Daily Drama (In American TV Shows)

I watched the movie *The Accountant* again and realized that at no point does the surname "Treveiler" appear. Intrigued by the reason behind my use of this name, I did some research and discovered that Rob Treveiler is not the name of the protagonist's father in the movie, but his real name!

In fact, the father's character doesn't have a name, and the protagonist ends up being Christian Wolff. Therefore, from now on, Alan will be Alan Wolff, not Treveiler.

Enjoy.

---

The week passed, and unfortunately, nothing changed. At least new clients started arriving at the gym, taking up much of Case's previously free time. Apparently, word-of-mouth advertising was quite effective in a town like Medford.

On Friday, after training and upon arriving home in the evening, I was surprised to see Sheldon standing on the porch, obviously under the small roof.

"PJ," my always formal little friend said as I got out of my car, walking over to me. "Today was my first physics class at East Texas Tech with Dr. John Sturgis," he said proudly, puffing out his chest and smiling as if expecting something from me.

"Congratulations," I said, puzzled. "I didn't know you were leaving school," I continued, surprised.

"Oh no, I'll only be attending Dr. Sturgis's lectures once a week," Sheldon quickly explained.

"Well, good for you," I added, smiling at the kid, which made Sheldon lose his odd smug smile for a moment.

"I wanted to tell you after the first class so I'd have enough knowledge to rub it in your face," Sheldon said, oddly disappointed. "You know who Dr. Sturgis is, right?" he asked.

"No, physics is more your thing, Sheldon," I replied after a few seconds of watching my little friend.

"Oh, that explains your lack of reaction," Sheldon said, nodding thoughtfully. "Dr. John Sturgis carbon-dated the oldest human feces," he spoke slowly, as if the fact was incredibly exciting, again waiting to see my reaction.

"Good for him," I responded hesitantly, unsure if that was the reaction Sheldon was hoping for.

And judging by his expression, it definitely wasn't.

"He's a famous scientist, and I'm going to learn from him. Not like a one-on-one class, but I sit in the front, so it feels like it," Sheldon added quickly, seemingly a bit desperate.

Oh, I get it. Sorry, buddy. "I'm so jealous of you right now," I exclaimed exaggeratedly, finally understanding the situation. "I can't hide it anymore—you're going to learn from a renowned physicist, the oldest human feces." I added, feigning astonishment, amused by Sheldon's proud face.

"I know," Sheldon declared arrogantly, keeping his head held high.

"Well, I'm really happy for you, little friend," I said, patting his shoulder lightly.

"Also, I have a question for you," Sheldon said, stopping me just as I was about to head inside. "Dr. Sturgis asked my Meemaw to dinner with romantic intentions," he added.

"Okay," I said, puzzled. "Good for her," I added dubiously, studying Sheldon's reaction.

"Oh, absolutely," Sheldon said excitedly. "More importantly, good for me. Can you imagine? Dr. Sturgis living so close to me—we'll spend hours talking about physics. Plus, the number of intelligent people in my family would immediately double."

"You might be getting ahead of yourself," I said, amused by his excitement at the possibility of his Meemaw having a partner.

"I guess you're right, but you can't blame me for dreaming," Sheldon said calmly. "I just wanted to ask, what can I do to make sure this date goes well?" he suddenly asked.

"Wha—" I started, incredulous. Sheldon wanted advice from me about his Meemaw's date.

"At school, a lot of people talk about how you went out with Regina George. And given my height, people usually don't notice when I'm around, so I hear many conversations I wish I hadn't," Sheldon said oddly. "You don't want to know what girls at school say about you," he added with disgust, apparently a little traumatized. "Intercourse should only be for reproduction."

What? I definitely didn't want to know what he had overheard, especially not from a ten-year-old.

"I'm no expert, not at all," I replied. "But if I had to give any advice: honesty," I said, recalling the relationship between Dr. Thomas and Dottie. I didn't have much advice for myself, let alone for someone Meemaw's age.

"Honesty, I like that," Sheldon said, nodding and rubbing his chin. "Got it. Thanks."

And with that, Sheldon just walked off like nothing happened.

"Okay, nice talk," I said, watching him walk away before heading inside myself.

The next day, Saturday, before heading out to work on the gym's finances and possibly train early, I saw an older man carefully dismounting a bicycle. After a moment, he took a small bouquet of flowers from the basket at the front of the bike.

"Dr. Sturgis, I guess," I murmured, watching with interest as the man approached Meemaw's door.

