Bad Karma - lambchopsandmashedpotatoes - A Goofy Movie (Movies) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter Text

Bradley wasn’t a religious guy, but when he’d gotten the call that the Gamma house had been half-crushed in the worst storm the state had seen in fifty years, he’d had to assume there was a God he’d somehow f*cked over and wanted to make the next year of his life a living hell. It had to be karma for the sh*t he pulled last year at the X games, there was no other explanation for it.

It happened at the end of summer break, two weeks before classes were supposed to start. That was when the heavy clouds rolled in and the campus was rocked into a complete and total mess. One of the science buildings had been knocked right down from its foundations, as though a wrecking ball tore right through it. One of the dorm buildings, too, had had the roof ripped off and more windows smashed than not. And most importantly, the Gamma house had had a tree fall right through the middle of it, effectively splitting it in half. It wasn’t like theirs had been the only ones on the street to fall, one of the sororities further down, the Delta Zetas, had the same problem. He was more pissed off about the pool table if anything, they'd just got it replaced.

He probably could have crashed on someone’s couch for the next couple of weeks while he waited for things to go back to normal like the rest of the Gammas were planning on doing. That was, until discussing with the landlord, that instead, they planned to rip the whole thing down and build it back up with an extra level and a bigger basem*nt. According to him, it would take roughly… About six months.

Six. Months.

So, much to his dismay, he’d been forced to take the universities’ offer of staying in a dorm in the meantime. It was a tight squeeze, having to share with so many other students who’d been kicked out of their own accommodations, but he'd managed. Besides, though he hadn’t lived in a dorm before, and he didn’t get to choose who to bunk with, it had been too late to find an apartment. There simply wasn’t enough time to get names and lists in order. For a moment, he considered just dropping out and sailing to Italy for the semester, but he knew his dad would string him up by the neck if he did.

It could be fun, everyone told him. Yeah, right. To make matters worse; the storm also meant no X games. After the fiasco last year, it was up in the air whether it would run again. But word got around that the course had been destroyed, and they’d have to postpone it until spring, but even then, there were no guarantees. That really tore the Gammas apart some more. No house, no games, so really, what the hell was Bradley supposed to look forward to for the next semester?

With a duffle bag slung on one shoulder and his heavy suitcases dragging behind his heels, a pillow and blanket tied on top of either one with some old sweaters, he traversed up the three flights of stairs to get to his new room. The wooden floor was dirty with sodden footprints, and the fluorescent lights buzzed in harmony with the screaming of young adults scrambling to situate themselves in time, parents and brothers and sisters drilling and moving furniture in every room he curiously poked his nose into. The painted cinder block walls were a great touch, they really helped bring out the prison-like feel of the place.

There had been only one door unopened by then, towards the end of the hallway. A sheet of paper was pinned on the door, and there stood a man intently reading it like it somehow mattered to him. It shouldn't have mattered, because there was no way God was going to be this cruel to him. Dread pooled in his stomach and his throat tightened like he'd swallowed a hive of bees.

Max Goof was standing in front of his dorm, and he hadn’t changed in the slightest. He was wearing his signature red shirt, with its stained collar stretched and loose thread on the sleeves, daring to be tugged off. Bradley dropped his duffle bag, and the man snapped his gaze at him, surprised, “Oh. Uppercrust.”

“Goof,” Bradley said through clenched teeth, “I don’t suppose you’ve gotten lost, have you?”

“Can’t say I have,” Max ripped the paper off the door and handed it to him, “Take a look yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Bradley read the paper three times over, just to be clear. His name, written on the bottom in black typeface, all uppercase, just above the other; is Maximilian Goof. Maximilian Goof. Maximilian Goof.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Bradley barely managed.

“How do you think I feel?” Max scoffed, taking out his key to unlock the door. He had another earring, a second one on each side, just above each hoop, Bradley noted. So, not entirely the same.

He scrunched up the paper and shoved it into his pocket as the old door creaked open. Max found the switch after patting the wall a few times, and it flickered for a moment, before slowly lighting the room up in an ugly, yellow hue. Two twin-sized beds and two desks sat opposite each other, with an uncurtained window between them, overlooking the courtyard. The wooden floor was scratched with years of traction, and there was a single closet on their left, and a dresser to their right, to share.

Max shared the same grief Bradley did. Neither of them could conjure up a single word as they claimed their sides of the room, Bradley to the left, and Goof to the right.

