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The first place of refuge Max could think of was Bean Scene. He still didn’t know the beret girl’s name, or what kind of crowd the cafe really attracted, but it was right outside of campus and always filled with a comfortable mix of students and strangers. He ordered his usual and found a secluded corner. He placed his skateboard against the cushion and his coffee in front of him. He didn’t take his eyes off the cup.
Max placed his head down, completely crushed. His head hurt, he felt sick, he didn’t know if he could even stomach the coffee. He was on the verge of tears when someone sat across from him.
“Talk to me,” Max heard her say. He looked up at the girl in the beret.
“What do you want me to tell you?” he asked.
“Were you at the party last night?” was her first prompt for him.
“Yeah.”
“Did you get fucked up?”
“Just a little tipsy.”
“Alright, what boy is responsible for this?”
Max blinked at her in surprise. The beret wearing girl raised her eyebrows and snapped her fingers at him.
“Come on,” she said. “Vivian knows all. Who did this? Guy or gal?”
Vivian. That’s right. That was her name.
“Well…” Max started. Before he knew it, he was telling Vivian a barely coherent version of all of last night. From losing track of Bobby and P.J., to drinking for the first time, to Brad being out of character the whole time, to his dorm, to that morning. He left out the fact that he had forgotten he wasn’t wearing anything under his two shirts and over his bandages, which caused him to freak out a little upon sobering up the next morning. That didn’t seem to have bothered Bradley, though—not that it alleviated any of Max’s anxiety about it. It also didn’t help that he didn’t change into anything before leaving his dorm, meaning he still wasn’t wearing a binder under his tank top which caused him to hunch more than usual.
Vivian’s response was a huffed sigh.
“Max, look,” she said softly, looking up at him with empathy and placing her hands on the table to feel physically closer. “It’s clear Brad has his own demons to battle with. No matter how willing you may be to help him with those battles, they are ultimately his own. Focus on yourself and don’t let his bad vibes throw yours off, understand?”
Max nodded.
“Good. Now, take care of yourself and don’t let it get to you. Come find me if you need anything.”
Max was left there at the table, feeling kind of pathetic for letting things get the better of him. He decided to get breakfast before his first class, so he took the coffee with him and had it at the nearby Denny’s. He only had one class on Mondays, and it just happened to be the class he had with both his dad and Bradley. Up until that point, he had completely forgotten his dad was even on campus but remembering that he was, Max wished he could avoid him forever.
With a heavy heart, Max skated back on campus and made his way to class. Smiling at his dad took effort, but Goofy didn’t question it because, after all, they were both in a huge fire this past weekend.
“Hey, man, you good?” Bobby addressed Max as Max took his seat.
“I’m fine,” Max replied, looking around. He saw Bradley enter the room and immediately looked away.
“Are you sure? You’ve been acting all,” P.J. added with a wiggly hand gesture. “You know?”
Max sighed. “I know, I know. Can we just not talk about it here and now? Please?”
The two could see Max was uncomfortable and dropped the subject. Through the duration of the lecture, they heard people around them whispering about the bandages covering half of Max’s arm. Max felt like he was back in anywhere from first to twelfth grade when people would make fun of his vitiligo and other aspects of his looks. He wanted to disappear.
Mid way through the lecture, Bobby whispered to Max, “Hey, why don’t you just go? If anyone asks, we could tell them you weren’t feeling well.”
“No, then my dad would get suspicious. I’m fine, really,” Max whispered back.
He did manage to survive the rest of the lecture and left as soon as it was over. He almost ran back to his dorm room where he put on the nearest oversized hoodie and sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands.
Bobby and P.J. were back not long after. P.J. was the only one of the three of them to have another class that day, which wasn’t until hours later.
“Max, what is going on with you?” P.J. was the first to say.
Max fell back on his back. “Do you think it’s a big deal to like a guy?”
“Like… Romantically?” P.J. asked.
Bobby answered, instead, “Depends on how serious you are about it, I guess. I’ve flirted with a few here and there, but none of them were a big deal.”
“No! I mean… Like a problem. Would it be… bad?”
“Oh, god, is that what this is about?” Bobby couldn’t help but be frustrated. “Let me guess, it was after Brad was here, right? What was he even doing here?”
Max cut him off. “I think I like Brad.”
P.J. and Bobby stared at him as he sat up to look at them.
“Woah,” Bobby said. “Bombshell of the century.”
Silence.
“Well? Thoughts?”
“And prayers,” P.J. countered.
“Yeah, you’re gonna need a lot of those. Especially is he’s a homophobic prick, like he’s starting to sound to be,” Bobby added.
“Guys, you’re not helping,” Max whined.
“Yeah, well, there’s not much we can do. Sorry, man. And- OH MY GOD. Is that why he was here?! Did you guys-”
“NO! No! We didn’t sleep together. Jeez…” Max stood up and protested. “We didn’t so much as kiss. Just slept through the night really close together and really drunk.”
Max sat back down on his bed before continuing, “And then he made a big deal about it this morning and just… Left.”
