Los Angeles | 2009
Alex's POV
I glanced at my phone as it chimed, a small smile touching my lips as I read the text. It was from Brad; he said he would be at my house in fifteen minutes. It had been a few weeks since the incident with his security detail, and in that time, Brad and I had come to enjoy each other's company quite a lot. I had even gone to his place to hang out and watch a movie with his basketball teammates. Although I had nothing in common with them, Brad had made a real effort to include me, and I appreciated that.
"Ugh, what are you smiling at?" a voice drawled from my doorway. I looked up to see Haley leaning against the frame, scrolling through her own phone with an air of profound boredom. "Did you finally figure out how to solve for x? Or did your nerdy friend Sanjay text you a new picture of his calculator?"
I put my phone down, my smile instantly vanishing. "For your information, it was from Bradley. And it's none of your business."
"Ooh, Bradley," she said in a mock-swoon. "So, you do have a crush on him. I knew it. Is he taking you to the library for a hot date?"
An idea, perfectly wicked and tailored specifically to my sister, sparked in my mind. I put on a serious, scientific expression. "Actually, we were just texting about the latest findings on cellular decay. A new study says that if you take a selfie with the flash on while pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth, it stimulates collagen production and reverses aging on a cellular level. But your phone's flash probably isn't strong enough. It only works with the newer models."
Haley's eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but in concentration. She immediately held her phone up, pressed her tongue firmly to the roof of her mouth, and took three quick selfies with the flash on, the light illuminating her comically contorted face. She studied the pictures intently.
"I don't look any younger," she said, her voice a low growl of frustration. "You're messing with me!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said, my face a perfect mask of innocence.
"You are such a liar!" she shrieked, throwing a pillow at me.
"I'm not the one who just took a picture of my own uvula!" I shouted back, dodging the pillow.
"MOM!" Haley screamed.
The door flew open, and Mom walked in, a laundry basket on her hip and a look of pure exhaustion on her face. "What is going on in here? I can hear you all the way downstairs!"
"Mom, Alex is a total witch! She told me a lie just to make me look stupid!" Haley complained, pointing an accusing finger at me.
"She's the one who believed that a selfie could reverse the aging process!" I shot back. "I was conducting a sociological experiment on the gullibility of the common teenager!"
Mom pressed her fingers to her temple, her patience clearly worn thin. "Okay, that's enough. Both of you. Alex, stop deliberately provoking your sister. Hailey, for the last time, selfies do not reverse the aging process. Let it go."
Haley, never one to lose an argument, immediately changed tactics. A sly grin spread across her face. "Mom, you know why she's in such a weird mood? She's waiting for her boyfriend."
Mom's interest was immediately piqued. She turned to me, a playful, teasing light in her eyes. "Oh, is that right? So, is Bradley coming over for a joint study session, or is this an official date?"
My cheeks flushed. "It's neither! It's none of their business! We're just going to study for the history midterm and maybe play some chess, that's all!"
Ding-dong.
Saved by the bell. "I'll get it!" I shouted, practically bolting out of the room before they could team up on me further. I flew down the stairs just as the front door opened.
Dad was already there, greeting Bradley with his signature, over-the-top enthusiasm. "B-Money! Welcome to the Dunphy-dome! Great to see you, my man. You know, I was just telling your mom we need to get some better curb appeal. What are your thoughts on a water feature? I'm talking tiered, maybe a cherub involved…"
"Hi, Dad," I said, cutting him off before he could sketch out a full blueprint. I grabbed Bradley by the arm. "Sorry about him. The dining room is this way. It's the only place in this house where my mom will allow us to sit and study."
Bradley chuckled as I led him away. "Nice to see you too, Mr. Dunphy."
"You got it, B-Money!" Dad called after us. "We'll talk landscaping later!"
"Alright," Bradley said, pulling out his history textbook as he sat down. "How do you want to tackle this? I figure we should start with colonial architecture and then move into the Salem Witch Trials. We can analyse the socio-economic impact and then debate the feminist perspective on the accusations."
I was, admittedly, impressed. It was the exact study plan I had mentally mapped out. "Okay," I said, trying to sound casual as I arranged my notes. "That's a solid plan. Let's divide and conquer."
We actually worked well together, falling into an easy rhythm of studying and note-taking. To make it more interesting, we started quizzing each other. It was my turn to question him first, and I decided to test his limits.
"Okay," I said, my expression serious. "What were the three primary types of wood used in Puritan-era home construction?"
"Oak, pine, and birch," he answered without a second of hesitation.
I ramped up the difficulty, asking more and more obscure questions. To my growing surprise, he answered every single one. It wasn't until my eighth question that I finally stumped him. "What was the name of the ship that brought Reverend Samuel Parris to Salem?"
He chuckled, shaking his head in defeat. "Okay, you got me. I have no idea."
"The Recovery," I said, unable to hide a small, triumphant smile. "You're not bad at this, Naird. A little too confident, but not bad."
"My turn," he said, and proceeded to grill me with his own list of increasingly difficult questions. I held my own, parrying each one with a correct answer, until his ninth question.
"What was the estimated total value, in 1692 British pounds, of the property confiscated from accused witch Giles Corey?"
I frowned, racking my brain. "I know his estate was seized, but the exact value… I'm not sure. Was it around 50 pounds?"
"Close," he said with a grin. "It was 150. You were only off by a factor of three. I'm counting that as a win for me."
"It was a partial answer! That doesn't count as a loss!" I argued, feeling my cheeks flush with competitive fire.
