Los Angeles, California — The Fitz-Amobi House
The living room TV was locked on ESPNU. Mater Dei vs. Servite.
The announcer's firm voice came through the speakers:
[Halftime in Santa Ana: Mater Dei 26, Servite 15. A huge night for Andrew Pritchett-Tucker, three touchdowns so far. On the other side, Cody Fajardo keeps Servite in the game with two scores on longer, short-pass drives. Keep an eye on Troy Niklas: two sacks; he's the lineman who's brought Andrew down the most times in a single game this season.]
The analyst added with a touch of irony:
[Yeah, big night for the 265-pound defender. Still… if three touchdowns is what it looks like when he's under pressure, just imagine him without it.]
Replays filled the screen: Niklas's first sack, Mater Dei's field goal, Servite's opening touchdown. After that, it seemed like a one-man highlight reel of Andrew: deep throws, throws on the move, the fake that left Niklas stumbling before Andrew finished the play with a touchdown pass… That one was shown multiple times.
On one of the couches sat Victor, Pippa's stepfather. He held the remote but hadn't changed the channel all night. He always said watching the games was a mistake, that they needed to move on, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. Just last Friday, he'd watched the Bosco game with his son John.
Andrew wasn't part of the family anymore.
The memory jabbed at him again: that Sunday when Pippa came back from the café with red eyes. When Leanne and he asked what had happened, she only answered coldly: "Andrew broke up with me." Said it flat, without tears in front of them, though it was obvious she'd cried on the way home. She didn't accept questions, didn't want comfort. She locked herself in her room.
Victor squeezed the remote tighter. He had considered Andrew part of the family. He wasn't the arrogant athlete stereotype: in the house, he was respectful, warm.
Victor had already imagined him as officially part of the family once he married Pippa. Maybe he'd let himself daydream too much, thinking a teenage relationship could last that long.
Josh, his youngest son, had idolized Andrew like an older brother.
On the carpet, Josh sat cross-legged, transfixed by the screen. His phone rested on his knees, open on a chat with Andrew, though he didn't dare type anything. Every replay drew a look of awe.
"Dad, he's doing it again," Josh said excitedly, eyes glued to the TV. "He's going to be league champion, no defender can stop him."
Victor sighed, lowering his gaze, "Yeah… probably. But we shouldn't be watching this. If your mom catches us, we're in trouble. And if your sister catches us, even worse."
Josh snapped his head around with a mischievous smile, "Pippa's not here. We've got to take advantage."
Victor shook his head slowly, a half-resigned smile tugging at his lips. True enough: Pippa was at the Palisades game with her friends.
Palisades lived in another reality. The year before, with Andrew at quarterback and that golden generation, they had risen from Division V to Division IV and still steamrolled everyone: state, regional, and league champions, undefeated. Now, without Andrew, without Reggie, without Steve, Archie, or Kevin, Palisades was no longer untouchable.
Even so, they still had part of the foundation Andrew had helped cement. Their season was more down-to-earth, full of struggles and losses, but they still had a real shot at making the playoffs. And for a program that just two years ago no one took seriously, surviving in a higher division after losing an entire star class was already an achievement.
Victor looked at his youngest son, his mouth slightly open every time the slow-motion replay showed Andrew again. He let out a deep breath. He couldn't blame him. He felt the same way: a mix of pride and emptiness.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Almost as if trained for it, Victor hit the remote, and the game vanished from the screen, replaced by a kids' channel showing a cartoon pig character.
A second later, Leanne entered the room with a book in hand and an inquisitive look.
"What were you watching?" she asked, tilting her head.
Josh reacted instantly, almost by reflex, "Cartoons, Mom…" he said, pointing at the little pig chatting with her baby brother on-screen.
"I didn't know you two liked Peppa Pig. What are you, three years old?" Leanne asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course not," Victor said quickly, trying to cover for Josh's slip. "It's just background noise, nothing more. We were talking."
Leanne watched them in silence for a few seconds, giving no sign that she fully believed them. Finally, she dropped onto the armchair, closed her book, and added calmly, "Oh, then you won't mind if I switch to one of my shows, right?"
Father and son answered in unison, far too fast: "No, of course not."