Bradley tried to complain, he really did, to whoever would listen. However, he, among hundreds of other requests to swap, had been drowned out in a sea of bigger problems, and he was left unheard. He even considered calling his father at some point, the first time since he broke his flip phone crushing it on the halfpipe, and he hogged up the phone booth for at least twenty minutes before deciding to ditch his quarter because, for some reason, it felt like cheating (not that he was particularly against foul play, but he’d learnt his lesson the year prior when it came to certain individuals).

He found himself wandering across campus to the other dorms, especially where Tank found himself staying in a room on the ground floor with three other boys. His room was much larger, with freshly painted white walls and smooth, navy carpet, and the block was much less congested with students, but his frame barely fit on the bed and his feet hung off the edge.

Tank still hadn’t forgiven him completely after what had happened at the X games. He’d kept it under wraps, what Bradley had done, for the sake of not just them but the Gamma house in general, but the tension had been so obviously thick between them that it was bound to raise questions regardless. After all, Tank couldn’t stand to be in the same room as the guy. Bradley had no idea what to do, so he did what he did best and simply ignored it. When winter break approached, he couldn’t take it anymore and poured his heart and soul and bank account to get his right-hand man back like some desperate lover. It was only when Tank took pity on him after he was begging, on his hands and knees, to let him take him to New York, he decided to hear him out. Then they went to New York (his dad was not happy about that).

“You got it bad, sweetheart.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” The two were grabbing dinner at some diner down the street, courtesy of Bradley, of course. Tank was squeezed into the booth across from him, a cheeseburger falling apart in his hands.

“That is some serious bad karma,” Tank said with his mouth full, “But, you know, he ain’t that bad. Seen him a few times, around, here and there. He’s a nice guy, and I ain’t saying that ‘cause he saved my life,” Bradley cringed and sipped on his milkshake. Tank continued, “I mean, have you even tried to talk to the guy?”

“I’ve been staying at a hotel,” Bradley muttered, before quickly adding, “Just until things die down a bit. I can’t handle all those people at once all the time, brushing my shoulder or elbowing my back or screaming at two in the morning, you know how, uh… Particular I am.”

“High maintenance is the word you’re looking for.”

“That’s two words.”

Tank swallowed down a handful of fries, “But I can tell. You look fidgety.”

“I am,” Bradley nearly whined, “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Not used to not having people to boss you around?”

“I’m working on it,” Bradley said, “Boundaries are hard.”

“Well, you aren’t gonna fix your problems by sitting around in some suite, sweet- heart,” Tank shrugged, “You gotta face the fire at some point.”

“Maybe I’ll just drop out.”

“Maybe focus on not flunking another year, baby.”

It was the day before classes started that Bradley mustered up the courage to go back to his dorm. It was ten o'clock in the morning, an hour before he was supposed to check out. Almost every door had some kind of decoration, like a postcard, or a photo, or some stringlights, pinned to it. There was an open door at the end of the hallway, where the hums of a guitar fluttered into the hallway.

When Bradley opened the door, funnily enough, Max's old man was there too. The two were chatting, side by side, and Max stood exactly like him, his weight on one leg, arms crossed, smiling in a way that accentuated the gap in his two front teeth. The two were nearly identical. It was almost sweet. Charming.

“Goof. Goofy,” Bradley muttered his greeting, letting his bag fall off his shoulder.

“Now- Now what is he doing here?” Goofy demanded, though his severe lack of any authority in his voice made him sound almost comical. Bradley surely couldn’t take him seriously.

“He’s my, uh, roommate, dad,” Max answered, “At least, he’s supposed to be. I know that sounds crazy, one in a million chance, right?”

“Oh, well, who do I talk to to get this fixed?” Goofy demanded, stomping his foot.

“It’s fine, Dad, really,” Max said assuredly, “Really. It’s cool. There’s enough going on as it is. You were just leaving, yeah?”

“Gorsh, all right, then, but I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” Goofy pointed a steady finger at him with a glare as Max led him out of the room, "Max, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's not a big deal," The door closed with a light click. Outside, Bradley could see Max and Goofy arguing on the sidewalk. Goofy fumbled with the keys in his pocket, but he seemed better, a little more put together. He figured he finally got his life together. Bradley noticed Max had already decorated his side of the room with a poster of Powerline and a few pictures tacked on the wall of him and Goofy.