“Well that’s a shit thing to do,” Bobby stated the obvious. “And anticlimactic.” After grinning at his own joke he added, “Literally.”
“I hate you,” Max mumbled.
“Ey, that was comedy gold right there!” was Bobby’s response.
For weeks after that Max would avoid his dad more than he had already been trying to pre-X games. Be it an encounter in the library, in class, or on campus, he always had an excuse ready or just told him he didn’t want to talk. This really worried Goofy. Max soon changed his tactic to trying to keep his dad busy with other things and people, often offering him brochures and announcement posters for on-campus and neighborhood events.
Bradley was another problem to tackle. Though they had easily gone weeks without interacting, every once in a while, they were forced into proximity too close for comfort. Occasionally, they had to share a skate park because it was the only one conveniently close to campus. It still tended to end in arguments and in one of them angrily storming off. Max would come back to his room and talk Bobby and P.J.’s ears off about Brad. The two got used to it fairly quickly and didn't seem to care. It became just another mundane topic of conversation. Max wouldn’t tell them this, but he was really struggling connecting Bradley to the X-games fire and accepting the fact that the guy he was interested in was an arsonist and probably borderline psycho.
One October evening, Max sat in the empty skate park with a burger and fries—his dinner for the day—and watched the sun set. It’s been over a month since the X-games and that party, and yet both were things Max still thought about frequently. He observed the clouds above him as he chewed his burger and didn’t notice when someone sat a good 6 feet away from him.
Bradley held one knee close to his chest. He gazed at Max, falling back into the habit of tracing the patterns of Max’s vitiligo with nothing but his eyes. He wanted to trace them with his hands. He looked away the moment he had that thought.
“Still don’t wanna talk about it?” Max asked, sparing only a glance Bradley’s way.
“About what?”
“X-games.”
“No,” Bradley was quick to answer.
“The party,” Max offered as he finished his burger.
“Especially not the party.”
“Okay, well, I want to address it,” Max said pointedly.
“Fine, then. I’m listening,” Brad responded patiently.
“You’re not gonna talk?”
“There is nothing to say.” It was a lie. Bradley knew, though, that no amount of words he can say can ever make up for his actions, so he thought he’d be playing it safe by staying quiet. Maybe then Max could hate him.
“Fine! Have it your way! Don’t talk!” Max crossed his arms and looked out at the skatepark. He had honestly expected to have prompted something out of Bradley by now, as he didn't really have a coherent thought to share, but, clearly, it wasn't working. “You know, I’d forgive you, if you apologized.” The idea that the man responsible for his since healed and scarred injuries was sitting 6 feet away from him began to finally set in.
Bradley couldn’t help but question his haste to forgive him, “Why?”
Instead of giving him a clear answer, Max began to hesitantly and slowly recount the events of the party without looking at Brad. “Thanks for keeping me company during the party. And going back to my room with me. And making sure I didn’t drink too much. Sure, it was a little underwhelming in the grand scheme of things, but at least I was safe.”
Safe. That’s what he felt in Bradley’s arms that night. Saying nobody has made him feel that way before would be lying. But he wanted to feel it again.
Max’s words stung Bradley to the very core. To say he would forgive him, implying that he already has, and to then thank him for the bare fucking minimum, only served to worsen Bradley’s guilt.
“I stand impartial to your gratitude.” Standardized test vocabulary words were all Bradley had. They were usually his tell for lying but they also made it easier to be honest through a thin filter of formality. “I think I just did what someone I look up to would have done. I have to admit, however, I have more than every reason to apologize and you have every right and reason to not accept the apology.”
Max was finally looking at him. He was smiling. It was driving Bradley insane. How could he smile at him?
“Common English, please?” Max requested.
Brad sighed, frowning. “I’m saying I’m sorry. I acted out of line, what I did was dangerous and, frankly, illegal. And… There’s too many other reasons, but you get it. I’m sorry, I know this doesn’t make up for it.”
Max’s smile didn’t fade. “I forgive you.”
Bradley thought he could cry.
Max got up, picked up his board and started walking. He stopped briefly to offer the junior the rest of his fries, which he accepted. As he walked past Bradley, he felt a tug on his sleeve.
“Wait, I’m not done,” Brad said.
Max sat down right beside him, his board in his lap. Bradley stared into his eyes, mesmerized, for a moment too long.
“I’m listening,” Max told him, curious.
“I’m sorry,” Bradley continued, “for the morning after the party. That was unnecessary and I should have kept it to myself.”
That was it.
Max waited but nothing else was said.
“Is that it?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Max got up again and walked away.
Bradley watched him for only so long before looking away. He took a bite of a cold fry, pondering. He was given an “Okay” not an “I forgive you” the second time around. Thing was, he’s finally started to distantly accept himself, but he couldn’t let that show. Apologizing for bigotry was scary—especially taking it back and proving character growth. He didn’t have the gall to do that.
So Brad kept sitting there, in the company of the cold fries and his thoughts. He looked up to watch the clouds move against the night sky. It wasn’t even that late yet.
He couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Max had felt when he left that morning. Misunderstood, with the need to be indirect, and wishing he could do something over.