Friday, October 17, 2010
The day of the game against Servite had finally arrived. Andrew woke up early, as always. He had his usual breakfast and, just a few minutes later, was climbing into his Camaro to head for school.
A twenty-five to thirty-minute drive awaited him, if traffic didn't get in the way. Longer than the ride to Palisades, which barely took him five minutes, but nothing unbearable. Driving a whole hour every morning would be worse.
Cam and Mitchell walked him to the door.
Cam was holding Lily in his arms; the little girl, despite the early hour, was already wide awake and waving her hands as if she wanted to say goodbye all on her own. Mitchell, dressed in formal work clothes, gave him a serious look.
It was a strange farewell, different from other Friday game days. Andrew noticed they were more tense, even Cam, and that was saying a lot. Not even before the Bosco game, with all the media frenzy that erupted, had he seen them like this.
Andrew settled into the driver's seat and checked his phone one last time before starting the engine. A string of messages waited for him from his family: Phil, Claire, Haley, Jay, Gloria… even Alex, which was rare.
All of them wished him luck for practice and the game, sending motivational phrases, though Andrew could read between the lines: they were more nervous than usual.
He raised an eyebrow, quickly typed out thanks, and glanced at the clock, he was already cutting it close. He started the engine, shifted into reverse, and honked as a farewell, watching his parents and Lily wave before disappearing in the rearview mirror.
He could understand why his family was so on edge. The game would once again be broadcast nationally, like the Bosco matchup, but this time the pressure was different. There were no promises of blowouts to live up to, no media circus waiting to see if he would choke on his own words. Now it was simpler and, at the same time, more decisive: the Trinity League title was on the line.
The first title of the season.
For Mater Dei, that was nothing new. The school had won multiple league titles over the decades, always a point of pride. But what made this campaign feel historic wasn't the fact that they were competing for the title, but the way they had arrived at this final against Servite.
The difference was in the manner.
Mater Dei had had undefeated seasons before, had shared league titles before, but rarely, if ever, with such dominance. Six straight wins, four of them in the Trinity League itself, all by margins of fifteen to twenty points. In the toughest league in the country, where tight games were the norm, Mater Dei was winning by insulting blowouts.
Of course, much of it was thanks to the offense he led. Throwing four, five, or more touchdowns a game, as long as the defense held up decently, winning by such margins was almost guaranteed.
As a result, the hype was bigger than ever. The narrative was no longer just whether Mater Dei could be champions, but whether they could finish the greatest season in Trinity League history. And, of course, whether Andrew could keep building his legend.
Andrew knew they couldn't get complacent. Not against Servite, the reigning Southern Section champions, the toughest section in California and easily top three in the nation.
'That's why it's the hardest league in the country…' Andrew thought, as he changed the song on the stereo.
Facing a national top-20 team in the regular season was almost unheard of. Normally you didn't see them until playoff semifinals or finals.
The steering wheel hummed beneath his hands as he mentally reviewed the day ahead.
It wasn't a regular school day with practice after. Like every game Friday, he'd spend the entire day inside Mater Dei.
First morning classes. Lunch, more classes, and finally practice: a short session, twenty to forty minutes at most, no physical strain. Reviewing plays, formations, and special teams.
Then came the team meal. A light meal prepared right there at the school so that everyone ate the same. No going back home, no scattering around. Once they stepped onto campus, they didn't leave again until they got on the bus to head for the stadium.
After that meal, position meetings: quarterbacks, receivers, offensive line, film review, motivational talks. There were also breaks to rest, listen to music, or whatever else.
It was a rhythm that felt more like college than high school. At Palisades it hadn't been this structured. In fact, after the light practice, players could go home, grab a light bite at a restaurant, like Andrew used to do on game days, and then regroup at school to head to the stadium together.
All of this would culminate at night with the trip to Santa Ana Stadium. If it turned out like the Bosco game, which dragged on because of live TV with commercial breaks, interviews, press, and the award ceremony, it would end around 10:30 or 11:00 p.m.
But he knew that wouldn't be the end of the day. 'And then there's that damn promise to Madison…' Andrew thought, sighing.
If they won the championship, he would have to stop by the party. He had promised, and even though he wasn't the type who lived for parties, he didn't entirely dislike the idea of seeing how a celebration at his new school looked.
He would've preferred it to be on Saturday, when he'd be rested. But they were teenagers: if they won, they had to celebrate big on the very same day, and everyone was fully expecting a victory.
So, with luck, he'd get home around three or four in the morning, which in teenage language basically meant leaving early.
He remembered that legendary drinking spree with Steve, Howard, and Leonard, the one that lasted until seven in the morning before they finally went to bed.