After about two minutes, Max kicked the door behind him, “You looked better with the black eye. It really brought out your smile.”

Bradley rolled his eyes, “Charming as ever.”

“It’s nice of you to finally show up. For a second there, I thought you might have killed yourself.”

“I considered it before coming here, actually,” Bradley snapped, “But, if I’m going to live here and not kill myself, we are going to need to set some ground rules.”

Max raised a brow, “Ground rules?”

“First of all, don’t talk to me,” Bradley started, “Don’t step onto my side of the room, don’t touch my stuff, don’t even look at my stuff. My clothes are going on the right side of the closet, and I don’t want to see a speck of your hair on my coats. Don’t look at me, don’t touch me, I don’t even exist, capiche?”

Max nearly laughed, “At least be a little reasonable, dude. Look, I don’t want to be here as much as the next guy. I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me. Deal?”

Classes started the next day. It was his second time taking the class, business models applications, on account of his failure last year. The worst part was that it was an easy class, almost too easy that he completely forgot he had to sit a final exam. He found himself falling asleep in the first lecture, and he didn’t bother showing up to the next one. In fact, he had wanted to bludge most of his classes, only really showing up to his ‘intro to the classics’ class because at least then he could nourish his brain with new information.

To add salt to the wound, everywhere he went on campus, Max Goof seemed to follow. And it was tense. And it was annoying. And it was unbearable.

Inside the dorm, Bradley could at least tolerate him and act civil. In the mornings, they both liked to brush their teeth after breakfast, so, side by side at the sink, they would try not to look at each other. Bradley always brushed his teeth for thirty seconds longer, and Max didn’t floss. They both liked to shower at night and would occasionally bump into one another, one coming out and the other going in. They both did laundry on Wednesday between classes because that’s when the least amount of people were there.

For a while, Bradley would bump Max’s shoulder as he walked by, roll his eyes, call him names, or even attempt to trip him down the stairs. After a while, though, the act got boring and he went back to pretending he didn’t exist. Until he did something, like touch his stuff. He didn’t like it when Max would touch his stuff, especially his books, which were placed in a very specific order at the end of his bed.

“Don’t touch my sh*t, Goof!” Bradley had cried, “This is my limited first edition, signed by Tartt herself, you don’t just touch it! Especially since I have no idea where those hands have been!”

“I just didn’t take you for the reading type,” Max said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Dude, I was just curious, sue me!”

Outside the dorm, however, drove him nuts. Max’s class were in the same building as his, they had the same core subjects, they went to the same lunch spots, they studied at the same seats in the library, even their seats in the dining hall faced each other. Despite how large the campus was, he saw his face or he heard his name or he saw his idiot friends. It was like Bradley had his own gravitational pull, and Max and whatever was associated with it was the constant object of attraction, circling him like the moon to the Earth.

There was a heavy and hard knock on the door.

It was the first time Bradley had glanced in Max’s direction in days, who was sitting at his desk, slipping the headphones over and off his ears. He had spent half an hour scribbling over his homework page that was titled ‘Calculus and Linear Algebra I’ and chewing on bubblegum. His desk was already a hideous mess to look at, with his pens scattered, medication bottles uncapped and underwear hanging off the corner. It made his skin crawl.

“You gonna get that?” Max asked.

Bradley dropped the sweater he was folding and scowled as he opened the door. The dorm attendant, a blonde cat with a sour face, stood with a hand on her hip, “Uppercrust. You got a call downstairs.”

It had been Tank, “Hey, we need your car.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“You still haven’t replaced it, sweetheart. I ain't your mother, why do I gotta keep reminding you?”

The best part about the Gammas was that they gave him excuses to get out of the house, and, to be completely honest, Bradley didn’t mind driving them places, despite his reluctance every time they asked. They’d been invited to a last-minute welcome party at the Alpha Alpha frat, and when they’d arrived, people were spilling out the front door. As designated driver, he couldn’t get as wasted as his buddies, who were taking shot after shot, but he could smoke a little and get laid in the back seat of his BMW. The chic was a brunette, and she was lanky and wore six-inch Louboutins. Her fingers roamed up his neck, long nails scratching his skin, and he kissed her neck...

