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Bradly is unbelievably afraid of dying. The tips of his fingers are numb as he looks at the dark ceiling. The Gamma house smells like beer and weed and there’s music playing down in the basement. Tank and the rest of the Gammas say he’s too young to die, but Bradly doesn’t believe them. Bradly knows he’s going to die and it’s corroding his insides.
He’s simply so wicked and rotted that there’s not a moral bone in his body. He rubs his palms into his eyes in frustration. When he dies, he’s going to hell. He’s going to be delivered to Satan on a skateboard with tiny demon horns glued to his head. They’re going to say he’s an ass, a coward, and a fraud.
Because Bradley knows why he’s really afraid of dying. Not because of what he did to Tank, not what he does to win. It’s because Bradley was born posed to die and burn. It started when he was handing dandelions to the boy the next class over. It started when his father found out, calling his son a queer like it was the last thing he needed to do before going to heaven. Then he died, his mother stopped hugging him, and Bradly slowly rotted.
Love and affection feel too abstract and detached, like a language he forgot how to speak. Still, he said sorry to Tank. On that stage he saw him, covered in dust and bruises, and realized too many things. He had left his best friend on the ground, had lost the race and for what? For the weight of a second place medal and the nauseous urge to hurl his lunch up and keel over on the spot?
Because Tank smiled at him, said that “second best was good enough”, and pulled him into a tight hug.
Tank forgave him over a bowl of ice cream, picked at a hangnail as he said “things got out of hand for all of us.”
Because Bradley was lying alone in his bedroom, staring at the ceiling realizing how wrong he truly is. Nothing will be good enough and nothing can make it right. He will never be made right. Not like how he’s supposed to. Not like how the president of Gamma Gammas, his father’s son, is supposed to be.
Bradley is a failure and he fears dying as one.
–
The race replays in Bradley’s nightmare. Lorenzo goes down first, then someone from Max’s team follows after him. Bradley lands on the ground hard trying to get off his bike and he can hear Tank a bit behind him. Max, though, is flying to the finish line. He’s several feet ahead and has his arms comically spread like a bird. Bradley should laugh, but then he notices the messy curls are sticking out from Max’s helmet. He sees the sun glisten on his skin, dark in some places and white on others, and he almost forgets to move.
When Max first blew past him on campus his eyes were forced to follow. He was good, like he’d been born on the skateboard. Bradley trailed after him and everyone else followed. The scenery suddenly changes to the hipster cafe they ended up in. It wasn’t his style per se, but he could see Max getting drinks from the barista. The low light toned his features in a way Bradley didn’t want to obsess over. He didn’t want to stare at the way his teeth caught his lip or the gauges in his ears or dark curls in his hair.
So Bradley runs into him face-first, gets coffee soaked into his sweater vest, and looks up to see Max paused like a deer in the headlights.
“It’s fine,” he quickly says.
Max stammers a bit, starting and stopping a new sentence while grabbing handfuls of napkins. “I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t see you there.”
Bradley chuckles as he stares at Max’s expression. His skin is a dark-brown with marks of white that expand across his hands and face. He resists the urge to bite his lip as the specks of white on Max’s ears turn pink. Max panickedly shoves the napkins onto his sweater vest.
Bradley realizes he hadn’t responded and rushes something out. “Nice skating back there.”
“You saw that?” Max says, picking up the spilled cups from the ground.
“Yeah, and it was hella impressive.”
Max cracks a smile at that one. “Thee Bradley Uppercrust the III is giving me a compliment?” The way he says it has Bradley lighting up like a fool. He pinches the inside of his wrist to calm down. Straight until assumed otherwise, and when otherwise – run.
“Thee Bradley Uppercrust is wondering if you’re doing the X-games.” He says.
Max uses his thumb to point to his friends at the table, both who immediately whip their heads around as if they weren’t staring seconds before. “Sure am, making a team with my bros to do the triathlon.”
“What about you and your boys joining the Gamma team?”
Max’s jaw drops and he immediately drops the empty cups in his hand at the same time. “You’d let us join the Gamma fraternity?”