Victor handed her the remote, and Leanne searched for the program she wanted. The screen changed, the cartoons vanished, and the room filled with a slow-paced drama, worlds away from the roar of the stadium they had been following seconds earlier.
Time dragged on. Leanne stared at the screen without a word, as if the book on her lap and the TV together soothed her.
Josh, on the other hand, couldn't sit still. He shook his leg, glanced at the clock on the wall, calculating. He knew halftime was nearly over, the third quarter about to start, and every passing minute felt like losing the chance to witness high school football history live.
Victor also stayed silent, but his mind kept turning. He remembered Leanne's reaction when Pippa had announced the breakup.
At first, surprised like everyone else. But even if she never said it aloud, Victor was convinced that Leanne had felt some relief.
Relief because Andrew had brought a media whirlwind with him: ESPN, magazine covers, sports pages, millions of YouTube views, pressure that Pippa carried indirectly just by being his girlfriend.
He knew she cared deeply for Andrew, but Leanne never thought that kind of attention was healthy for her daughter. Still, she never treated Andrew badly or showed rejection. Her affection for him was real.
Josh couldn't hold back any longer, "Mom… we were watching Andrew's game. Let us watch it, please?"
Leanne looked at him seriously, "You shouldn't watch. It'll only make it harder for you, and for Pippa. If she knew you were glued to the TV watching him, it would make her sad. She won't be able to move on if her family stays anchored to her ex-boyfriend."
Leanne had had a private talk with her daughter a few days after the breakup. Pippa had cried in her arms, confessing that Andrew had left her because of her jealousy, her lack of trust. Between sobs, she admitted she felt guilty, convinced she had ruined a relationship everyone thought was perfect.
Leanne knew her too well: her daughter was a perfectionist to the extreme, incapable of accepting a mistake without turning it into a burden.
Josh's eyes widened in his familiar puppy-dog look he always pulled out at critical moments.
"Mom, please. This is history. The game is going to break records, it's the first time something like this has been broadcast nationally back-to-back. We can't miss watching it live. It's like being inside history."
Victor watched quietly, letting the boy make his case.
Leanne sighed, finally closing her book. She stayed quiet for a few seconds, as if weighing the consequences.
"Only because Pippa isn't here…" she conceded at last, her tone a mix of resignation and tenderness.
Josh grinned as if he'd just been handed a trophy. Victor wasted no time, grabbing the remote and switching the screen back to ESPN. The stadium roar rushed back into the living room just as the teams returned to the field.
The TV lit the room with the game's vivid colors.
The camera showed Cody Fajardo running onto the field with the rest of Servite's offense, and the announcer's voice filled the space:
[Third quarter begins, Servite with the ball… let's see if they can close the gap on the scoreboard and give themselves some hope.]
The analyst chimed in:
[So far they've done well with long, steady drives. But they need touchdowns, not field goals, if they want to keep pace with Andrew.]
Leanne let out a huff, leaning slightly forward.
"Andrew? Is Mater Dei playing with just one guy?" she said with irony. She knew how extraordinary his season was, just like what he'd done at Palisades, but it still annoyed her how everyone else seemed erased. As if the receivers, the offensive line, or the defense didn't exist.
Victor raised an eyebrow. He wanted to tell her that Mater Dei's defense was having a poor game compared to Servite's. That if it weren't for the offense Andrew led, the game wouldn't look the same. But he'd learned that arguing with her in that tone never led anywhere.
Josh, for his part, didn't even register the comment. His eyes were glued to the screen, his body leaning forward. He was completely absorbed in the game.
Servite connected on a couple of short passes, moved the chains twice. The clock ticked on.
But the drive stalled, and Mater Dei's defense began to redeem itself in the game.
[Tough decision…] said the announcer.
[You can't come away empty here. They'll take the field goal, better three than nothing,] the analyst replied.
The ball sailed straight between the uprights.
26–18.
Josh snorted through his nose. "At this rate they'll catch up next year."
Victor nodded, and the camera cut to Andrew calmly walking off the bench. The roar of the red stands flooded the TV.
[And here comes Mater Dei. So far, Andrew Pritchett-Tucker has three touchdowns tonight. Will we see the fourth?]
