The guy who broke the record for LONGEST TIME BREATH HELD VOLUNTARILY secured his victory in twenty-four minutes.
The guy that broke the record for LONGEST MARATHON ON A ROLLER COASTER rode that thing for over four hundred hours.
I’ve set two of my own records recently: the longest time without talking to Jesse and the longest time without an attempt to break a world record. Both have been seven days. I consider breaking that not-talking-to-Jesse streak just so he and I can both be shocked that I am willingly going to Brandon’s house today.
After school, I meet Brandon by the flagpole to wait for his brother to pick us up. “Benjamin had to bail,” he says.
I nod and fiddle with my jacket zipper.
Brandon checks his watch and his phone a bunch. Finally, he says, “There he is.” A green Jeep pulls up in front of us. “Come on.”
I follow him. He climbs in the front, and I get in the back.
The driver, Brandon’s brother, nods at me. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I reply, amazed I can sound so dumb with a single word.
The car starts pulling forward when Brandon says, “This is Hunter.”
“Cool,” I say. Hunter almost makes Brandon look scrawny.
“Who are you?” Hunter asks. He glances in the rearview mirror and pulls out of the school’s drive.
“I’m Milo.”
Hunter stops in the middle of the street. A car behind us blares its horn for a solid three seconds before swerving around.
Brandon hits his brother on the shoulder. “What are you doing, Hunter? Go!”
Hunter starts driving again and adjusts the rearview mirror to look at me. “Why is this guy in my car?”
“Because he is,” Brandon answers.
“I can walk home,” I say. “Just pull over and I’ll get out.”
“No,” Brandon says. “It’s fine. We’re cool now.”
Hunter laughs. “You’re cool now? Didn’t you just get detention because of him? Geez, Brandon.” He shakes his head. “You’re such a wimp.”
“What’s he talking about?” I ask Brandon.
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh. Are you taking him home so you can beat him up with no witnesses?” Hunter hits Brandon on the back. “Good thinking.”
Every muscle in my body tenses. “What?”
Brandon shakes his head. “Don’t listen to him.” He hits his brother again. “Shut up, Hunter.”
We turn down an alley, and Hunter pulls into the driveway of a huge white-brick house. There are four separate garage doors. The last garage door opens, and he drives through.
Once the door closes behind us, Hunter turns in his seat. He looks at me and then at Brandon. “So, you want help?”
“Whatever,” Hunter says as he gets out of the car and slams the door.
“Come on,” Brandon says.
I hesitate. “You sure?”
“Since when have you been afraid of me? Let’s go.” I leave the safety of the Jeep and follow Brandon inside. After a hallway where we leave our shoes, we walk through the living room. It’s massive. The floors are dark wood; the couch and chairs are all smooth, tan leather. There is not a single item on any of the side tables. The room has the same don’t-touch feeling as a museum. Everything is so perfect. So clean. And so not like my house.
Brandon goes straight up the stairs. I don’t touch the rails—they are made from a solid piece of perfect glass. I don’t want to leave fingerprints. Or maybe I should leave evidence that I was here.
The second story of Brandon’s house feels more lived in. There’s a big open area. Here the carpet is worn, the built-in shelves are stuffed with games, and the TV—along with, like, every video game system in existence—is hung above a tangle of cords.
The Ping-Pong table stands in the center of the room. Brandon grabs a paddle from the top and hands it to me.
“When you chill out enough to move your arms again,” Brandon says, “I’ll serve.”
I set my paddle on the table and shrug off my backpack.
“Your house is… nice.”
“It’s my parents’ house. I just live here.”
“Got it,” I say. “Also, your brother hates me.”
Brandon nods. “He does. But it’s sweet how I know he cares about me.” He lines up in front of the table and serves the ball.
I grab my paddle just in time to hit it back.
“Are you going to, you know, explain any more?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Don’t think I will.”
We volley two more times before he misses.
He bounces the ball to me. I serve, and he misses again. Then he serves. I hit it back and get another point.
“You’re pretty good at this,” he says.
“You’re not.”
We rally a few more times, and right when the winning point is supposed to be mine, Brandon catches the ball in his hand. “Look, don’t worry about Hunter.”
“What does he even mean that you just got detention because of me?”
“He picks me up after school, so I had to tell him why I’d be late. I told him it was because you tattled on me.” Brandon makes air quotes with his fingers when he says “tattled.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t tell him I told on myself. He wouldn’t understand.”
This is still not making any sense. “What are you talking about?”
He shrugs. “I was in detention because I confessed that I messed with your presentation.”
I shake my head. “Wait. Why would you do that?”
“Because I was just messing around. Getting you back after the thing in math.”
“No, I mean, why would you turn yourself in?”
“Because I didn’t know you’d go caveman and get in trouble.” He shrugs. “I sort of thought you’d roll with it. You always find a way to win against me, after all. Sort of what makes you an effective bully.”
“Um. What? I have never bullied you.”
“Um. Yes, you have. Since, like, the second grade.”
“That is so not true. I was never the bully. We had a mutual dislike.”
Brandon shrugs. “Eventually. But at first, it was all you. And, like I said, you always win.”
That’s not how it happened. He’s changing the story.
Or maybe he’s not. I’ve been wrong about everything else lately. Could I be wrong about this too?
“I thought I was doing the right thing. Jesse needed me to have his back.”
“I know.”
“Can I ask a question though? Why did you take the ring? I mean the kid’s dad had just died.”
Brandon pushes his hand through his hair. “So that I could forever be defined by something I did in second grade.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know. But I wasn’t thinking like that. I was jealous, I guess. My dad was gone, and my mom was too. They worked all the time. But Jesse got all the attention, and that day, he got to have the ring too. So when mine broke, I took his. Stupid little-kid logic. I wish I never did it.” Brandon picks his paddle up. “Can we play now or what?”
“Yeah,” I say. I’m about to serve when I stop. “Hey, Brandon?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You know what I like about you, Record Breaker? Right or wrong, you go all in. Now, let’s play until I beat you.”