And then that’s when Bradley stiffens up, feels his face fall, and hears his heart start hammering too quickly. Max, at the house 24/7, with his good-looking smile and perfectly braided hair. Bradley starts to feel himself hoping and he immediately backpedals, “not the frat – the team. We don’t, or well we can’t –”
He watches Max’s face contort and his eyebrows furrow. “You don’t do what?”
“We can’t let you or your friends join the frat.”
Max is now looking at him with a face that says what the fuck? Bradley digs himself into a hole.
He has to stammer as he spits out the worst thing that comes to his mind. “We just don’t allow you – or rather people who act like you in. And there’s an entire process with rushing and bidding and –”
“Act like me?” Max interjects, shaking his head. “You don’t even know me.”
Bradley’s mouth opens and closes like a fish and Max throws a cup of water from the counter onto his face. The rest of the Gammas immediately stand up and the screech of their chairs grate on Bradley’s ears.
“It’s not like that –” he tries to amend before everything starts washing away. People are yelling, Max is looking at him like he’s some sort of bug, and Bradley deserves it. In a twisted way, he prefers it. It’s better to have this than to be staring at Max’s smile every morning or listening to his laughter at night. He tells himself it’s better as the triathlon fades back into his consciousness. He tells himself that he doesn’t want Max to like him.
Bradley pushes the wave of shame that overtakes him into catching up to Max in the race.
The skate course has concrete arches and rails to do his tricks. Max is beside him and they’re in a sort-of synchronized dance. He’ll do a jump and then Max will go a little higher. The rise and fall of gravity pumps euphoria in his brain. He feels free in the air. Surrounded by noise and the wind against his face, he can understand why Max would spread his arms. He can see the finish line and all he needs is one more push to overtake him.
But then he sees Tank go down and the fall looks nasty. He hears him yelp from the impact as he turns around and keeps going. The Gammas in the stand are cheering him on. He can feel his father commanding him from above. Leave Tank and your little feelings behind.
So that’s what Bradley does.
It’s Max’s dad who helps Tank up and it’s Max who takes first place. But, instead of forgiving Bradley, Tank pushes him off the stage. Lorenzo kicks dust in his face and the second place medal sears an insignia on his chest. The sky goes dark, the cheers turn into screams and his chest burns.
He looks up and sees Max’s father is spinning Max around on stage. His eyes are drawn to them like there’s a spotlight focusing on their figures. His dad is smothering him in kisses, hugging Max like he’s the best thing in the world. Like he couldn’t care what he did or what he’s done. Max is laughing and his father is too and Bradley’s chest is on fire.
–
Back when his father (and his father’s father) was chapter president, Gamma was a stuffy all-white pre-professional organization. Now, two of those things are gone and he was working on undoing the all-white thing. A sign for change is Bradley, the first sophomore to be chapter president. Getting elected so early is one thing, but losing the 5-year X games winning streak in his first term? That’s not helping his chances at reelection.
He sighs as he swirls the soggy corn flakes around his bowl. The kitchen sink is filled with dishes and the milk was left open on the counter. Everyone is in some state of hungover from the party after the X games. Even if he didn’t win, the rest of the frat did. He’s fine with it. He wasn’t interested in dragging everyone else down with him.
He sighs at his own thoughts as he dumps his bowl and heads to the communal bathroom. The sinks and showers are empty but a fucking mess. He has to use a broom to move a party wig from the drain and takes his shower cold. At the sink he washes the eye crust from his eyes and looks at his reflection, glaring. In front of him is pale skin, sandy-brown hair, and eyebags sinking into his cheeks. He flicks water at the mirror and notices a hangnail on his finger.
Tank said things got out of hand for everyone, and he was right.
So Bradley rips off the hangnail and watches a drop of blood pool at the wound. Bradley has to pull himself together, get back on track, and get rid of this gnawing feeling at the pit of his stomach. An image of Max flashes in his mind and he buries it down. He’s not doing anything about that. If he maneuvered right, he’ll never have to see him again.