This drive felt different from the others. Slower and colder. Andrew didn't go for the deep bomb on first down.
He leaned on short and mid-range passes, a couple of carries from his running back, Nick, and little by little they chewed up the clock. The scoreboard ticked away as they moved steadily, though nothing like the earlier fireworks.
Leanne, who had started the quarter with her arms crossed, ended up leaning forward without realizing it. She couldn't deny it: Andrew knew exactly what he was doing. The control he exerted over every play was frustrating for Servite, and fascinating for anyone watching.
Four minutes later, the outcome was inevitable: Andrew lofted a pass to the corner of the end zone. Touchdown. His fourth of the night.
[Again!] the announcer shouted with excitement. [Four touchdowns already for tonight's undisputed MVP.]
[Fun fact: Servite hadn't allowed a quarterback to throw four touchdowns against them in four years. The last one to do it was Jimmy Clausen, in a 2006 friendly match,] the analyst noted.
[I remember that game,] the play-by-play added. [That was when Clausen cemented himself in the conversation as one of the best high school QBs of his generation. But tell me, what weighs more, Jimmy's performance back in 2006 or what we're seeing tonight with Andrew?]
The analyst didn't hesitate.
[Considering the context, there's no comparison. Clausen did it in a friendly match, in September, with everything still to prove. Andrew's doing this in the Trinity League final, on national television, against the best defense in Servite's history. And not only that, his touchdowns are more spectacular, most of them on deep passes, and he still hasn't thrown a single interception. In that game, Clausen had two.]
The stadium roared. The camera showed Andrew returning to the bench with a faint smile, as if what he was doing were nothing unusual, high-fiving his teammates as he sat.
Jimmy Clausen had been the "golden boy" of high school football in the mid-2000s. Quarterback of Oaks Christian, he was considered the nation's No. 1 overall prospect in his class, across all positions.
His hype had been colossal: covers on countless sports magazines, cameras following his every throw. Even when he made his college decision, he arrived in a white limousine to announce his commitment to Notre Dame. For many, Clausen was the very definition of what it meant to be the chosen one in high school football.
Josh's eyes stayed locked on the screen, his legs pulled tight against the sofa.
"Four! Dad, four touchdowns! Do you get it? They're comparing him to Clausen!" he said, almost breathless.
For any kid in California, Jimmy Clausen's legend was still fresh. It wasn't a distant tale; just a few years earlier, he had been the most hyped quarterback in the nation. More than Barkley, more than any other recruit.
Victor let out a long sigh, sinking into the backrest. He had watched Andrew play since he was just a freshman at Palisades, but hearing his name mentioned alongside Clausen felt surreal, even for him.
"Yes, son. He's doing it… and let's be honest, he'll surpass Clausen," Victor murmured, though his words carried more weight than celebration.
Josh barely noticed his father's seriousness. He nodded energetically, convinced: Andrew had already done things Clausen never had. Two league games broadcast nationally, including the most-watched high school game in history. And what was happening in Santa Ana was just the continuation of that story.
At that moment, Mater Dei nailed the extra point.
33–18. And the third quarter came to an end.
...
Palisades Charter High School Stadium
POV Pippa
Just two years ago, football at Palisades was nothing more than a pastime. The school took more pride in its academic achievements, in debate, in tennis, even water polo. The football program survived almost by inertia: if they made the playoffs it was a miracle, and when they did it was celebrated halfheartedly.
The band played without enthusiasm, the cheerleaders did the bare minimum, and the head coach, David, who'd been in charge for over five years, seemed resigned to another season without glory. Everything felt like a pale tradition, kept alive by habit.
And then came the 2008–2009 season. I remember it like it was yesterday, much to my regret. The arrival of the golden generation changed everything. Andrew at the helm, along with Reggie, Steve, Archie, and Kevin, turned an average team into a hurricane.
They went from qualifying for nothing to sweeping everything: league champions, sectional champions, state champions, undefeated, except for that first friendly match, when David, in his ineptitude, didn't start Andrew. A mistake that has since become nothing more than a funny anecdote.