On another note, Max was a snorer. Not those deep, guttural kinds old men had, but the soft, short kinds that made him sound like he was suffocating in his sleep. He was constantly waking up in the middle of the night when Goof would snort, and every night he wanted to put a pillow on his face and put an end to it.

“Oh, Bradley!” The chic beneath him moaned, gripping the seat, “Right there! Oh!”

His thrusts stuttered. Right, he was boning a chic in the back seat of his car. He finished quickly and sent her on her way while he sat on the hood and smoked another cigarette. Boning, Christ, did his brain really conjure that word up? That was something Max would say.

“How’s you and Goof?” Tank asked, sobering up in the front seat while the three others in the back hooted out the window.

His fingers tightened on the wheel, “I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

When he returned to his dorm, Max was slipping his shirt over his head, in his underwear, with his back to the door. Bradley hadn’t seen his body that bare before, usually indistinguishable under the layers he sports on a daily basis. He seemed shy about it, not that Bradley ever wanted to take a look anyway. But he was toned, and his shoulder blades squeezed together in surprise. He had a nice back when his posture wasn’t so slouched and covered in fabric that shirts that reached the bottom of his ass.

“Oh, sh*t, sorry,” Max spun around as he struggled to shove his head through the neck hole, “Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming-”

And he had a tattoo on his stomach that he was certain father Goof had no idea about. It was a teddy bear, but one of its eyes had an x over it. Weird

“I’ve seen naked people before, relax,” Bradley was too exhausted to tease him.

“Fun night?” Max asked.

“I don’t exist,” Bradley said, kicking his shoes off and collapsing on his mattress. His sheets smelt like tobacco and weed in the morning. He went out to buy a new flip phone that afternoon.

The heat was no longer sweltering, and he could begin to wear his longer button-ups and nicer dress pants again without drowning in his own sweat. It was nearing the end of September by then, which meant the next few days would be the last summery days before the leaves would begin to lose their colours and the nights got chillier. He’d have to go shopping for a new duvet.

He was in the library, sunken in his chair, reading Homer’s Iliad while the Gammas teased him from another table. When they started throwing paper balls at him, he packed his things and went to find an armchair to throw his legs over and rest the book on his chest, but nearly as soon as he’d gotten comfortable, a particular yelp pulled him out of his head. Across the room, sat Max with his friends, arguing over multiple books spread across the table. One of them, the fat one (Dj, was it?), was poking at a diagram, while the other, the weird one, buried his head in the pages. Max, himself, was chewing on the end of a pencil.

Bradley waltzed over. He wasn’t noticed as he peered over Max’s shoulder at his blank notebook. The only thing that was written was ‘Statistics????’ and a few broken formulas.

Bradley felt sorry for them, so he spoke without thinking it over, “You forgot to square.”

Max jumped, “Huh?”

He'd look stupid if he walked away, so Bradley pulled out the chair next to Max and invited himself to sit down, “To calculate the standard deviation, you have to put it into this formula,” He pointed at the textbook, “You take the difference between each value, assuming you already worked out the mean?”

Max wasn’t following, clearly, “Uh…”

“Oh-kay, let's say the mean is… twenty,” Bradley pulled Max’s open notebook towards him, clicked the pen on, and started to write out the formula, “So, you need to calculate the difference between the x values and mean, and square it, remember that, and then divide it all by n minus one.”

“N?”

“Yes, N , the number of values- have any of you clowns been paying attention?”

All three dorks shook their heads. The fat one sighed, “With the way the lecturer explains it, he may as well be speaking a whole different language.”

“Like, I’m totally fried sitting there, bro,” The ginger with the glasses said, “But I’m totally sober. Make it make sense.”

“It’s not that hard to understand,” Bradley said, “I learnt it in high school. It's not rocket science, people.”

“If you’re so smart, Brad, why did you need to repeat the year?” Max smirked.

“Ohhhh sh*t!” the weird one laughed with a snap of his fingers.

Bradley pursed his lips and stood up, defeated, tucking his book under his armpit, “Alright,”

“Wait, I didn’t mean that,” Max said quickly, suddenly regretful, “Come on, help us out.”

Bradley kicked the chair back under the table, “No, no, you’re right.”

“Brad, come on, sit down.”

Bradley was flipping them off, “It’s Brad- ley!”

Max chased after him out of the library and grabbed his arm, breathless, “Slow down, dude! Look, I’m sorry for that, but… Look, we really need help with this subject, it’s killing all three of us and so far no one but you has any idea what's going on. Can you do us a favour? Please?”

