’t been hugged in a long time. His father claimed physical affection between family members was a “liberal lie.”
All that to say, his behavior was bordering on disturbing. He felt like he was going crazy. Well, crazier than usual.
In the privacy of his room, he had allowed himself to examine his frazzled emotional state. The X Games were over with. Max had forgiven him. Everyone had moved on. So why couldn’t he?
“There’s something more I want from Max— nay, something I need from him,” Bradley mused. He loved whipping out the word “nay” when situations grew dire. “But what could it be? Why this obsession? Why Max Goof?”
He glared at the evidence board that had taken up half of his wall. It was mostly pictures of Max posing in an I’m-not-even-aware-of-the-camera-I’m-just-casually-posing-with-my-skateboard kind of way that he had downloaded off of his social media, all aimlessly connected by a long piece of multicolored yarn.
Bradley squinted. Cocked his head to one side.
And then it hit him.
“OH MY GOD!”
Tank burst into the room moments later, wielding a hockey stick like a sword. “What’s a’ matter, baby? Did that squirrel get back in here?” He swung blindly, scattering a pile of books in the process.
“At ease, Tank,” Bradley said, raising his arms in a calming gesture. “No more squirrels. Just a startling moment of clarity. Apologies for my volume.”
Tank lowered his weapon, eyebrows furrowed. “A what now?” Then he glanced over at the wall, taking in the entire scene. He snorted out a laugh. “Ahhh. I see. You and that Goof kid— you’ve been hanging out a lot recently, huh?”
“It’s like I’m drawn to him,” Bradley admitted, flopping down on his bed. Now that he finally put the pieces together, he felt the weight of understanding crash down on him. “Can’t get him out of my head.”
“Uh-huh.” Tank sat down next to him. “Heart races a little when you’re with him. Right?”
“Yes! Exactly!” Bradley peered up at his friend. “And I get so hot and flustered. What’s that all about?”
Tank nodded empathetically. “It all comes with the territory.”
Bradley sighed, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
“I’m proud ya, baby. This is all new. It can be overwhelming.”
“It is,” he agreed. “It really is.”
A beat of silence passed between them. Tank turned to face Bradley, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder. “You know, you don’t have to worry about telling the rest of the Gammas. I think most of the guys already know. Or if they don’t know, they strongly suspect.”
Bradley raised his eyebrows. “Really? Am I that transparent?”
He shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. “I think all the sweater vests give you away. That and your eyebrows. They’re just so perfect.”
“Wearing sweater vests is a sign of having a mortal enemy?” Bradley looked down at his outfit, tugging absently at his collar. “Wow. Who knew?”
“... Mortal enemy?”
Bradley nodded sagely. “Yes. I am obsessing over Max because I have a primal desire to exact painful, humiliating revenge on him for what happened at the X Games. That’s literally the only explanation for everything I’m experiencing right now.”
Tank blinked at him once.
Twice.
Took in a deep, slow breath
“Bradley.”
“Tank?”
Bradley smiled at him. Tank did not smile back.
“I just want to make sure I’ve got this… straight,” he said hesitantly.
Bradley nodded for him to continue.
“So you keep thinking about Max.”
“Yes.”
“You spend a lot of time with him nowadays.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You feel flustered when you see him. Your heart races. You get flushed when he’s around. Am I right?”
“Yes on all points.”
“And after creating a photo wall of this guy posing a hundred different ways with his arms flexed in sleeveless tops, all connected with rainbow string , you’ve concluded that…?” He paused, gesturing for Bradley to finish.
“That I have a deep yearning to exact revenge on Max Goof and only then I can finally move on from my all-consuming obsession,” Bradley proudly answered. “My therapist would be so proud of me!”
Tank shook his head at him, jaw slack. “I didn’t know you had a therapist,” he managed to get out. His voice was strained.
“I don’t anymore. She was fired after only one session. My dad said caring for your mental health is a liberal lie.”
“Gee. It’s a wonder you turned out the way you did,” Tank deadpanned, eyeing his friend as he hopped to his feet at yanked a notebook out of his bag. “What are you doing?”
“Plotting my revenge, of course,” he said urgently. Already he was fiercely scribbling on the page.
Tank looked uneasy. “Maybe we should slow down, baby. Really think this through before we jump into anything.”
“Slow down?” Bradley laughed. It was a little manic sounding, admittedly, but that was nothing new. “I can’t slow down! I already have the perfect idea, and I must put my plan into action as soon as possible!”
“And what’s that?”
“Simple.” He halted his furious scrawl, looking seriously at his friend. “I have to kiss him on the mouth.”
Tank’s stare practically burned holes in his skull. “Bradley. What the actual fuck.”
TO BE CONTINUED.