Los Angeles | 2009
Alex's POV
Jealousy is an unproductive emotion. It's illogical, inefficient, and has no place in a well-ordered life. My life, for the most part, is well-ordered. I excel in the spheres I can control academics, music, athletics. But then there's the Bradley-sphere, and in that chaotic, unpredictable orbit, all my logic seems to collapse.
It's been over a month since my grandfather's wedding—weeks since that dance. It was… different. A data point that didn't fit any existing trend. I was nervous to even approach him, but he'd met me halfway, asked me himself, and for a few minutes, I didn't feel like the awkward middle child. I've seen the way Haley dates, a revolving door of boys who seem to exist only to laugh at her jokes and admire her. I've never had that. My interactions are with rivals, not friends. It's a quiet, hollow space that even a list of my own accomplishments—spelling bee champion, first-chair cello, lacrosse tournament trophies—can't quite fill.
Then Bradley happened. He is an unsolvable equation.
In the beginning, I classified him as intellectually gifted but academically lazy. Studies were a chore he completed with dismissive ease. So, being the competitive person I am, I made him a bet on the end-terms: I do his projects for the next year if he wins, he does mine if I win. I saw it as a necessary intervention. I wasn't just trying to win; I was trying to give him a reality check, to show him the consequences of not applying himself.
Instead, the reality check was delivered squarely to me.
I never saw him study. Not once. He spent our classes doodling basketball plays or trying to lure me into a chess game on his phone. I resisted, assuming it was a distraction tactic, and doubled my own efforts.
The day the results were posted, I saw my name in the number two slot and felt the floor drop out from under me. Bradley Naird had outscored me in History, Math, Science, and Computer Science. I'd only beaten him in English, Foreign languages, and Social Studies. Beside me, Sanjay Patel's mouth opened and closed silently, like a fish gasping for air. The entire academic hierarchy of Northwood Junior High had been overthrown by a kid who seemed to care more about his sneaker collection than his grade point average.
I braced myself for the smugness, the condescending "I told you so." It never came. He just looked at me, his expression unreadable, and said, "If you need any help with the projects, let me know. I won't leave you high and dry."
Then he turned and walked away, heading for basketball practice.
And that's the other part of the equation. Basketball isn't his hobby; it's his purpose. I'll never forget that game-winning shot. He didn't celebrate, didn't even smile. He just turned to the stunned, cheering crowd and raised a finger to his lips, shushing them into silence. Who does that? Who has the audacity to command adults to be quiet?
The thought gnawed at me. He doesn't even try in school, and he won. What could he do if he actually cared? The jealousy returned, sharp and acidic, but this time it was mixed with something else. It was intimidation. He was a natural at everything—academics, athletics, even making friends. Leo and David were always with him, a loyal entourage. More people were starting to orbit him, drawn in by his charm.
And where was I? I was plain old Alex. I was Bradley's friend, yes, but I felt like a satellite in a separate orbit. He came to me for chess and intellectual debate, but I was never integrated into his main circle. I was the friend he had away from his other friends. And a small, ugly voice in the back of my head, the one that I could never quite silence, whispered that maybe he just came to me when he was bored of the others.
A hand on my shoulder. My name, spoken twice, then drawn out in a long, patient syllable. "Aaaaleeeexx?"
I jolted, the dark spiral of my thoughts shattering like glass. I looked up to see the very demon of that internal monologue standing over me, his hands resting gently on my shoulders. A playful grin was on his face.
"Oh, good. You're back in the real world," Bradley said, his smile fading as he got a better look at my face, his brow scrunching with genuine concern. "Hey. Everything alright with you?"
If you only knew, you oblivious charmer, the thought was sharp and immediate. I forced it down. "Y-yes," I stammered, feeling my cheeks heat up. "I was just thinking about some stuff. Sorry."
He studied my face for a second, a question in his eyes, but his natural enthusiasm quickly won out. He pulled his hands back, his energy shifting into a near-vibrating excitement.
"It's okay! Anyway, I was saying, do you want to come over today? I got this amazing grand strategy game, Empire: Total War. It's turn-based, set in the 18th century, and you get to pick a faction and build it up—economically, diplomatically, militarily—and fight for global domination. I know, I know, you've probably never played anything like it, but I was hoping I could introduce you to it."