The jump to Division IV was immediate. And the following year, 2009–2010, they repeated the feat: champions across the board. Palisades, the school with no football tradition, suddenly became a respected name in California.
Now, the reality is different. All those stars are gone. Especially him, Andrew, the one who made it all possible. The stadium no longer has his arm, his ridiculous throws, that confidence that spread to the crowd, and to me.
And yet, the change became permanent. Football is now a tradition at Palisades. The stadium is full, two thousand people pushing every play as if it were a final. Entire families still come, because what Andrew and the others planted took root.
The band plays with heart, the cheerleaders hold nothing back, and Coach David himself… he's a different man. He used to look like a tired bureaucrat counting down to retirement. Now he shouts with ferocious energy, gives orders with fire in his eyes, lives every play as if it were his last.
The scoreboard flickers: Palisades 23, Hamilton 13. Just seconds remain in the third quarter. Nothing will happen in this timeout, but the people stay on their feet, celebrating, cheering.
Around me, my friends wave flags, clap hands, scream at the top of their lungs. I clap too, but I'm always a beat late, always just a step behind.
It's incredible. In just two years, from being the weakest program, Palisades became this: a packed stadium, vibrant, as if it had always been this way.
Even with this incredible atmosphere and the playoff berth, which was already an achievement in a higher division, my mind was somewhere else.
Even though Palisades now had a football tradition, so many students were still talking about him. From early this morning at school until I walked through the stadium gates, I heard the whispers following me like shadows:
"Did you see he's going to be on ESPN again?"
"I checked out his YouTube channel the other day, over four million views on one video!"
"He's having the best individual season for a quarterback in California history."
His name at Palisades was sacred, almost like a religion. Andrew. The constant echo that wouldn't leave me alone. Many new guys had requested transfers just because of him, to play on the team he had built from nothing. Palisades had an incredible recruiting year without lifting a finger: his shadow alone was enough to attract talent.
The whistle pulled me out of my thoughts. End of the third quarter. Sophie shook my arm, her eyes shining.
"We're less than fifteen minutes away from the playoffs! Do you realize what this means? Playoffs without those bastards who ditched the team!"
I looked at her and forced a smile, nodding. I knew she was joking, because one of those "bastards" was her own boyfriend, Kevin, who had gone to Loyola to play Division I. He was probably in his own decisive game right now, fighting to qualify for the toughest playoffs in the state. Without the comfort and insulting ease that some had.
Sophie and Kevin were still together, despite the school change. And me… I had lost Andrew. I never thought their relationship would prove stronger than mine…
The thought stung, and for an instant I blamed myself. But I pushed it quickly into a corner of my mind.
Beside us, Zach was checking his phone. I heard him whistle, "Wow… Andrew's already thrown four touchdowns. He's destroying Servite."
Cara elbowed him immediately. "Shut up, idiot!" she hissed.
Zach looked up, paling when he realized I had heard him. He coughed awkwardly, shoving his phone away.
"Sorry, Pippa. I didn't mean—"
"It doesn't matter," I cut him off calmly, and looked away.
He had been a friend of Andrew, Howard, and Leonard.
I stood up, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "I'm going home."
"Why? The last quarter's going to be amazing. You have to see it with us, please," Sophie begged, eyes wide like a puppy.
"Sorry, no. I'm tired. Besides, I need to study. I've got a test Monday, and I already trust the team to finish this. With the lead they have, they're not going to blow it."
Cara spoke up immediately, "I'll go with you."
I shook my head quickly, giving a faint smile. "No, stay. I don't want you to miss the end because of me."
I waved a quick goodbye and started walking toward the exit, still hearing the crowd's roar and the band's trumpets behind me.
The parking lot was lit by streetlamps casting a yellowish glow over the cars. Not a soul in sight, except me.
I walked to my mom's sedan, pulled the keys from my pocket, and slid into the driver's seat.
Silence wrapped around me. I put the key in the ignition but didn't turn it. I just sat there, staring at the dark dashboard, listening to the echo of the stadium.
I shouldn't. I knew I shouldn't. But the temptation was stronger.
I pulled out my phone, unlocked it, and opened Twitter. Within seconds I saw it: "Mater Dei vs. Servite" was trending at the very top.
