My portable phone begins to ring on my bedside table, the vibrations almost sending it to the ground. I set my skateboarding magazine aside and pick it up boredly, pressing the answer button.

"Hello?"

"Hiya, Maxie!" My dad's voice blares through the phone, hurting my ears.

I groan, holding my head. "Dad, how many times do I have to tell you to answer the phone like a normal person?"

"Sorry about that, son! I just wanted to remind you about your big birthday dinner." His cheerful tone makes him sound almost maniacal.

"I told you we don't have to do anything..." I mutter, trailing off because I know he's just going to ignore me.

He pauses for a moment before yelling into the phone again. "Maxie, birthdays are important! I just want you to be happy, that's all. I want the best for my boy."

I sigh, knowing that I morally should do whatever he wants for my "special" day. As a child, my dad never had big birthday parties or any sort of material celebration because his family was basically penniless. They were immigrants from who came to America from Mexico to aid in the Vietnam War for the future promise of a pension. I remember him recounting his birthdays as "not surrounded with gifts but surrounded with love". Since then, I've understood his efforts to shower me with gifts and invite me on celebratory fishing trips.

"I'll be there," I say distractedly, rubbing my eyes.

I can practically hear him smile through the speaker. "Bien! I'll see you this Friday, son. Love you!"

Before I can answer, he hangs up the phone, most likely to go do some party planning. I run a hand through my hair in exasperation. I like birthdays as much as the next guy, but he tends to go all out when I just want a small celebration.

The bells of the courtyard toll, the haunting sound echoing off the sides of the buildings. Remembering my skating plans with PJ and Bobby, I hastily hop off of my messy bed and head to the exit of my dorm, grabbing my skateboard and my jacket on the way out.

As I enter the outside world, I notice Tank and his crew surrounding something in the distance. They loom ominously, and the fresh smell of rain in the air makes the whole situation a little more sinister. Tank cocks his head to the side, seemingly talking to someone in front of him.

Wouldn't hurt to say hi, right?

I walk over to them with a small smile, clutching my skateboard against myself tightly. When their figures grow closer, I can spot a person in front of them, whose voice starts to sound a bit familiar. I stand behind them, tapping Tank on the shoulder. He turns around, his surly face shifting to a more comfortable one.

"Yeah?" he says boredly, practically bouncing as if he didn't have much time.

"I saw you guys and wanted to say hi, so... hi." I give them an awkward smile, not used to exchanging pleasantries with them yet.

His face seems to relax a bit more. "Hi. We're... kind of busy right now, though. Talk later, okay?"

There's a grunt behind him... a sound of pain or exertion from either party, I'm not sure.

"What's going on?" I ask, attempting to peek around Tank's abnormally built body.

He pushes me back gently, a firm expression set on his face. "Gamma business."

"Who's behind you?"

"Leave it."

"This sounds serious. Maybe I should get security-"

Tank grabs my arm as I turn to leave, his hand wrapped around it in a vice-like grip. He scowls at me and keeps me firmly planted in my spot. 

"Don't interfere unless you want to end up like Bradley here," he says sharply before pushing me away from the group. I land in the soggy grass, my hands and the knees of my pants soaked with muddy water.

Wait... Bradley? Is that who they're talking to... or rather, beating him up?

I turn to get a better look, but they're gone, having disappeared into the mist of the Sunday morning.

Strange.

Shrugging it off, I head in the direction of my friends' meeting spot. PJ is struggling to tie his skates- he never learned- and Bobby is leaned against a wall with a terribly smelling blunt. I swat it out of his hand, to which he lets out an inane whine of protest.

"We saw you over there with the Gammas," PJ says, his voice muffled as he tries to untie a mistaken knot.

"Looked serious," Bobby adds with a hint of concern in his voice. He was definitely high- he never noticed anything sober.

I play with my lip rings anxiously. "Apparently some 'Gamma business'. They were with Bradley, but I'm not sure what the hell they were doing with him, especially since Tank told him never to associate himself with Gamma Mu Mu again."