He was rambling, his words tumbling over each other in his excitement to share something he loved. But all my brain could latch onto was a single, corrosive thought: I wonder who else he asked first. Leo and David must have been busy. I'm the backup plan.
The insecurity felt like a physical weight, pressing down on my chest. "I don't know, Bradley," I said, my voice sounding distant and a little too formal. "There's a lot of studying to do, and I have my cello lesson. Maybe some other time."
I watched his face fall. It wasn't dramatic, just a subtle dimming of the light in his eyes, a flicker of disappointment that he quickly tried to smother with a forced smile. "Oh. Yeah, of course. It's alright," he said, recovering. "Some other time, then."
He paused, then offered a genuine, parting smile that was somehow worse than the disappointment. "But you should definitely play it next time. The only reason I asked is because I know how good you are at chess. I know you'd be great at this, too."
He walked away, leaving me sitting there with the silence of his compliment. He hadn't asked me because he was bored or because his other friends were busy. He'd asked me because he thought I'd be good. And I, in a masterclass of self-sabotage, had said no.
The final bell was supposed to be a release, but for me, it just signalled the start of a long afternoon of replaying every stupid, self-sabotaging word I'd said. The walk to the car park felt longer than usual, each step heavy with regret. I hauled my backpack—a dead weight of textbooks and missed opportunities—into the familiar, crumb-scented interior of our minivan and slammed the sliding door shut.
And then I saw him.
Through the slightly smudged window, Bradley was walking toward a black SUV that looked like it belonged in a government motorcade, flanked by two men in dark suits. There was no hesitation in his stride, as one of the agents opened the rear door for him. He slipped inside without a backward glance. It was a scene from a different universe, and for a moment, the distance between our minivan and his SUV felt like a vast, unbridgeable chasm.
The engine rumbled to life, pulling me from my thoughts. "How was the last day of school, honey?" Mom asked from the driver's seat, her voice bright and cheerful. "Go out with a bang?"
"Fine," I mumbled, staring out the window at the blur of houses passing by.
"Just 'fine'?" She reached over and gave my arm a playful poke. "Come on, you can give me more than that. Did Sanjay at least cry when he realised he'd have a whole summer without you to compete with?"
Normally, I would have offered a witty, sarcastic retort. I would have rolled my eyes. I would have said something. Instead, I just shrugged, my gaze remaining fixed on the outside world. The silence that followed was heavy. I saw her expression in the rearview mirror shift, the playful curiosity melting into a quiet, maternal concern. She knew. She didn't know what, but she knew this wasn't my usual brand of teenage moodiness.
The rest of the drive was quiet. When we pulled into the driveway, I had my hand on the door handle before the car had even come to a complete stop.
My dad was standing in the open doorway, a goofy grin on his face. "Hey, kiddo! Have an Alex-cellent last day at—"
He didn't get to finish. I brushed past him, a blur of motion and a muttered apology, and took the stairs two at a time. I slipped on that god awful stair that Dad said he would fix, but I didn't stop until I reached the sanctuary of my room, the solid click of the door shutting behind me offering the only comfort I could find, leaving my dad standing alone and bewildered in the entryway.
I collapsed onto my bed, burying my face in a pillow to smother the pathetic sounds I was making. The image of Bradley's disappointed smile was on a high-speed loop in my brain, a constant, painful reminder of my own stupidity. Turning someone down for a video game shouldn't hurt this much. It was illogical. But the memory of that flicker of sadness in his eyes, coupled with the sour taste of my own jealousy, felt like a crack forming in the very foundation of my carefully constructed world. I just wanted it to be normal again. I didn't want to feel so miserable, so hopelessly outmanoeuvred by my own feelings.
"Ugh, can you be miserable more quietly? I'm trying to figure out which filter makes me look less like I've been in fluorescent lighting all day."
The voice, sharp and annoyed, cut through my haze of self-pity. I lifted my head, my tear-dampened cheek sticking to the pillowcase. Haley was lounging on her own bed across the room, phone held high, completely oblivious. I hadn't even realised she was there.
The comment—so typically Haley, so utterly dismissive—was the final, tiny crack that shattered the dam. A sob tore its way out of my throat, a raw, ugly sound I didn't recognize as my own. It wasn't a sniffle; it was a wail of pure, unfiltered misery.