I scrolled, and the screen filled with tweets, many with clips shot from the stands or ripped directly from ESPN:
@SportsNation: Andrew Pritchett-Tucker is from another planet. 4 touchdowns and counting. I've never seen Servite's defense this lost.
@ESPNU: Andrew Pritchett-Tucker: 34 TDs this season, 0 interceptions in league play… The best season we've ever seen at this level? 👀 Watch him now on ESPNU!
@HSFootballInsider: What this kid is doing in the Trinity League final is already history.
@ChandlerBing: Football Jesus did it again 🙌 #Immortal #JustGiveHimTheTrophyAlready
@FridayNightGlory: Santa Ana is buzzing. Every ball Andrew touches is inevitable: either 1st down or touchdown.
@QBDanthe7: Jimmy Clausen vibes? Nah. This is bigger.
@RonnieCM: Recruiters have to be glued to their TVs. This kid's going to spark a bidding war next year.
I bit my lip, trying to stop myself from reading, but I couldn't. My fingers kept scrolling until a short clip appeared: Andrew celebrating his fourth touchdown, filmed from the stands. The camera caught him up close, sweat dripping, a faint smile, his helmet raised as he high-fived his teammates.
I felt my chest tighten. Just a few weeks ago I was there, in that same stadium, screaming his name until my voice gave out, jumping every time he threw a pass. I lived that glow as if it were mine.
Now I didn't. Now I was staring at him through the cold screen of a phone, hiding in an empty parking lot, trying to convince myself I didn't care anymore.
I exhaled hard, locked the phone, and set it face down on the passenger seat. I turned the key and started the engine.
Within minutes, I was home.
The moment I opened the door, I caught the familiar murmur of the television in the living room. The volume wasn't high, but I recognized the cadence of the commentary instantly: a game.
"Pippa?" my mother's voice sounded surprised. "You're home so early? Did the game end already?"
I froze for a second in the entryway. In the living room, I glimpsed the screen switching channels abruptly. I rolled my eyes inwardly.
No need to be psychic: my dad and brother still couldn't let it go. They must have watched last week's Bosco game, the replays, the highlights… and now, taking advantage of me not being home, they'd been watching the Servite game.
But I didn't care. I didn't have the energy to fight it anymore.
"Palisades was already winning," I answered as I walked straight toward the stairs. "And since I had to study, I left before the end and the whole parking lot mess."
Without waiting for another question, I climbed the stairs quickly and went into my room, closing the door behind me.
Finally silence.
Finally away from every comment, every pitying look, every attempt at conversation.
In record time I had everything set up on my desk: notes stacked, book open to the right page, highlighters lined up, pencil in hand. I convinced myself it was going to be an efficient study session.
But seconds passed, then minutes, and the words on the page blurred before my eyes. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't focus. I let out a frustrated sigh and dropped the pencil onto the notebook.
Without thinking too much, I reached for the drawer. I opened it slowly, as if I were betraying myself. There it was: the photo album.
The album Andrew had made with his own hands and given me to make up after our first fight.
That time had been about my jealousy too. The difference was, back then he had sought reconciliation with a tender gesture, even with fear in his eyes, as if he was scared to lose me.
This time, no. This time it had been different. A cold, firm conversation with no room to turn back. He had decided to end it.
On one hand, that determination was part of what always made him special. On the other, it forced me to look at myself and admit what I didn't want to: my jealousy, my distrust, that toxicity that poisoned the person I loved most.
I opened the album at random. The pages crackled softly and there they were: crooked photos, glued in by hand, with his messy handwriting scrawled in the margins, dates, inside jokes.
And, without meaning to, I smiled. One photo pulled me back to an ordinary day, when we made silly faces for the camera, him puffing his cheeks, me crossing my eyes. We were ridiculous.
I kept turning the pages, smiling at the goofy, funny, special pictures, half tenderness, half pain.
My eyes started to fill with tears, and I quickly wiped them away with the sleeve of my shirt. I couldn't cry. Not again.
I shut the album abruptly and sighed.
"I miss him…" I murmured, and I couldn't help glancing at my phone beside my textbook.
Should I send him a message?
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