Dared to Love

1. Maxwell

Maxwell

“You have been in my office seventeen times this semester. That doesn't include all the other summons you have received this year," Randall Levine chastised.

Dean of the school, and unfortunately, my father. It's the only reason I haven't been kicked to the curb and banished from this university.

His hair is black and white in a way that makes me think of TV static. Wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead, aging him. It makes me chuckle because it's probably my fault he looks five years older than he is.

He doesn't look angry, but disappointed. Maybe even a little exhausted. Tired of the games I play, but it’s in my nature.

I love the adrenaline. That boost of serotonin I get when I'm doing something I shouldn't be doing.

Much like the reason I am sitting in his office being scolded.

“It’s not a big deal,” I shrug my shoulders.

“You set off a firework and held a banner that said Randall Levine is a douchebag, aka my father,” Dad says. I snort because hearing it back is hilarious. His eyes close tighter, narrowing into me and showing frustration at my laughter.

“Look, it's the gig. I'm the kid who lives through dares. I’m an adrenaline junkie. Lucky it ain't drugs, pops,” I retort.

Really, I could be shooting up heroin, but instead I do dumb shit like this.

Or like writing with red food color mixed with corn syrup along the walls “I’m going to kill you.”

Or running around campus naked singing Bad Boys.

Or… well, you get it. There isn't much I won't do. I am sure there is a line I won't cross, but I haven’t found it yet.

“You’re making me look bad,” Dad growls, impatience running through him.

“Get rid of me,” I clip back. He shakes his head.

“Just get out of my face.”

“Another point for Max, a whopping zero for Mr. Levine,” I jest. His eyebrows furrow and I laugh manically as I walk out of his office.

Whenever he kicks me out of his office, he always calls mom.

It's like a ritual at this point. I stand and wait outside the door to listen in on their conversation.

It's always one sided, and I can never hear mom, but usually it's the same shit over and over again.

Randall going on about how he can't give me the boot, that it's a bad image, and political shit I don’t care about.

Leaning against the frame, I listen, but it's not like always. It's secrets and pain and an ache growing in my chest at the words I hear because maybe this is it. I'm running out of chances.

“I don't know what to do, Mags. Maxwell keeps causing trouble. The school board is threatening to demote me if I don't get him to stop fucking around.” He sounds debilitated. Out of will. Out of the fight it takes to control me because he never could.

This time is different too because I hear mom. She must be on speaker phone.

“He has always been this way, even in high-school. Maybe it's not him but us. I think we failed him, honey.” Sadness. It's all I can hear.

There's a feeling in my chest, one that has never been there before, and I don't know how to name it. I want to open the door, apologize to my mom for ever making her think that she failed. It was never her fault. Always dad’s.

Everything I do is to make him angry and push him away.

Never stopped to think of the consequences for everyone else.

As long as Randall Levine was pissed off, it was enough for me.

He was never a bad guy; just never meant to be a father.

Randall knew how to love my mom, do his job, and those he did in spades.

When it came time to love me? It was a failure.

I never made it easy. Always being the troublesome kid.

The one who pushed and pushed until everyone around me snapped and help wasn’t offered until it was too late.

It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I found a sense of comfort in causing chaos. Dad tried to raise me to be a smart kid, and wanted me to follow in his footsteps. To be someone who could be on top, take charge, and make the rules how I saw fit, but it didn’t land.

Mom always let me be me and loved me for it anyway.

Maybe she let me be too much, though.

“Was your dad pissed?” Maverick, my best friend, asks while puffing on a joint.

The smoke seeping out before he lets go, the air thick with that skunky smell.

We are hanging out in the woods at the back of campus.

It’s our special spot and we have even dragged a couch and chairs out here.

A dinged up coffee table, too. It’s a public spot, sure, but everyone else knows it’s ours. They know not to fuck around our space.

I shake my head, telling him about the part of the conversation I overheard.

I want to feel bad, but it’s like I’ve conditioned myself to not give a shit. Will it stop me from doing these stupid ass dares? No. Should it? Yes.

The unfamiliar feeling that I felt in my chest, I want to say it was guilt, but it didn’t last long enough to make a permit residence. It was gone almost as fast as it came.

“You’ll really do anything, huh?” Dax, another good friend of mine, chuckles and rips the marijuana from Mav’s hand.

Leaning back on the couch, resting my arms against the back, spread out and feigning indifference, I shrug a little. “You guys have yet to give me something I won’t do. My morals are a little low.”

“Alright tough guy,” Mav says, leaning forward, bracing his elbows against his knees. His eyes are sharp, golden brown and light, compared to Dax’s dark ones. They’re both on me. Dax’s jaw is tight and sharp, waiting to see what Mav has up his sleeve next.

I fling my leg up over the other, waiting.

Mav runs a hand through his buzzed hair, a smile spreading across his face that suggests he has something fucked up to say.

“I dare you to make Clayton Reeves fall in love with you and then break his heart.”

“That nerd in our Anatomy class?” Dax laughs, passing the joint to me.

“Yeah. Say what you need, do what you need,” Mav chuckles, but shakes his head. He thinks I won’t do it, but the problem with that is I’m not afraid.

He wants me to break some kids' hearts? Okay.

“Fuck it,” I say.

They both whip their heads toward me. Eyes still sharp, Mav’s hand running over and up his face. The joint slips from Dax’s fingers.

“Didn’t think you were into guys,” Dax says.

“I’m not, but I think I can play the part,” I retort.

“Damn, y’all are cold.”

“I can’t fucking believe you, dude. What won’t you do?” Mav asks, completely shocked.

“Maybe we will find out one day,” I respond back, but I’m not paying attention.

I’m already running through the ways that I can make Clayton Reeves fall in love with me.