He knocked, and after a moment, the door opened—not by Meemaw, but by Sheldon, who seemed extremely excited as he invited the man inside. Once Dr. Sturgis entered the house, Sheldon spotted me across the street and gave me a thumbs-up.

Amused by Sheldon's behavior, I continued on my way, mentally wishing the man luck with his date... and with Sheldon.

On Sunday morning, as I was cleaning 'Debbie' after my morning run, I saw Sheldon walking back from Meemaw's house.

"Hey buddy, good morning," I greeted the boy.

"Good morning, PJ. Question, should I be worried that Dr. Sturgis wasn't in Meemaw's bed this morning?" Sheldon asked, making me drop the rag in my hand.

Another mental image I definitely didn't need.

On Monday, I stood by my locker, as I did every school day, waiting for my friends. Georgie and David were the first to arrive, as usual, debating some random topic—either girls, cars, or action movies with extravagant-haired protagonists.

"Hey, where's Alan?" Georgie asked when he got to my side.

It was odd for my calm friend not to be there already, usually at his locker, either observing people or listening with interest to whatever happened over the weekend or the previous day.

"I don't know," I said, checking my watch, puzzled. "What about Brock? Has anyone seen him?" I asked this time.

"Oh yeah, I saw him go into the front bathroom with Johnson and Smith," David replied, raising his eyebrows.

The front bathroom was known as the place for people to go smoke. Fortunately, Sheldon avoided it at all costs because of the smell. Otherwise, knowing the kid, I was sure he'd get into more trouble than I'd be able to get him out of.

"I'll be back in a minute," I said, exasperated, closing my locker and handing my backpack to Georgie as I walked toward the bathrooms.

As soon as I opened the door, the stench hit me right in the face. The usual smell of boys' bathrooms was completely masked by the foul odor of cigarette smoke.

"You need to close your fist properly and stretch your arm like this," I heard a voice say as I entered, followed by the typical sound of someone throwing a punch and another receiving it.

"What's going on here?" I asked as I stepped inside. Only Brock and the two idiots were there, the latter in boxing stances facing my friend.

"Duncan, you almost gave me a heart attack," David Smith said, breaking his posture as he flicked the ash off his cigarette.

"We're just having fun," Michael Johnson added with a dumb laugh as he practiced a straight punch. "Tell your owner, Porker."

"Yeah, we're just having fun, PJ," Brock said, clearly in pain as he tried to hide it.

Screw this. "I'm not buying that," I said, irritated, walking up to Smith, who just raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, you're not?" the idiot asked, oddly checking behind me as if looking for someone. "Where's your other girlfriend, where's Wolff?"

Alan?

"Okay, we have English in a minute, we should get going," Brock said nervously, pulling me by the arm. "Sorry, guys, see you later," he added as we left the bathroom.

"Brock," I stopped abruptly in the main hallway of the school, freeing myself from his now anxious grip. "I'm tired of this. You can't let them treat you like this," I added, noticing how his expression changed.

"'Like this'?" my friend asked, strangely upset. "Like what? We were having fun until you showed up," my friend exclaimed, oddly offended, drawing the attention of the few people still in the hallway.

"Who was having fun, you or them?" I asked angrily. "Don't you see? They're laughing at you, they're bullying you, and you're letting them," I said, unable to hold back any longer. I was frustrated not only with Brock for ignoring how he was being treated but also with myself for letting it go on for so long.

"They're my friends, they're cool. I thought you were too, but now I get it—you're just a wuss. Don't talk to me anymore," Brock said, bumping into my shoulder and avoiding the stares of the

 people in the hallway as he walked back toward the bathroom.

Damn it. Angrier than ever and unsure how to make my friend see the reality of the situation, I returned to where only David and Georgie were waiting nervously with my backpack.

"How'd it go?" they both asked simultaneously.

Unable to say anything, I just shook my head.

The day passed in a blur. I let Sheldon answer all the questions while I worked through my assignments on autopilot, unable to stop thinking about how things had gone down with Brock.

Alan had never shown up.

During lunch, Brock avoided our table, sitting instead with the two idiots, occasionally laughing with them and receiving the occasional 'friendly' punch to the arm.

At the end of the day, still unable to figure anything out, I went to the hospital, still wondering if there was anything I could do.

And while I was training that day, all I could think about were those two idiots as I hit the punching bag.

The days passed again, and to my dismay, nothing changed. Alan still hadn't shown up at school, Brock avoided David, Georgie, and me like the plague, and at the hospital, apart from some clinic work with House and a couple of surgeries, nothing else had changed.

"I might be a little late tomorrow," I said to House on Wednesday night as I put my things away. He was playing with his little video game console.

