Friction

Chapter 4

Right around his twelfth birthday, Max's mom saved up enough to buy him the Jordan 1's he had been obsessing over for the past year. She found them used on Craigslist, but they were in excellent condition. Nicknamed "Old Love" upon release, Max thought the genuine leather upper in white, black, and varsity red looked dope as hell. They were his first pair of sneakers that hadn't come from Goodwill or a clearance rack, and, even though football took up most of his time these days, he was actually a bigger fan of basketball.

Michael Jordan had been his childhood hero ever since he stumbled on a few YouTube clips of the '98 NBA Finals. The way #23 moved was amazing to watch, but what really impressed Max was how MJ managed to bottle the appeal of his god-like ability on the court and share it with the masses. His Airness had been way ahead of his times back in the 80's, and he was still making millions from his sneaker empire. Max idolized MJ's skills as a player and his business savvy as a man.

That weekend, Max stayed up until 2:00 am practicing free throws and layups to break in his new Jordans. Those four hours on his driveway slipped away like four minutes.

At the start of sixth grade, Max felt very unlike his old self. He was getting good grades and staying out of trouble. His classmates were inviting him to parties, and he even got his first kiss from Hailey Lawrence at the school dance on Valentine's Day. Overall, the school year was going well. Life was somewhat comfortable. Almost easy. Max chilled with Lexi during his downtime and cruised through the rest of the semester.

The universe stayed on Max's side until he entered the seventh grade. He was no longer a child, and adolescence tended to be a hard-hitting mofo. Max tried out for his middle school football team and became the only thirteen-year-old to make the cut that season. During hell week, he broke four school records and outperformed every single eighth-grader in record-high 90-degree temperatures. The older boys took notice, and they weren't happy about it.

When the team won their first game of the season, Coach Laster praised Max as "the wunderkind" who would take them to regionals that year. In doing so, Coach might as well have slapped a giant target on Max's back. It didn't take long for his teammates to strike at him. The worst of the lot was led by a fifteen-year-old named Ryan Dugger. He was the starting quarterback, his family owned one of the largest wineries in Temecula, and, judging from his size alone, Ryan could've easily taken on their entire offensive line without breaking a sweat.

One Tuesday evening, practice ran late. Coach needed to head out right after they cleared the field. It was the opportunity the guys had been waiting for. Without any adults around, Ryan sauntered into the locker room like the alpha of his pack. He abruptly burst into song and dance at the top of his lungs, nailing every note and hip thrust from the new "Single Ladies" video. The other boys howled in delight as he sashayed his way towards Max and then proceeded to ram all 160-pounds of himself into their newest teammate.

Max crashed headfirst into a large metal trash can.

Ryan's smile was all teeth when he turned to the other players and said, "You smell that? Seventh-grade garbage."

Everyone, except Max, started cackling like hyenas.

Salvador Ruiz hollered, "Thanks for taking out the trash, Big D!"

Max picked himself up and turned to Ryan with a glare. "What the hell, man?"

"Sorry about that, Weiser," Ryan shrugged without an ounce of remorse, "you know how it is with Queen Bey, sometimes my body just can't say 'no' to her sweet, sweet dance moves..."

Max flipped him off.

"Chill, bro, it was a joke."

"Do I look like I'm laughing?"

Cruz Everett piped up, "Naw, ese, you look like you got a stick up your butthole!"

Max glanced over. "At least I don't limp around like a seventy-year-old with asthma."

Cruz scowled. "Say that again, pendejo?"

"If you moved any slower during sprints, then you'd be running backward, fatass."

Cruz lunged at Max. Ryan held Cruz back and sighed as though he was trying to keep the peace. Ryan taunted Max, "Dude, why you always gotta be so mean and take the fun out of everything?"

Max clenched his jaw. "Because somebody's gotta take this shit seriously! You're too busy in here shaking your ass instead of executing plays out there!"

RJ Fletcher yelled out, "Shots fired!"

Salvador made a clawing motion with his hand. "Ooh! Kitty has claws."

Ryan narrowed his eyes. "What you trying to say, Weiser? Think you'd make a better QB than me?"

Max looked him dead in the eye. "Yeah, pretty much."

Ryan growled, "Get outta my face before I rearrange yours."

Max shoved Ryan. Hard.

Ryan immediately pushed back. Harder.

As Max slammed into the lockers, the bigger boy's white-knuckled fists looked seconds away from pummeling him into oblivion. The rest of the team started egging Ryan on, and a few of them even started cracking their knuckles to join in.

Max had been seeing red. Not any more. Now, his adrenaline thudded with fear. He was outnumbered. Coach was gone. Max was beginning to realize how he fucked himself over with all that bravado. It took every ounce of strength to swallow his pride, but walking away suddenly seemed to be a better alternative than taking a beat down from the entire team.

He eyed the exit in defeat. "You guys are fucking assholes."

The roar of the entire team's laughter followed Max out the door as he tried to get as far away from them as possible.

As the season dragged on, his teammates continued to mess with him. Tensions only intensified when Coach switched Ryan out and put Max in as starting QB. Ryan and his buddies, Shane Klausing and Shane Moenigg, broke into Max's gym locker while he was showering one day and poured rotten milk over everything he owned. They ruined his backpack, textbooks, phone, football gear, and—

His prized Jordans.

That evening, Max rode home on his skateboard, barefoot, with his ruined Jordans in a plastic bag. Once Max arrived home, he tried to scrub them clean with every kind of soap and detergent, but the rancid stench lingered on. A week later, he decided to toss them. His eyes stung, and his cheeks grew wet as he shut the lid to the garbage bin.

When his mom asked about the Jordans a few weeks later, Max lied and told her that he lost them during a stupid bet at a friend's party. She grounded him for a month. Only Lexi knew the truth about what really happened to his beloved sneakers.

Back at school, both of the Shanes would take turns tripping him in the hallway and knocking him into lockers, trash cans, walls, and any type of hard surface, really, that might cause bodily harm.

In between drills, Dominic Blonquist would cough into his elbow, "Acting like a prick won't make your prick any bigger, Weiser!"

During every huddle, Ryan would whisper-chant "choke, choke, choke" into his ear.

Coach seemed oblivious to everything except maintaining their undefeated record.

Max tried to convince himself that he didn't need to be friends with his teammates as long as those W's kept coming on Friday nights. However, once his friends in seventh grade found out that Ryan was out for blood, one by one, they became too busy to hang out or even wave back when he said "hi."

Max was devastated, but he refused to let it show, and, despite his attempt to ignore all the bullshit, Ryan and the others had already wormed their way inside his head like smack-talking maggots. His pride kept him from quitting the team, but the anxiety of being around guys who hated his guts practically every day for hours on end was eating him alive. Sometimes, his nerves were wound so tight that it made him want to throw up.

Thank God he still had Lexi. She became the only person he trusted with his most depressing thoughts over the next few years of hell.