He glanced back inside the library, “I’m not going to tutor all of you.”

“Well, maybe could you just help me out a little? So I can understand and, you know, spread the word?” Max sounded almost desperate. It made his heart swell.

“Why should I, freshman?’

He wasn’t a freshman anymore, he knew that, but it slipped out anyway. Max sighed, “I know you hate my guts. But I don’t hate you, if that counts for something?”

“Okay. How about…” He paused, glancing up before an idea struck him, and he grinned, “A little wager?”

Max laughed, “Oh yeah?”

“Me and you, tonight at the skatepark. The audience can be the judge. You outdo me, I’ll help you pass.”

Max stepped forward, “Oh yeah? And if you, by a slim chance, beat me?”

“Smug, I like it,” Bradley thought for a moment, before meeting Max eye to eye again, “You can do my laundry for the rest of the semester. And bragging rights until death do us part. Deal?”

Dozens of people showed up, naturally. Like a mini College X competition, in the sh*tty but sentimental skatepark hidden away at the edge of campus, with cracks in the concrete and overwaxed rails and needles in the bushes, before it was replaced by the real deal besides the basketball courts. The Gammas had wanted to turn it into a big event, even though Bradley said not to, with ‘non’ alcoholic beverages and hot babes and a free barbecue.

The sun was setting when Max and his gang of clowns finally arrived, and a girl, too, from the poetry cafe. He was wearing a baggy, black hoodie over even baggier jeans, tied with a shoelace to keep them up, and vans sneakers. He looked like a friggin’ idiot, dressed like it was already winter when the nights were still warm, but the ladies couldn’t get enough of it. Bradley adjusted his vest over his belt and sculled the rest of his beer.

“Let’s go, broski's oh yeah, oh yeah!” The ginger, Bobby was his name, he'd found out, was rubbing Max’s shoulders as he slid on his elbow pads.

Bradley was clipping on his helmet when Tank leaned down, “Remember, Gammas play fair from now on. I see any funny business-“

“No cheating, I’ve turned a new leaf,” Bradley said, putting a hand on his heart, “Honest. I wouldn’t do that to you…” - A hard look from Tank - “…Again.”

It made sense, Bradley supposed, why Tank seemed so tense. He was still uneasy around fires, “Somehow, I have a hard time believing it.”

“Trust me, no foul play today. Besides, I can learn to lose a few times, it’s good for the soul or ego or whatever Ghandi said.”

Tank seemed genuinely taken aback, “Never thought I’d see the day the Bradley Uppercrust wants to lose.”

“Woah, don’t get ahead of yourself, bud, I never said that,” Bradley quickly replied, “I plan to win.”

The competitors met at the edge of the bowl for some quick back-and-forths to get them in the right mood, “You can back out now, Goof. No shame in it.”

“You think I’m gonna back down now, you got another thing coming,” Max scoffed, “I got plenty of tricks up my sleeve, Brad.”

Everyone was ushered off the court and made to stand around the edges as the street lights flickered on. A couple of kids had set up some camcorders strapped to their hands and were propped at the front of the groups. Boys whistled and girls giggled as Bradley warmed up, tic-tacking on some flat ground to get his bearings straight. A quick game of rock-paper-scissors determined that Bradley was to start.

Up the launcher, he heelflipped the board, before soaring down the flat rail with a board slide. Over a spine, he used the slope to gain some speed, and he rushed over to the quarter pipe and attempted a backside 540 aerial, with little success, only able to spin about halfway before landing. That didn’t deter the crowd, who roared with applause anyway. Without the flashing lights and fancy cameras and blimps and reporters, without the pressure, his knees felt bendier, his torso more flexible. He could feel his steady breaths sitting deep in his stomach, and with every trick he landed was rewarded with an exhale.

His hair was falling out of his helmet and into his eyes, but he didn’t even have to look. It felt natural to him, like a sixth sense, what to do and where to go next. Every time he stumbled, he gripped the nose of his board and kept going anyway, as if the crowd wasn’t even there. The air pressed against his cheeks as he soared down a five-step staircase, landed on some flat ground, and twisted 180 degrees down the next seven. It was routine to him, like a monologue he’d practised for years, and he tagged Max in with a pat on the shoulder.