"And why does that matter to me?" House sarcastically asked, not taking his eyes off his device. "Besides, if I remember correctly, you don't have a schedule," he added.

So now I don't have a schedule, only when it's convenient for him.

"Alright, see you," I said, exasperated, as I left his office.

I had decided that if Alan didn't show up again the next day at school, I'd go to his house to make sure everything was okay. And that's exactly what I did.

After school, when I knocked on the door of my quiet friend's house, I could hear what I assumed was his younger brother, Christian, loudly reciting some kind of poem. A moment later, Alan, with one of his eyes partially closed and swollen, opened the door. "PJ," I heard him murmur as he stepped outside and closed the door. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"When one of my friends misses school for more than half the week, I get worried," I replied, examining his face. "What's going on, Alan?" I asked seriously.

"Nothing, just a training accident," my friend quickly said, turning his face to avoid letting me see his eye.

"Accident?" I asked, annoyed. "Don't give me that nonsense. This can't keep going on. One day, he's going to really hurt you. He could hurt your brothers. You need to do something, or I will," I declared angrily. "If it doesn't stop, I'll talk to the sheriff."

"We're moving," Alan interrupted, clearly trying to change the conversation. "To another state. Dad's back in active service. We're moving in a few days. Actually, tomorrow we're going to the school to sign whatever documents are needed," he quickly added.

"What?" I asked, incredulous. "Were you planning on telling us?" I added, slightly hurt. Of all my friends, Alan was possibly the closest, despite his quieter personality.

"I don't know," my friend admitted, lowering his head in embarrassment.

"You don't know?" I asked, offended. "Aren't we friends?" I added, apparently making Alan feel even more ashamed. Good. "What kind of garbage is this? I'm going to talk to him. There has to be something we can do. He can't do this," I said, blinded by my emotions, trying to walk toward my friend's house. I couldn't help Brock, I couldn't help Alan—what was the point of knowing everything I knew if I couldn't do anything for the people close to me?

As I tried to pass Alan, aiming to enter his house, he lightly pushed me, stopping me in my tracks.

"I need to talk to your dad. I'm going to fix this," I said, even if it meant threatening him. There had to be something I could do.

My words did nothing to convince Alan to step aside. "Don't make me do this," he said, pushing me again with a disappointed look on his face.

"Do what?" I asked, growing more furious as I got closer, trying to avoid being pushed again. Somehow, I failed and was nearly knocked over by another quick shove from my friend.

Screw this, I threw the first punch.

"I can't help Brock," I said, as despite thinking the punch was well-executed, Alan somehow managed to redirect it, moving surprisingly quickly away from my hits. "I can't help you," I continued, throwing punches and kicks, but Alan, as if all my hours of training with Case and Tim were a joke, effortlessly dodged or blocked every single one. "I'm tired of not being able to do anything," I shouted, adjusting to Alan's footwork and finally managing to knock him to the ground.

On the ground, feeling more in control, I quickly grabbed Alan's arm and, as I had practiced hundreds of times with Tim or Case, I positioned my body in a swift move to lock in an armbar. It felt like I had done it smoothly, just like in dozens of those practice sessions, until Alan, for the first time in our 'fight,' threw a surprisingly well-placed punch to my liver, forcing me to lose my grip for a second. Immediately, he pushed me off with force.

"Wha—" I began to say, noticing how Alan, replicating my movements step by step and at the same speed, grabbed my arm and applied the exact same technique I had just tried on him.

Not long after, with my arm in his control, I had to tap.

On the ground, exhausted after what had really been only a couple of seconds of intense 'fighting,' I closed my eyes in disappointment.

"It's my family," Alan suddenly said, lying next to me on the ground, but his breathing much calmer. "My mom abandoned us, but he didn't. I can't take my brothers away from their father," he added sadly. I understood—I really did.

Unable to hold back the sadness of the situation, I let a few tears escape from my eyes. We spent a couple of minutes lying on the front lawn, staring at the sky.

"Please go home," Alan said wearily as the shouting from inside his house, which had stopped a while ago, started up again.

And with those words, I knew I had once again failed to help a friend.

"I didn't know you trained Jiu-Jitsu," I said ironically, getting to my feet alongside my friend.

"I never did," Alan responded, walking back into his house, leaving me standing there, impressed by the revelation. It had taken me dozens of attempts to get an armbar right, and he had managed to do it on his first try after seeing me do it once.

That day, I arrived at the gym much earlier to train harder. Even Tim seemed a bit worried.

The next day, during lunch, someone from our year came over to our table to tell us that Alan had arrived with his father.