Just thinking about it already made him feel tired. And he hadn't even arrived at school yet.
His mind went back to what awaited him first thing: Religion class. That's right, Religion - Sacraments and Ethics. Mater Dei was a Catholic school, and that subject was mandatory.
"What fun…" Andrew muttered with a grimace, pressing the gas pedal.
It felt almost ironic: a teacher guiding them in morning prayer while he pulled up in a Camaro with over 300 horsepower, rock blasting through the speakers.
It wasn't like this was 1970. It was 2010. The school didn't see money as something inherently bad, but greed and ostentation as sins. Andrew could fit into ostentation, but it wasn't about showing off. It was about personal taste and effort. He had worked to buy that car. It was a luxury, he could've gotten a brand-new car for half the price, but it was the product of honest work.
As for the music, as long as he didn't play it on campus, no one would say a word.
At Palisades, being a secular school, none of this existed. At first, he had felt out of place, but over time he got used to it. He translated those teachings into his own code: ethics as discipline, values as teamwork, sacrifice, and humility.
And he wasn't alone in that blend. Many of his teammates were there on scholarships, just like him. Kids who had come for football and accepted those mandatory classes as part of the package.
Within minutes, Andrew noticed something was wrong. The flow of cars began to slow until it became unbearable. He frowned, his fingers drumming impatiently on the wheel.
The Camaro crawled forward at a snail's pace until, finally, it stopped completely in the middle of a sea of vehicles.
"Seriously… today of all days…" he muttered.
The dashboard clock didn't help: minutes ticked by, and his ETA to Mater Dei kept stretching further and further.
He would definitely be a few minutes late.
"Damn it," he muttered, sighing and sinking into the seat.
Traffic was at a total standstill. No quick exit, no open lane in sight.
'Well, it's not the end of the world…' Andrew thought, accepting his fate. It would be the first time he arrived late, and it wasn't like he was going to be late to the football game.
Was he giving more importance to football than to Religion class? Yes.
That didn't mean he didn't care about the other classes. Andrew wanted to keep a good GPA and a strong SAT score. He was well aware that, although all his scholarships were guaranteed through football, many universities also demanded a solid academic level, even above average.
Although colleges would probably be more lenient with him for being a five-star prospect, ranked the #7 QB in the country… and likely to rise after this start to the season. With what he had been doing since September, it was a given that in the next update, coming in just a few days, he would at least crack the top 5.
But that didn't mean he wasn't taking his studies seriously. He didn't want to fall into the dumb jock stereotype. His plan was to keep a GPA above average, and if he couldn't manage that, considering his mental age was far older due to his transmigration, he'd label himself an idiot.
Thinking about the SAT inevitably brought up another image: Pippa.
She had been preparing for that exam since the start of the year, maybe even earlier, meticulously and consistently, with the same academic discipline as Leonard or Alex.
She was the type of student who would clearly end up in the top 5% of her class in GPA and test results.
Andrew wondered what she might be doing these days since the breakup. Maybe buried in books, maybe using studying as a kind of catharsis after the breakup, in the same way he used football.
The thought hit him with a touch of melancholy.
But he brushed it away with a mental slap. He could ask Leonard, Howard, or even Alex, still at Palisades, if they had seen her in the halls, what she looked like, whether she seemed normal, sad, or anything else.
But he wouldn't. Andrew was too proud. He had ended the relationship because, after thinking it through, it seemed like the best decision. There was no turning back. He had to get over it. Move on.
Andrew arrived late, just as he had predicted. Almost ten minutes past the hour.
The main gate for cars was already closed.
Mater Dei was a large private campus, fenced in on all sides. A guard in a vest and with a stern face was supervising the entrance. The Camaro rolled forward slowly, and Andrew lowered the window, ready to show his school ID. He didn't even have time to open his mouth.
"Good morning, Pritchett!" the guard greeted him enthusiastically, as if they were old acquaintances. "Big game tonight, huh?"
Andrew froze for a second, caught off guard by the familiarity. Then he gave a faint, awkward smile and nodded. "Yeah… let's hope everything goes well."
"It will!" the guard assured, as if there was no room for doubt. "If you dropped seven on Bosco, you'll put at least four on Servite."
With that blind confidence, the guard opened the gate and waved him through, reminding him to hurry so he wouldn't get scolded.
Andrew drove on, still processing the scene. Normally, that same guard was infamous among the kids for the death stares he gave anyone who showed up late. Yet he had treated Andrew like a celebrity, which, to be fair, wasn't far off.
He parked quickly, grabbed his backpack from the passenger seat, and hopped out almost at a run, tugging at his tie, which felt a little too tight.