"If you don't know the whole answer, you don't know the answer!" he countered, his laugh echoing in the quiet room.
"Oh, look at you two," a voice said from the doorway. We both turned to see my mom standing there, a warm smile on her face as she leaned against the frame. "It's so cute. Like a little study playdate."
My entire face felt hot. Of all the things she could have said, that was the most mortifying. I saw Bradley blush too, but he recovered with a speed that I almost envied.
"We're just engaging in some friendly academic combat, Mrs. Dunphy," he said with an easy grin, turning to face her. "Though I have to say, it's no wonder Alex is so smart, must be because of you."
Mom smiled at that, "Why thank you, I did have a bit of a pregnancy brain when I was carrying Alex, it certainly paid off."
Mom smiled at his quick wit. "Alright, well, I'll leave you two to your 'academic combat,' then," she said, her voice still full of amusement. "But don't study all day. Try to have some fun, too." She walked away, leaving a lingering scent of her perfume.
"So," I said, eager to move on from the embarrassing 'playdate' comment. "You think you can actually beat me in a real game?"
Bradley's grin was confident as he pulled out his smartphone. "Only one way to find out, Dunphy. Chess.com?"
"Sure", I answered.
A minute later, 'QuantumQuips123' and 'StrategosPrime16' were locked in a digital battle. I quickly learned that for him, chess was more than just a game. He saw the screen as a battlefield of ideas. After a particularly aggressive move with his knight, he looked up at me from his phone.
"Sun Tzu said, 'To know your enemy, you must become your enemy,'" he stated, a serious look in his eyes.
I considered the board on my own phone, then countered his knight with my bishop, creating a defensive line. "An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind," I replied, quoting Gandhi. "Aggression isn't always the answer."
Bradley raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the challenge. "A noble thought, but inaction can be just as destructive. It was Aurelian who said, 'It is the soldier, not the priest, who protects the garden.' Peace has to be defended."
"But defense doesn't have to mean war," I argued, advancing a pawn with a flick of my thumb. "Aristotle believed that educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all. True progress comes from understanding, not just strength."
"Hannibal would disagree," he countered, sacrificing a pawn to open up my defense. "He believed you either find a way or make one. Sometimes a decisive action is the only path forward, even if it's difficult."
"And sometimes," I said, moving my rook to counter his attack, "the difficult path is choosing diplomacy when conflict is easier."
The afternoon went on like that—a thrilling exchange of moves on our screens and philosophies in the air. For every tactician he cited, from Caesar to Sulla, I offered a counterpoint from a philosopher advocating reason. It never became a heated fight; it was an exhilarating debate, a true meeting of the minds.
A sudden chime interrupted our third game. Bradley looked down at his phone.
"Ah, that's my dad," he said, his expression shifting. "Curfew. I have to head home."
He stood up and began packing his bag. "Thanks for the games, Alex. And for the help today."
"Anytime," I said, still buzzing from our conversation.
He said his goodbyes to my parents and siblings before heading out the door, leaving me with the distinct giddiness at how my days were passing.
…
Midterms came and went in a blur of frantic studying. Lately, I was genuinely enjoying my time, which was mostly divided between my studies, cello lessons, and hanging out with Brad. My social anxiety still peaked occasionally, prompting me to retreat to the sanctuary of my room with a book, but even then, Brad and I would text, that kept us connected. I could definitively say that Bradley was my friend now—not because he couldn't find more interesting people, or out of any forced circumstance, but because we just connected on a level I hadn't experienced before.
During one of our conversations, I also discovered his secret: he was a year younger than me. He had skipped the second grade entirely. Apparently, he could have skipped more, but his parents were concerned about his social development, a fact I found both fascinating and deeply ironic, given my own social shortcomings.
Now, the wedding of Grandpa and Gloria was fast approaching, and our entire family was being swept up in the whirlwind of preparations. Mom, though still visibly ambivalent about Gloria, had adopted a policy of tight-lipped diplomacy. I had to admit, the idea of Grandpa marrying someone my mother's age was objectively weird, but I suppose everyone deserves some measure of happiness.
The real chaos began when Nana Dede, my grandmother, found out about the wedding and somehow secured an invitation from Grandpa. Mom predicted a disaster of epic proportions; Uncle Mitchell, ever the optimist, thought it might be fine. For once, a lot of stuff was happening, and I was excited for all of it.
Adding to the general mayhem, Luke had gone to Brad's place for a "playdate" with Erin. According to Brad, it had devolved into an all-out mud fight in their backyard, with Brad somehow getting dragged into the fray. Luke's official explanation was that it was a historical re-enactment of a Civil War battle where the soldiers, having lost their weapons, resorted to mudslinging. I have no idea where he gets these things. Erin, apparently, had the time of her life. Bradley's mom, however, was less than thrilled about the sudden, unscheduled landscaping of her prized garden.
I even asked Brad if I could come to see one of his basketball games, and he readily agreed. It was next Friday against a rival school, but the venue was Northwood, so I wouldn't even have to travel. I was looking forward to it, surprisingly. According to the anecdotal evidence I'd gathered from his teammates, Leo and David, Brad was a talented player who could control the tempo of the game with a genius level of precision.
Considering his obsession with history, military tactics, and grand strategy, I was sure those elements were bound to manifest in his gameplay. I had a feeling I would enjoy the intellectual side of watching him play, even though I wasn't a fan of sports in general. I was a casual observer, certainly, but not an over-enthused adrenaline junkie.