Bro Wars VI: Return of the Dead-Eye

I throw myself towards the source of the screams.

Forgetting, naturally, that a fourth of a mile is a lot further away on foot than by car, I’m heaving and shaking and wincing at my ankle as I approach the crowd. With elbows and knees alike, I shove my way through the gawking pretty people. After fighting my way through the melee blocking the front lines of the accident, I bear witness to the strangest sight:

Brian’s big black truck stuck vertically into the pool like a shiv.

It had run straight through the glass walls of the pool chamber, finding itself at rest with its front bumper touching the bottom of the deep end. Given its sheer size, though, the cabin and entire rear two-thirds jut out of the water like the Titanic just before it snapped in half. Shattered glass and twisted iron frames litter the poolside and water alike. A gaggle of petrified freshmen float on their backs in the water, blinking aimlessly as if they’d met god.

And there, bobbing face down amidst them, is Brian.

The tail end of my scream shreds my throat:

“B-dog!”

I throw myself into the water, only to end up sputtering and kicking from the shock of it all. The chlorine stings my salty, tear-stained eyes. My nerves return to me, paralyzing my legs. My head goes under. At least this near-death isn’t as meaningless as the last, I think.

And I find myself thrust above the surface. I gasp, and not just because I’m pretty sure I haven’t drawn breath for the last half-minute.

“Bro!”

The light returns to my eyes like sun-blindness, and suddenly Brian’s holding me up above the waves like a newborn lion cub. His red afro clings around his head and shoulders like a water-logged carpet, and that big, dumb mouth is twisted in concern.

“Bro, are you okay?!” he screams.

I shake my head clear of the ringing, and nod.

“Bro!” he repeats, and presses me into a hug.

I cough out some water and mutter, “Guess that means you’re all right, then?”

“Yeah bro,” he says, before turning me in the direction of his sunken chariot. “Lookit, that was wicked!”

I think to mention the destruction of his prized truck. But the poolside is drowned in the adoring cheers of our peers. The swim team had rescued the mortified, yet unscathed gaggle of freshmen from the pool and were now receiving the praise and phone numbers of every girl present. Besides, judging by the goofy, joyous grin he’s giving me, Brian doesn’t seem to be half as concerned about his truck as he is about me.

I sigh. “Yeah. That was really something.”

“Do you think it worked, bro?”

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see all six-foot-six of Drake’s shaking form shuffle up behind the rest of the crowd. His body hangs from his sunken head like a kitten in its mom’s mouth. And not a soul is paying him any mind.

“Yeah-” I start, before I’m cut off by a chill down my spine.

Because, standing hands on hips, and staring at me from across the pool, is one absolutely livid Anne-Marie.

I wave to her, casually.

Must have been all too casually, though, given the way her forehead grows two shades redder. I hear Brian gulp nervously behind me. And he throws me to the wolves by throwing me onto the poolside. Weighed down by an extra twenty pounds of water and thrice that in anticipation, I scramble to my feet. She grabs me by the arm, and my heart skips a beat.

But I am not being dragged to the church kitchenette to make out. The pool supply closet door slams shut behind us. Her blue eyes practically glow in the dim dark.

“That’s it. You’re going to tell me what the hell is going on!”

“Nothing,” I reply, curling into my shoulders. “We were just horsing around.”

Anne-Marie jabs her finger into the wood-swords bruise on my forearm, and I howl like a kicked puppy. Tears force their way out from the fading corners of my eyes, and I moan:

“Alright, alright! Me and Brian were trying to make the jocks chill out!”

“By almost dying?!” She yells.

“Yes! No!”

I try to jump well away from poking distance from her, only to wind up collapsing into a box of cleaning spray bottles that jab me in all the wrong places. She stands over me in a way that means the only way out of my discomfort is through her. So I plead:

“We weren’t actually going to do anything stupid, I swear!”

Anne-Marie’s lips are peeled back in rage. “I’d say crashing a truck into a swimming pool is pretty damn stupid. What if you got hurt, idiot?!”

I have no response. Because she is correct. Except my dumbass mouth moves on its own:

“So what if I got hurt?”

She scoffs. And steps back. “Are you serious?”

I bite my lip and blurt out, “Sorry. The idiot part of me took over for a second.”

But Anne-Marie is already slamming the door behind her on her way out.