"That's odd..." PJ mutters, trailing off.

I lean down to help him tie his leather skates, getting tired of seeing him grapple with the laces. "Anyway, it's none of our business. Wouldn't want to get caught in something weird, yeah?"

I finish knotting up the skates and grab my skateboard, signaling to them that I'm ready to go. Bobby pushes off from the wall on his rollerblades, and PJ follows close behind him. At least I have something to distract myself from the eerie gut feeling I got from my previous interaction.

~*~*~

The next day goes by rather slowly, the lectures I attend seemingly more boring than usual. Of course, that's expected of a Monday because... well, it's a Monday. I wave my mechanical pencil back and forth in circular motions- it's all I can do to not drop right there on the spot and snooze. Peering down the rows of fixed upholstered seating, I immediately identify Bradley from the back of his usual magenta sweater. 

He sits still as a statue, lifeless and blank. Could it be from his anomalous interaction with the members of the Gamma Mu Mu house? Perhaps he's just exhausted from little to no sleep, and perhaps it is true that he stays in his Porche in the dorm parking lot.

What're you thinking, Goof? They're just rumors made up by the people who've gotten stung by Bradley in the past.

After a grueling hour of listening to the professor drone on, the lecture ends on its usual tedious note. I trudge over to Bradley, who seems to be in his own little world. He stares ahead blankly, and I'm not sure if he's even aware that the class ended. A bruise on his left cheek is almost mocking of his social status as of current.

"Hey," I say a little louder than intended.

He jumps and gives me a startled expression. "Geez, don't sneak up on someone like that."

I gesture around the empty lecture room. "Our last lecture of the day is over."

"So?" Bradley asks harshly as he stands up from his seat.

I follow him to the door like a lost puppy. "Remember we have part two of our lessons?"

He stops in the doorway, almost causing me to crash into him. "Oh, right. Well... let me just take care of something first. I'll meet you where we met last time."

Shortly after his departure, I make my way to the pavilion, suddenly feeling a bit more energized. I don't know why, but I'm not going to question it because this is better than I've felt all day- a little better than "meh".

Bradley appears very shortly, evidently grouchier than before. I give him a questioning look, to which he fixes his face into a neutral emotion.

"Our next lesson is being thoughtful," I begin, resting against a pillar and crossing my arms.

"I don't need brain lessons, Goof." He mimics my crossed arms and shifts his weight to one foot in annoyance. "I know how to think."

I laugh a little at his childish attitude. "Obviously."

He raises a brow at this, stepping closer to me in a warning way. "I'm the best student in class and had to get up there somehow, so don't think for a moment that I will not smite you."

"Smite me?"

Bradley sniffs and turns his head to the side. "Yes. Smite. It's a perfectly normal word, and I don't need you to infect my brain with your tasteless vocabulary."

I scowl at him, not knowing whether to be amused or annoyed. "Look, man. All I'm trying to do is get you to be a little more considerate. You should be glad I'm doing it for free."

There's a brief pause before Bradley speaks again. "Fine, teach me to be consolidating or whatever that word is that you just said."

I push myself off the pillar and begin to walk in a pensive circle. His dark brown eyes follow me in a curious and impatient manner. I stumble a little, pain shooting through my knee, and I decide to sit at the gingham picnic table in the center of the pavilion. Bradley steps forward for a moment then leans back, as if he was debating whether or not to help me.

"I'm fine," I mutter, rubbing my aching knee.

He looks down for a second. "Not that I cared anyway."

I clear my throat to continue the lesson. "Moving on, the key to being thoughtful toward others is listening to what they want first."

Glancing around the courtyard, I try to find the person who volunteered to help us today.

"Already here," a soft voice rings out from behind me.

I turn around with an excited smile. "Roxanne, I didn't think you'd show up."

Roxanne beams back, taking my hand in hers. "Of course I would. I can't leave one of my old friends hanging."