Los Angeles | 2009
Bradley's POV
A week. Seven days until my birthday.
Being an orphan in my previous life has a way of putting things in perspective, and nothing feels more valuable than the simple, unwavering affection of a family. My birthdays here have always been special, not because of the gifts, but because of how completely and truly valued my parents make me feel.
Today was another day in what had been a slow but deeply peaceful summer. The frantic energy of the school year had given way to a mellow rhythm, a schedule I had built for myself. The morning always began the same: the relative cool of the A/C, the walk out to my court for drills, and a few hours of practice—sometimes with the competitive energy of Leo and David, sometimes alone with just the sound of the ball on the hardwood.
After that came breakfast and a shower, followed by the less structured part of the day. I'd spend time playing with Erin, help with chores, and then head to my new classes. Dad had recently enrolled me in Taekwondo; a disciplined outlet he felt would complement basketball. I'd also started foreign language lessons, a challenge for my own mind on alternate days. The afternoons were my own, a quiet space that I usually filled by either heading to the Dunphys' or losing myself in a video game in my room.
Today, Alex was coming over. We were going to continue our campaign in Empire: Total War, a routine that had become the quiet highlight of the last few days.
It was 3:15 when I heard the doorbell. I shut off the computer, leaving the Grand Campaign map frozen on the screen, each faded province a promise of conquest. The afternoon light filtered through my curtains, dust motes drifting like tiny spears of victory.
"Coming!" I called, wiping my hands on a towel as I rose. The front hall felt warmer than the rest of the house—wooden floorboards still humming from heavy traffic, the faint residue of my morning drills on my sneakers.
I opened the door. Alex stood on the porch, one hand clutching her backpack strap, the other carrying a bag of brownies Claire had insisted she share. Her hair was pulled back in that same messy ponytail she wore to school visits—loose tendrils framing her face—and she had that half-smile that always felt like permission to drop my guard.
"Hey," I said, stepping aside.
"Hey," she replied, slipping past me she dropped her brownies onto the coffee table and shrugged out of her backpack. "I brought snacks." She glanced at the console where my system tower hummed quietly. "Ready?"
I nodded and led her down the hall to my room, the door already ajar. Erin's drawings were tacked to the walls—playful sketches of basketballs wearing capes—and my desk waited, cleared of notebooks.
Alex settled into the leather chair while I booted the game. The world map bloomed again: our combined fleets streaming from London and Amsterdam toward the Caribbean, our trade posts glinting red.
"We left off in 1723," Alex reminded me, her focus immediate and total. "You've fortified Martinique. The question is whether we press the advantage against Spain now, or reinforce our West African holdings first."
"Grand strategy is your call," I said, taking the mouse. "I'll handle the micro once you decide the macro."
She studied the map, her brow furrowed in concentration. She had that look again—the one I'd seen when she was explaining the Navigation Acts—an intense, intellectual fire that I found myself completely drawn to. "My gut says slow expansion," she said finally. "Spain's navy is stretched thin, but if we provoke them too soon, they'll divert their European fleet to the Caribbean and choke our sugar routes."
"Agreed," I said, my fingers already clicking, allocating diplomats to strengthen our alliance with the Dutch. "We secure our trade network, then we can afford a war of attrition."
She nodded, her eyes bright with approval. "Good. Macro settled. Now for the fun part: troop deployment." She toggled to the army interface. "We can land Marines on Guadeloupe for a quick morale shock—"
"Or," I countered, holding up a hand, "we could blockade their ports for a few more turns. Cut their supplies, let their garrisons starve a little. Then move in without any real bloodshed."
A genuine, brilliant smile spread across her face. "Pacifist logic. I like it. Fewer casualties, more long-term stability." With a few swift clicks, she executed the blockade orders, our digital fleets moving into a silent, perfect cordon.
I leaned forward, mapping out the next phase. "Then we follow up with the landing once their public order dips below fifty. I'll assign the cavalry to support the landing."
She raised an eyebrow. "You and your cavalry."
I was about to retort when Erin bounded in, brandishing a plastic toy sword and carrying a doll. "Can I watch?" she asked.
Before I could answer, Alex scooted her chair over and patted the empty space beside her. "Of course. But no swordplay near the computer."
I pulled another chair close for my sister, explaining to her in simple terms how our ships were stopping the pretend bad guys from getting their food. Our forces clashed on screen a few minutes later: digital sails snapping in the wind, cannons firing at empty forts, and the white surrender flags of the Spanish garrisons rising without a single drop of blood being spilled. Erin's quiet giggle echoed as our joint strategy unfolded flawlessly.
The afternoon light slanted across the screen, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air of our makeshift war room. Here, in the quiet partnership of action and restraint, of her grand strategy and my tactical execution, everything just clicked.
I sat back and caught Alex's eye. "Your move, Commander."
She smiled, a thoughtful, satisfied look on her face. "I think," she said, "it's time we negotiate the terms of their surrender."
With the digital surrender of the Spanish Empire secured, we saved our campaign. The glowing world map was replaced by the real-world topography of colonial America, our textbooks and notes spread across the desk in a far more complex strategic challenge. Erin, who had been a quiet and captivated observer, finally succumbed to the day's adventures. Her head nodded against my arm, and I gently scooped her up and laid her on my bed, where she curled into a ball, asleep instantly.