“I’d say it’s been in charge for the entire evening!” is the last thing I hear her say.

Naturally, I leap out of the supply closet after her—but there’s no hope of me catching up to a competitive soccer player on foot. I lose track of Anne-Marie when she leaves the double doors swinging by the pool exit, where I bump straight into the cavern between Moe’s gleaming-wet pecs.

“Girl problems?” he asks, flatly.

I push myself off of him to reply, only for the double doors to come swinging in the other direction. Who else comes walking in but Trissie, still touching up a faceful of smudged mascara as she says:

“I was gonna ask what’d I miss, but I’m guessing there’s going to be a public execution?”

“Girl problems,” Moe repeats, turning to her with a glib smile.

Trissie nods to him, then to me. “You might want to un-piss her off real soon, buddy. Unless you want a repeat of the day you met.”

“I’m trying, okay?” My voice is strained. “What the hell do I say when I’ve fucked up real bad?”

“Well,” Trissie says, popping her lips to finalize her makeup. “If I was your girlfriend, and trust me, I’d sooner have been in Brian’s back seat with no belt, I’d probably want an apology.”

Moe crosses his massive arms. “I don’t think that’s gonna cut it.”

“Okay,” Trissie replies, rolling her eyes. “Obviously you start with an apology.”

“And the follow-up?” I ask.

“She’s your girlfriend, dude,” Trissie says.

“But you guys are like, girlfriends. Can’t you help?”

She shrugs. “I guess I’d recommend for you to open by groveling.”

“Plan A, then. What’s next?”

“Come correct,” Moe says, “And throw in some sincerity while you’re at it.”

“Okay, I’ll drop the wise guy act. Then what?”

“What?” Trissie asks, raising an incredulous brow. “Don’t tell me this is your first lover’s quarrel.”

“Of my first relationship,” I reply, through grit teeth to her amusement. “Now stop sassing and start suggesting.”

“It might take more than just a ‘sorry’,” Moe says. “You’re going to need to commit to a change in behavior.”

“What behavior?” I ask, then lean in to whisper. “This whole crazy incident was a one-off thing, I swear to christ!”

“Then you’ll need to make a gesture of some kind,” Trissie says.

Moe nods along. “Yeah, something that says, ‘I care about you enough not to fuck up like a dumb, reckless, moronic idiot again.’”

“Okay, okay,” I say, “I get it. But that’s not a bad idea, now that you mention it. Only question is what could a dunce like me even offer a girl like her? I’m surprised she’s even stuck around me for this long.”

“Well,” Trissie says, thinking with a finger to her lip. “If you don’t have anything better to give her, then why don’t you just give her the one thing you know she can tolerate for a fact?”

“And what’s that?”

“It’s you,” Moe says, pinching his brow. “You’ve got to pull your game together, man.”

“She is sorta mad that I almost coulda died. I guess…”

“Well there ya go,” Trissie says. “God you two are corny for being only a couple months in.”

“Hey now,” Moe says, raising a palm, “Don’t knock falling in love till you try it.”

“What do you know about love, beef-for-brains?”

For a second, I think that the two of them are going to start clawing at each other like cats. But Moe laughs the insult off, and then so does she. And when the chuckles and tension alike subside, he looks off towards the poolside and replies:

“I know a little bit. Enough to know how bad it can hurt, at least.”

“So what do you do when it hurts?” I ask. “Is it better to just let go sometimes?”

He shakes his head. “You hold on for as long as it gives you light, for as long as it makes you feel warm.”

I knew the guy was smart, but I actually have to stop and think a little when he says that. And, as I’m deep in the muck and shit inside my skull, someone shuffles by us. I only recognize the hulking form to be Drake by that obnoxious broccoli perm when he’s already on the other side of the double doors. I feel a little bad as he skulks off down the long hall. 

Is there such a thing as a plan working too well?

“Enough moping.” My attention is drawn back to Moe, whose voice rings with inspirational power. “It’s time to get out there and get it right. Ten-hutt!”

“And where do you think you’re going?” Trissie asks.

“I have my own business to get right,” Moe replies, before jogging off through the double doors.

Trissie shrugs, and turns to me. “Get ‘em, tiger. But don’t say I didn’t warn you about the claws.”

I throw her a middle finger, whisper, “Thanks,” and bolt out of the pool chamber at maximum velocity.