Of course, Max didn’t have an issue with the McTwist and spun the 540 with ease. He followed a different routine, jumping up the handrail and balancing for a moment, before twisting off. He soared over a hip, before finding a curb and balancing on the back two wheels of his board. He attempted to flip off, but his foot missed the board and he slammed hard on his back. The crowd hissed as if they’d experienced the pain right along with him, even Bradley, biting into his thumb because he knew that hurt, but Max was on his feet and riding up the quarter pipe as if nothing happened.

They went like this for a few minutes, dropping in and out of the course when things got too fast. If he wasn’t competing, Bradley would have had to applaud Max for his ferocity. He was relentless, even after grazing his thighs and palms and knocking his head on the halfpipe. What Bradley had in precision, Max made up for in courage.

They moved on to the bowl, and Max dropped in right after him, and they soared past each other, hitting 360 after 360, hand dropping under their boards each time in sync. The audience scrambled over to peer into the bowl, and Bradley could feel the spray of beer on his back and the lens of a camera glimmer. Max was laughing somewhere behind him, and Bradley turned to see him high-fiving a pretty girl on his way down.

Bradley skidded on the side of the bowl while Max used his hand to spin himself around, and for a moment, Bradley had an open opportunity to cut him off. But then he heard Tank’s voice yelling over the crowd, saw the Gammas at the edge of the bowl looming over them, beers raised, and he steered towards the edge instead.

As Bradley finished off, he leapt up the edge and almost tumbled into the group of Gammas waiting for him on top. But Max wasn’t done, and as he followed suit, he instead landed on the board with his hands, before flipping it onto its nose, and slowly leveraged himself up into a one-handed handstand.

The street lamp fell on him like a spotlight, and his hoodie fell down, exposing his boxers and his stomach tattoo. It was the same trick he’d done to qualify last year, and the audience went wild. And Bradley felt like that wasn’t fair, because how come everyone else got to see his tattoo?

There was a clear winner, and when Bradley went to shove his way through the crowd, Tank grabbed his forearm.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t be a sore loser,” Tank laughed, “Give the kid some credit.”

“f*ck off,” Bradley spat, spinning on his heels and grabbing another beer. He watched as Max chatted to that same girl he high-fived in the bowl. She was short, with poofy hair and heavy eyeshadow and a purple miniskirt. Not his type, for sure. She ran her hand down his arm and she snickered as she slid a piece of paper into his pocket.

The rest of the night was spent drinking and smoking in the bowl until security came around nine thirty and everyone had to scatter. The Gammas bid their goodbyes and went their separate ways, and Bradley had the luxury of peaceful solitude skating back to the dorm. The echoes of the crowd echoed in his ears like a song, and even if he lost, he still felt oddly elated. His breath was steady. He felt weirdly calm.It was probably the liquor taking control.

That was until the distant shouts of his name came inching closer. He sighed as Max pulled up next to him.

“So?” Max asked, hands in his pockets, “You got anything to say?”

“f*ck off.”

“Come on,” Max did a few tic-tacs, inching closer, “You owe me something.”

“You’re a one-trick pony,” Bradley replied.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Max shrugged lazily with one shoulder, “What was that last part about the wager… something about, uh, bragging rights, was it?”

His eye twitched, “Sure, Goof.”

“I’ll save it for later,” Max winked, “But, uh, you’re taking the loss oddly well, and I'm a little concerned.”

“I’ve lost to you before, haven’t I?”

“I guess," Max was looking at him, trying to read him. He was leaning forward, his dark eyes scanning over his features, and Bradley, for a moment, couldn’t look away. He had long eyelashes and a scar on his chin, and his lips were chapped. He teased, grinning,“You’ve had some exposure therapy then, huh?”

Why was Bradley looking at his lips?

But then, Max rushed forward and stopped in front of him, cutting him off at a fork in the road, “You’re a tough competitor, I’ll give you that.”

Max was holding out his hand. Bradley cleared his throat, and shook it, “I suppose I owe you my congratulations, Goof.”

Max laughed. He sounded relieved, “Why thank you.”

The clowns were down the street on the left of the fork, waving Max to join them. Bradley supposed he’d have the dorm to himself that night, but he didn’t get to ask before Max pulled his hand away.

“Meet me in the library tomorrow at noon,” Max said, “And not a minute later, Brad.”

Bradley watched him coast down the street and disappear around a corner. He clenched and unclenched his fist, and skated home.