The room grew dimmer as the afternoon bled into evening, the lights in my room turned on, which cast a warm, focused circle around our work. We fell into an easy rhythm, batting ideas back and forth, the project taking shape under our combined effort. It felt less like an assignment and more like solving a puzzle together.
The soft click of the front door announced Mom's return from work. A few minutes later, she appeared in my doorway, a tired but warm smile on her face.
"Still at it, you two?" she asked, her gaze appreciative. "I'm impressed."
"Hi, Mrs. Naird," Alex said, looking up from her notes.
It was the sound of her own voice that seemed to jolt her. Alex glanced at her phone to check the time and her eyes widened in mild panic. "Oh, no. I completely forgot. My family is having dinner at my grandpa's tonight." She pointed out my window toward the house directly across the street.
"Well, you'd better run along then," Mom said kindly. "It was lovely to have you over, Alex."
"Thanks again for having me," she said, quickly packing her bag.
As she headed for the front door, I stood up. "I'll walk you over."
We stepped out into the cool evening air. The street was quiet, the sky a deep twilight blue, and the first streetlights were beginning to hum to life. The short walk across the pavement felt different from all the times I'd done it before.
"You know," I started, the words feeling a little clumsy but necessary. "This summer... hanging out with friends, playing ball with Leo and David... it's been really good. But this," I said, gesturing vaguely between the two of us, "working on the project, playing that game... it's some of the most fun I've had in a long time."
She stopped on the sidewalk, just before her grandfather's walkway, and turned to me. She didn't say anything. She just looked at me, and in the soft glow of the porch light, I saw a genuine, unguarded smile spread across her face.
"I enjoy my time with you, too," she said, her voice quiet but clear. "I feel like... I've finally found a friend who gets it. All of it. The interests, the obsessions." She looked down at her shoes for a second, gathering her courage. "You have a lot of friends, Bradley. But for me... you're the first one. The first real one, who wanted to be friends because of who I am, not for help with homework or as some kind of prank. It's real." She finally met my eyes again, her own shining with a sincerity that struck me silent. "Thank you. You're my best friend, Bradley."
The words hung in the air between us. I was stunned, not just by her openness, but by the way she looked right then—her usual defenses completely gone, her face illuminated by the warm porch light. Beautiful. The word wasn't analytical; it was just a fact.
Every instinct screamed at me to close the distance between us, to tell her everything. But a memory, sharp and unwelcome, flashed in my mind—a different girl, a past life, a relationship I had ruined through my own carelessness. I couldn't do that to Alex. I wouldn't.
"You're my best friend too, Alex," I said, and the words felt like both the truest thing I'd ever said and a profound lie. "I'm surrounded by people all the time, but none of them... they don't get it. Not really. But you do. It's like you're a reflection of my own interests, my own competitiveness. At first, I found it curious. Then it was amusing. And now..." I adore it. "...now I absolutely admire it."
I looked her straight in the eye, trying to pour all the unsaid words into that single gaze. "So yes, Alexandra Dunphy, I enjoy our time together, no matter what we're doing. I hope we can keep being friends just like this, and that nothing changes between us."
Her smile wavered, just for a fraction of a second. A flicker of something I couldn't quite name—disappointment?—crossed her face before it was replaced by a determined brightness that almost seemed real.
"Me too," she replied, her voice steady.
"Alright," I said, taking a small step back. "I'll let you get to dinner. Goodnight, Alex."
"Goodnight, Brad."
The walk back across the street was a blur. The porch light from Jay's house, the hum of the streetlights, my own footsteps on the pavement—it all felt distant, secondary to the conversation replaying on a loop in my head. You're my best friend, Bradley.
She was waiting in our open doorway when I reached our walkway, a silhouette against the warm light of the hall. She didn't have to say anything; I could see the question in the gentle set of her shoulders as I approached.
"Everything okay, honey?" Mom asked, her voice soft.
"Yeah. Fine," I said, trying to force a nonchalant tone that felt brittle and fake. "Just talking about the project."
I made to move past her, but she didn't budge. "Bradley. Look at me."
I stopped and reluctantly met her gaze. Her eyes were full of a deep, knowing empathy that I was in no condition to deflect.
"You can build walls around yourself when you feel overwhelmed," she said, her voice quiet and even. "You can put on a face and pretend everything is just a problem to be solved. I know, because it's a skill you got directly from me. But I also know what it looks like from the outside."
Her words, so full of quiet understanding, were the one defense I hadn't prepared for. I felt a hot sting behind my eyes, and a single, traitorous tear escaped, tracing a path down my cheek. I didn't bother to wipe it away.
"I'm afraid I'm going to hurt her, Mom," I whispered, the admission raw and quiet. "If I'm not careful. I've... made mistakes like that before."
Her expression softened completely. She closed the small distance between us and pulled me into a hug that smelled of her perfume and felt like absolution. She held me for a long moment, simply letting me breathe.
"Oh, my sweet boy," she murmured into my hair. "You can't live your life trying to prevent every possible mistake. That's not being careful; that's being paralyzed." She pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands resting on my shoulders. "You just have to act with the right intent. You go forward with the absolute mindset that you will do right by her, that you will cherish her friendship, and that you will never intentionally cause her pain. The rest... you figure it out together."
I leaned into her embrace, her words sinking in as a simple, profound truth.