Haley's phone clattered onto her comforter. I saw her sit bolt upright, her eyes wide with a look of stunned disbelief. For a solid five seconds, she just stared, completely at a loss. I, the unshakable, cynical, always-in-control Alex, was falling apart.
Then, she moved. I felt the bed dip beside me. A hand, hesitant at first, landed on my back. It wasn't a shove or a poke. It was a comfort. It was so unexpected that I cried harder, my shoulders shaking.
"Hey," Haley said, her voice suddenly stripped of all its usual sarcasm. It was quiet, uncertain. "Okay, what's wrong? Seriously, Alex."
The door creaked open. "What's happening?" Luke asked, his voice small. He must have heard the commotion. He saw me, saw Haley with her arm now awkwardly wrapped around my shoulders, and without another word, he climbed onto the bed and burrowed in on my other side, wrapping his small arms around my waist in a tight, loyal hug.
The combined weight of them, this strange, unpracticed circle of support, only made the tears flow faster.
"What on earth is going on in here?"
Through the blur, I saw two worried figures silhouetted in the doorway—the familiar shapes of my mom and dad.
"Oh, honey," Mom breathed, rushing to the bed. Dad was right behind her. Suddenly, I was enveloped. Mom's hand was stroking my hair, Dad was rubbing my back, and Haley and Luke were still clinging to my sides.
"Alex, what is it? What happened?" Dad asked, his voice thick with concern.
I couldn't speak, couldn't explain the tangled mess of jealousy and end-term results and a boy with a kind smile that I had needlessly pushed away. All I could do was cry, and for the first time in a very long time, I let them hold me.
I was in the center of a strange, warm storm of my own family. Mom's hand was a steady, rhythmic presence in my hair. Dad's was a solid weight on my back. Luke's little arms were still wrapped tightly around my middle, and even Haley's hand was still there, resting awkwardly but firmly on my shoulder. Their muffled voices were a chorus of concern, of comfort I hadn't realized I'd been so starved for.
"Honey, you have to breathe," Mom murmured, her voice close to my ear. "Just breathe. We're right here."
"Whatever it is, kiddo, it can't be so bad that it can't be fixed," Dad added, his usual goofy tone replaced by a deep, gentle earnestness.
But it felt that bad. It felt like a catastrophic failure on all fronts—academic, social, and emotional. I tried to explain, but the words came out in broken, hiccuping sobs.
"He… he asked me to come over," I gasped into Mom's shoulder. "Today. And… and I said no!"
"Okay, okay," Phil said softly. "So you don't want to hang out with a friend. What's so upsetting about that, sweetie?"
That was the question that opened the floodgates. "Because I did want to!" I wailed, the words tumbling out in a rush of long-held frustration. "But I couldn't! Not since… not since the end-terms. He beat me, weeks ago… he beat me and he didn't even try and I've been feeling so stupid ever since!"
I felt Haley's hand still on my shoulder. She was quiet for a long moment, processing. Then, her voice cut through the fog, surprisingly clear and devoid of any sarcasm.
"Wait," she said. "Let me get this straight. He beat you on a test weeks ago, you've been stewing on it this whole time, and today, when he finally asked you to hang out, you totally blew him off because of it?"
I just sobbed in response, which was apparently all the confirmation she needed.
"Oh my god," she breathed, her tone shifting from confusion to sudden, stunning clarity. She looked at Mom and Dad. "This has nothing to do with the test. Not really."
I felt Mom's hand stop stroking my hair. Dad's rubbing circles paused. The energy in the room shifted from confused panic to a quiet, dawning understanding.
"Oh, honey," Mom whispered, her voice softening with an empathy that made my throat ache. She tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at her through my blurry, tear-filled eyes. "It's okay to like a boy. It's more than okay. It's completely natural for it to make you feel all mixed up inside."
"And it's supposed to be confusing," Dad added, his smile gentle and kind. "That's how you know it's real."
Their words hung in the air, simple and true. They weren't analyzing it. They weren't trying to solve it. They were just giving me permission to feel it. The tangled knot of jealousy and rivalry and regret that had been tightening for weeks didn't disappear, but it loosened its suffocating grip. It all came down to one simple terrifying fact.
I looked at my mom, the words barely a whisper, a discovery for myself as much as a confession to them.
"I like him."