Along with David and Georgie, who were now the only two people at our table, we went out to see what was happening. Strangely, other people followed.

Alan's father was dressed formally in his military uniform, carrying his hat in one arm as he walked with Alan from the principal's office. It seemed they had already finished whatever they were doing.

"What's going on?" Georgie asked nervously.

"He's leaving," I said, watching my usually expressionless friend, now looking sad.

"What?" David and Georgie asked simultaneously.

"His dad is back in active service. They're moving," I explained.

"Is there nothing we can do?" Georgie asked.

"No, I already tried," I replied, disappointed in myself.

"And he's leaving without saying anything? Some friend," David said ironically, understandably upset, as he walked back into the cafeteria with Georgie and the small crowd that had gathered to watch Alan and his father. I still didn't get the fascination with gossip at school.

Seeing my friend's defeated behavior, I quickly decided to follow him. "Alan, wait," I called out, managing to stop him. After asking his father for permission, Alan came over.

"What?" Alan asked, avoiding eye contact.

"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday," I said, embarrassed. "Even though I didn't really accomplish anything," I muttered, remembering how he had basically toyed with me.

"It's fine, I'm sorry too," my friend said, smiling slightly.

"Great," I nodded. "Good luck," I added, extending my hand for a handshake, which Alan, now smiling more visibly, accepted, both of us fighting back tears. "Oh, come here, you ass," I pulled Alan into a hug. "No matter where you are, you'll always be my friend," I declared, feeling Alan freeze for a moment before he returned the hug just as tightly.

"Thanks," I barely heard Alan say before we pulled away from each other.

"Hey, I got your back," I said, laughing sadly as I noticed Alan smiling more than I had ever seen before.

"I got your back," my friend nodded before heading off in the direction his father had gone moments earlier.

"What a loser," I heard nearby, of course, it was Michael Johnson and David Smith, always there to ruin the moment.

Ignoring the two idiots I hadn't noticed until then, I flipped them off and headed back into the cafeteria, noticing how Brock, who was standing with them, avoided looking in my direction entirely.

The news of Alan's departure spread quickly throughout the school. By the end of the day, there wasn't a single person who didn't know.

After the final bell, announcing the end of the school day, I noticed that the once relatively calm school hallways were now filled with older students bullying the younger ones.

"Doesn't it seem like everyone's wilder now?" David asked, walking beside me as we watched a senior shove a smaller kid headfirst into a trash can.

"I've never seen this happen in the middle of the hallway," Georgie said, scared, as he watched another small kid being forced into a locker further down the main hallway.

What was going on?

Sheldon quickly arrived at my side, visibly relieved to see us on our way out. "PJ, could you walk me to the school bus?" my little friend, out of breath, apparently from running a few steps, asked. "Someone was dunking another kid's head in the toilet. I had to run to avoid being next," Sheldon explained.

"Of course, little buddy," I replied, placing my hands on his shoulders and guiding him ahead of me. The once chaotic school was now much worse.

Was this because Alan wasn't around anymore?

Luckily, it was Friday. Whatever was happening at school would have to wait until Monday.

On Sunday, while Gabe and I were watching cartoons, as had become our Sunday routine, there was a knock on the door.

"Your turn," Gabe immediately called out without taking his eyes off the TV.

"Ha! 'My turn,'" I exaggeratedly laughed, pushing Gabe off the couch. "Until the day I can't make you get off the couch with just one finger, you're doing all the boring stuff, like answering the door," I teased, stopping Gabe from sitting back down, amused by the desperate look on his face.

Our game must have gone on long enough for Bob, who was fixing the sink in the kitchen, to come out. "You guys still haven't opened the door?" he asked, walking toward it.

"Gabe was about to," I quickly said, smiling maliciously at my brother before letting him sit down again.

"Herschel, good morning," Bob said, opening the door and greeting Mr. Sparks.

"Good morning, Bob. Have you seen a dog? Brown, about this tall," moving his hand along his leg Mr. Sparks asked.

"No, I don't think so," Bob replied, looking over at Gabe and me comfortably on the couch. "Did you guys get a dog?" he asked.

"It was my brother's," Mr. Sparks explained.

"Did he pass away?" Bob asked, much more serious now, nervous that he might've touched on a sensitive subject.

"Oh no, he just couldn't bring it with him. You know, he entered the 'gated community,'" Mr. Sparks said, implying prison.

"Oh," Bob responded, understanding immediately and looking a little embarrassed. "Tell you what, let me help you track it down. I do it all the time with rodents and insects. How hard could it be to track a medium-sized dog?" he said, clapping his hands together eagerly.