First stop was the Attendance Office: sign in, get his tardy slip, then hand it to the professor.
When he arrived, he found a middle-aged woman with a severe air, lecturing a short boy who seemed to shrink with every word she spoke.
"This is your second tardy in two weeks," the woman said firmly. "It's just a warning, but it will be recorded in the system. Don't let it happen again."
The boy nodded again and again, radiating nervous energy, as if he were standing before a supreme judge.
Andrew, waiting for his turn, couldn't help but think, 'Oh no. Two tardies in two weeks. God have mercy on us.'
He wasn't going to say it out loud unless he wanted to end up in an even worse situation. But it seemed exaggerated how strict they were about just a couple of minutes late. He understood the logic: punctuality was a core value at the school. Too many tardies could mean formal warnings, calls to parents, even minor sanctions.
And for athletes, the pressure was greater. Coaches always repeated the same thing: student-athletes had to set an example, on and off the field.
Andrew let out a quiet sigh and braced himself for his turn.
The boy finally received his slip, mumbled a rushed "thank you," and turned to leave. He was walking so fast, eager to escape the lecture, that he didn't notice what was right in front of him.
He crashed into a wall. Or, more precisely, into Andrew.
The impact didn't move Andrew an inch. The boy looked up and recognized him instantly: 6'3'' or maybe a little more, broad shoulders, black hair, relaxed posture… the face that had been in newspapers, on magazine covers, even on ESPN's pregame the night before. It was impossible not to know who he was.
"Sorry!" the boy stammered nervously.
Andrew raised an eyebrow, then smiled calmly. "It's fine," he said as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "Just hurry up, you don't want to rack up more tardy minutes," he added, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.
The boy laughed nervously, nodded, and bolted off to class with a grin, like he now had a great story to tell his friends.
The middle-aged woman looked up, and when she saw Andrew, her expression softened immediately.
"Ah, Pritchett-Tucker," she said, picking up a form and handing it to him with a restrained smile. "First tardy, right?"
Andrew nodded, surprised at the contrast with the scolding she'd just given the other student. "Yes, traffic was impossible."
He had prepared a little speech about how it was the curse of living "far away," but it seemed he didn't need it.
"I understand. Just sign here," she said kindly. No harsh words, no warning, no "don't let it happen again." Just a quick formality.
Andrew signed in seconds, and the woman added, almost confidentially, "Today's a big day. We'll all be watching. Good luck in the game."
"Thanks, I'll do my best," Andrew replied with a smile. He took the slip, but before he left, the woman added with a near-maternal gesture:
"And don't worry about the tardy. Just don't make it a habit."
Andrew paused for a second. Why is everyone being so nice?
"Yes, of course," he said seriously, then finally headed to class.
He had taken a few extra minutes to leave the house today, which caused him to hit the traffic jam and arrive late. It shouldn't happen again.
He finally reached the Religion classroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he could hear the professor speaking. As soon as Andrew entered, the voices fell silent. Every student turned their head toward him, as if they had been waiting for this.
The professor, a man in his thirties with glasses and slicked-back hair, looked up and said with a half-smile, "Ah, you've finally arrived, Andrew. I think we were all wondering if you were going to show up."
A ripple of laughter spread through the class. Andrew already had a witty excuse prepared: "I know we're all equal in God's eyes, but traffic showed no mercy today." He even thought of putting on a pitiful face, as if driving through traffic were some great ordeal.
But none of that was necessary. The professor took the slip, glanced at it, and simply nodded kindly. "Please, take your seat."
Andrew walked between the rows of desks and dropped into his usual seat. Next to him was Madison, who looked at him with a faint, knowing smile.
"You always make an entrance, always keeping people waiting," she whispered softly, barely audible.
Andrew glanced at her as he pulled out his New American Bible and a theology textbook. "It's the first time I've been late," he said.
When exactly was he "keeping people waiting"?
"I don't mean for class…" Madison replied with a mischievous smile, narrowing her eyes.
This time Andrew caught the hint. He was still half-asleep earlier, so it hadn't registered.
Madison had been flirting with him ever since his breakup, and yet he hadn't made a move. Not because he didn't want to.
First, because he had just ended things with Pippa: he wasn't ready to dive headfirst into something else. And second, because if he did it immediately, it would almost be like proving Pippa's old insecurities right. Besides, he preferred to keep his focus on football.
Andrew lowered his voice slightly and said with irony, "Your thoughts don't sound very Catholic, Maddie."
She didn't deny it. On the contrary, she lowered her eyes with a soft, complicit giggle, then turned back to the front, pretending to pay attention to the teacher.
Andrew shook his head, and focused on the lesson.
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