The Obnoxious "King"

It was a sunny Tuesday morning. Blake pulled into the school lot in his Volkswagen Golf, the backseat cluttered with gym clothes and a half-empty Gatorade bottle. As he stepped out, Nick and Ethan were already waiting by the curb, looking half-awake, iced coffees in hand.

“You’re late,” Nick said, even though he wasn’t.

“It’s 7:44,” Blake replied, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

“Which is late when you’re emotionally unprepared to see Max Lui’s face this early in the day,” Ethan added, motioning toward the school entrance.

Sure enough, just inside the glass doors, a faded poster for the football team’s Friday night game was taped crookedly to the wall. Resin Grove vs. Hollow Ridge. Max’s name was at the top in bold letters. QB1. As if anyone needed the reminder.

They walked past it without stopping.

“Third poster this week,” Nick said under his breath. “It’s not even Spirit Week.”

“Max probably printed them himself,” Blake muttered.

The hallway buzzed with early-morning noise: lockers slamming, kids trading homework answers, someone blasting a song through their phone speaker just to be annoying. The usual.

What wasn’t usual — or maybe was, by now — was Max Lui standing dead center of the hallway traffic, leaning back against a locker, surrounded by a few of his teammates and some junior girls pretending not to care they were near him.

He caught sight of Blake and the guys and didn’t miss a beat.

“Morning, Hartley,” Max called, his grin sharp. “You guys practicing how to stay in second place again?”

Tyler, one of the linebackers, chuckled like it was the funniest thing he’d heard in his life.

Blake didn’t stop walking.

“Let him have his moment,” Ethan said quietly. “It’s literally the only thing he’s good at.”

Blake didn’t answer, but the muscles in his jaw flexed.

Max’s voice followed them down the hall. “Hey, just messing with you, man. We gotta support all the teams. Even the ones that lose.”

Nick turned like he might say something, but Blake just shook his head and kept walking. He wasn’t in the mood. He hadn’t been in the mood for weeks.

By the time they reached the physics wing, Blake was already thinking about the drills they’d have to run after school. Coach had been relentless since the last loss. It was barely October, and the season already felt like a test no one studied for.

Inside the classroom, Riley Torres was already in her seat beside his. Hair tied up in a loose bun, mechanical pencil in her mouth as she scrolled through something on her phone.

She looked up as he dropped into his chair.

“You look like someone ran over your ego,” she said.

Blake smirked. “Just the usual morning motivational speech from Max Lui.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding. “The human flex.”

She pulled the pencil from her mouth and leaned in slightly. “If it helps, I think your jump shot’s better than his throwing arm.”

Blake raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never seen me shoot.”

She shrugged. “Still probably true.”

He laughed quietly as Mr. Daniels started fumbling with the projector again, the ancient machine clicking and blinking like it might explode.

Blake leaned over and whispered, “I think the projector’s staging a coup.”

“Good,” Riley said. “I didn’t study.”

They fell into the usual back-and-forth as the lesson dragged on, trading sarcastic notes and eye rolls every time Mr. Daniels tried and failed to load the PowerPoint. For a while, Blake forgot about Max. Forgot about practice. Forgot about the weird tension that had settled into the team like damp air.

Just for a few minutes, it felt normal.

By lunch, the mood shifted again.

The football guys sat at their usual table in the middle of the cafeteria, loud and obnoxious, passing around fries like they owned the building. Max was laughing at something — too loud, again — and making a show of slapping Tyler on the back.

Blake and the rest of the basketball crew claimed a corner table, same as always. Nick, Ethan, Levi, and Jordan eventually joined, trays full of mostly carbs.

Jordan plopped down with a sigh. “I swear Max gets louder every day. Like the more games we lose, the stronger he becomes.”

Ethan nodded. “He feeds off disrespect.”

“You’d think the dude invented football,” Levi muttered. “He didn’t even throw for a hundred yards last game.”

Blake didn’t say anything. Just picked at his sandwich and stared across the room, eyes locked for a second too long on Max.

Nick leaned in. “Dude, don’t let him get to you.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Ethan added. “You get this little twitch in your eyebrow. It’s weirdly specific.”

Blake looked away. “I’m fine.”

They dropped it, but the mood stayed off. Blake felt it like weight in his chest. Something about Max — the way he walked, the way people moved around him like he was the main character — it grated. Not because of the popularity, but because Max knew it. Wore it like a second skin. Everything about him said: You’re not me. You never will be.

Later that day, as students trickled out and the halls started to empty, Blake lingered by his locker. Practice was coming, but his legs felt like stone.

His phone buzzed — a message from Claire:

Max has had the same haircut since 7th grade. This is who we’re all losing to.

Blake smiled despite himself and typed back:

There’s no justice.

Then he shut his phone off and grabbed his gym bag.

When he went to the gym hiis hand hovered over the door for a second.

From behind him came a voice: “Hey.”

He turned. Vivi Ashbourne. Same high ponytail. Same unreadable expression. She didn’t stop walking, just tossed over her shoulder:

“You’re going to have to work harder if you want them to stop treating you like background.”

And just like that, she was gone — down the hall, not waiting for a reaction.

Blake stood there for a long second, not sure if that counted as encouragement or an insult.

Maybe both.

He finally pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Time to sweat it out.