Bob and Mr. Sparks went out to search for the dog, and, as promised, Bob quickly found it in the Coopers' garage. The dog's mere presence was terrifying Sheldon, who had climbed up some shelves—an athletic feat I was sure Sheldon would never have managed without the dog's motivation.

Using the dog situation as an excuse, Bob, Mr. Sparks, and Mr. Cooper settled in to drink comfortably in the Coopers' backyard.

Monday came, and everything at school seemed normal. Classes passed, and lunchtime arrived.

Again, like last Friday, as we walked through the main hallway, we saw how openly older students were bullying the younger ones. It was as if they were finally free and didn't know how to control it.

Inside the cafeteria, it was more of the same—lunches being stolen, kids being stuffed into trash cans, falls, and clothes stained with food. Fortunately, Tam and Sheldon always ate their lunch in the library, or I was sure they would have been the target of some similar 'prank.'

"Why aren't the teachers doing anything?" David asked nervously, watching as more people joined in the bullying.

"My dad told us at dinner on Friday that detention was full by the end of the day," Georgie said, nervously.

"They won't be picking on the younger kids for long. Soon, they'll come for us," David muttered, lowering his head as a group of seniors passed by our table. "What are we going to do then?" he asked.

As if his question had been a cue, the cafeteria doors suddenly burst open, and a naked body was thrown through them. "Brock," I murmured, both shocked and worried.

The laughter started softly at first, but within seconds it became deafening in the cafeteria.

I stood up as quickly as I could, pausing for just a second to grab a jacket from a random student at another table. I ran over to my naked friend, handing him the 'borrowed' garment I had managed to grab.

Taking the jacket from my hand without even glancing at me, Brock, obviously embarrassed, covered himself and ran out of sight, away from the laughter.

"Just like a pig, run Porker, run!" Michael Johnson and David Smith shouted from the cafeteria doors, mimicking pig sounds and laughing with what obviously were Brock's clothes in their hands.

I didn't know how, but my legs carried me toward those two idiots on their own. There were two of them, so I had to make this fair.

Thanks to Alan, I knew David Smith trained in boxing, so it would be better to face him alone.

"Wha—" Michael Johnson began, startled to see me suddenly at his side, but he was interrupted by my fist landing squarely on his face. His head hit the cafeteria door, and 'idiot one' crumpled to the ground after a quick succession of punches, apparently crying once he was down.

When I turned around, David Smith, to his credit, was already in his boxing stance, ready to fight.

I noticed the cafeteria had gone completely silent the laughter replaced by chants of "Fight! Fight!"

"Nice punch, loser. I've been waiting for this," Smith said with an ugly wide smile, keeping his guard up.

"So have I," I muttered, stepping toward the idiot.

During the days after the gym opened, Case had explained to me why boxing wasn't great for self-defense. It's a great sport for learning how to punch, sure, but beyond that, if you faced someone who trained in any other martial art, you were at a disadvantage.

As Case had shown me, despite Smith's good boxing stance, his legs were always exposed.

Dodging his jabs, I feinted a punch to his face, getting him to raise his already high guard.

Quickly, I kicked the inside of his leg, forcing him to drop his guard and leaving him open for a solid punch.

Unlike my 'fight' with Alan a few days ago, hitting Smith was as easy as hitting a punching bag.

One more kick to his side, along with a few punches, was enough to make Smith, blinded by adrenaline and anger, charge at me, forgetting everything he knew about boxing.

I had practiced this move so many times with Tim and Case that it was ingrained in my mind. As soon as "idiot two" got close enough, I adjusted my stance and torso, dodging his first punch and using his momentum to lift him. In one fluid motion, careful not to hurt my back, I slammed him to the ground and immediately mounted him, punching his face repeatedly.

I lost track of time, pounding the face of "idiot two." I was tired of not being able to help my friends—Alan, and now Brock. They had humiliated him in front of the entire school, and it was partly my fault for letting it happen. Over and over again, I could feel the burning in my hands, until suddenly, someone pulled me up with great force.

"That's enough, son. Stop, it's over," Coach Cooper said, lifting me by the waist as if it were no problem. "It's okay," he repeated as he pulled me out of the cafeteria.

As I was being dragged away, I saw how the previously entertained crowd had fallen silent, staring at Smith on the floor, possibly with a broken nose, while Johnson continued to cry, despite getting off easier.

I could feel tears running down my face, purely from frustration and anger.

---

Author Thoughts:

As always, I'm not American, not a doctor, and not a fighter.

With that said,

I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.

Thank you for reading! :D

PS: PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW.