Medford, Texas — Saturday, November 19, 2011
12:35 a.m.
It was already Saturday.
In the Cooper household, the television was still on. They had watched the entire section final between Mater Dei and Notre Dame. With the two-hour time difference between California and Texas, it had been 9 p.m. in Medford when the game kicked off.
And with how long it dragged on, commercial breaks unheard of for a high school game, and a halftime show worthy of an event of this caliber, it was now past midnight in Texas.
ESPN was still on. The broadcast hadn't cut away. They were showing the preparations for the award ceremony.
"That last drive was insane!" Georgie Cooper said, jumping up from the couch, still buzzing with adrenaline.
His Texan accent was evident even in his excitement. In his arms, he held a baby who couldn't have been more than a year old.
"Hey, careful with the baby when you get up like that!" a blonde woman called from the other end of the couch, scolding, but without real harshness.
Georgie turned his head with an easy smile.
She was his wife: Mandy Cooper.
Blonde, firm-faced when something didn't sit right with her, sometimes even intimidating. But that's what Georgie liked about her: her character.
"Hey, relax," Georgie replied, adjusting the baby in his arms. Then he looked down at the little girl. "Mom's very paranoid, isn't she?"
Mandy huffed and walked over to take the baby from him with careful movements. "I'm not paranoid. You're impulsive and don't realize how fragile these things are."
By things, she meant babies.
The little girl, Constance Cooper, Cece to everyone, looked around with curious eyes while sucking on her own hand, drooling all over it.
Mandy settled Cece in her arms and frowned slightly as she lifted her a bit higher.
"Georgie… she pooped. And it's been a while. How did you not notice? We've talked about changing her quickly or her skin could get irritated."
"What? No way," Georgie replied, stepping closer in disbelief.
He checked the diaper and, indeed, it was quite full.
"One year old and you still don't know when your daughter poops," Mandy sighed, more amused than truly annoyed. Deep down, she knew that for being only twenty-one, Georgie was a great father, much better than some men in their forties or fifties.
At that moment, Mary Cooper appeared from the hallway. "I'll help you change her," she said, making a playful little face at Cece.
Cece responded with a happy babble.
Mandy hesitated for just a second, then nodded. "Thanks, Mary."
Both women disappeared from the living room toward the bedroom to grab the changing mat, diapers, and everything else.
Georgie stayed staring in the direction they had gone, a faint smile on his face. Two years ago, he never would have imagined a scene like that.
His mother and Mandy getting along.
Mary had always been upset about the age difference. He was twenty-one now; Mandy was thirty-three. When they first started dating, the tension had been obvious.
But time had done its work.
They had been together for four years. They were married. They had a daughter. And Mary no longer saw recklessness, she saw a united family.
Of course, that didn't mean she didn't compete with Mandy over how to raise Cece. Arguments about schedules, food, or habits were practically part of the routine.
Nothing serious.
Just two strong women trying to do what was best for the same little girl.
A voice made Georgie's smile fade.
"Poop? What kind of vocabulary is that? Say crap, that's what it is."
Georgie turned his head.
There stood Melissa Cooper, or simply Missy. Seventeen years old, almost eighteen. Deep in her most sarcastic and defiant phase.
He remembered they had watched this same final last year. Missy had been sixteen. It didn't feel like that long ago, and yet now she was much more ironic and harder to deal with.
Missy wasn't even looking at him. Her eyes were glued to the television, determined not to miss a second of the award ceremony.
"It's so Cece's first word isn't crap. Mandy wants us to speak properly," Georgie replied, sighing as he dropped back onto the couch, right beside his father.
George Cooper Sr. held a beer, eyes fixed on the screen, not having said a single word since the game ended.
Between twelve and fifteen months, babies begin to pronounce their first recognizable words, usually related to their immediate environment. Even from ten months, they use repeated syllables with intention, like ma-ma or da-da.
Missy curled her lips into a mocking smile. "You speaking properly. What a world."
"You're especially unbearable today… is it that time of the month?" Georgie shot back, still not looking at her.
This time Missy did snap her head around, brow furrowed, ready to start a fight.
But before the sibling argument could escalate, George Sr. finally spoke, without taking his eyes off the television.
"Seven minutes and twenty-four seconds on that drive…"
His children looked at him.
"Looks like you're the one who's speechless now, just like the commentator," Georgie said with a half-smile.
Missy, on the other hand, no longer sounded sarcastic. She sounded excited.
"Wasn't it incredible!? That jump on the last down… the defender flew right past and slammed into the turf!" she said, gesturing with her hands as if she were watching the replay all over again.
"Yeah, yeah," George Cooper Sr. replied, not giving much weight to that highlight. It had been impressive, sure, but that wasn't what was on his mind. "More than seven minutes on a drive is something else, Missy. You don't get it."
Missy crossed her arms, offended by his tone.
"Hey, that jump isn't easy at all. Look at the context! If he missed and got tackled, the game was over. They lose. And Andrew's over six-three… someone that size jumping like that, at full speed, right along the sideline… that's not a big deal? There are quarterbacks his height who look like tree trunks, super clumsy. Andrew's insanely agile!"
Georgie started laughing openly, barely covering his mouth.
Missy shot him a look. "What?"
"Nothing, nothing," he said, clearing his throat. "It's just nice to see how much of a fan you are."
The teasing tone was obvious.
"Shut up! You're a fan too," Missy shot back immediately.
Georgie raised his hands. "I'm not denying it."
The year before, he had watched Andrew's entire run from Bosco. He knew the YouTube channel, followed the workouts, the fun challenges, everything. They had even traveled to California for the state final at the Rose Bowl against De La Salle. That wasn't exactly neutral behavior.
And not an insignificant detail, something that secretly gave him a bit of pride, even if he wouldn't admit it, Georgie had appeared in the ESPN documentary The Standard, and in one of Andrew's videos, where a short kid with a bowl cut had interviewed him.
And this year he had watched every single game.
All of them, literally, since they were broadcast nationally. The Coopers hadn't missed one.
He couldn't pretend he wasn't interested. That said, he didn't consider himself an obsessive fan like Missy, or like some of the people you saw online.
"At least I don't want to sleep with him," Georgie added with a crooked grin.
Missy instantly turned red. "Dad!" she exclaimed indignantly, turning to George for backup.
George finally looked away from the television and at his daughter, but not to scold Georgie, which was what she expected.
"Missy… seven minutes and twenty-four seconds," he repeated calmly.
She blinked. "You're still on that?"
"It doesn't look spectacular," George continued, not answering her directly. "It's not a sixty-yard bomb. It's not a highlight-reel play. But it's much harder."
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. "A drive like that takes absolute composure. Third-down conversions. Correct reads. No penalties. That's control. And in high school, that's rare. Harder than a deep pass. And if you add the context, even more so."
Missy sighed to herself, turning her eyes back to the TV. "Yeah, you're right, Dad."
George kept talking, explaining how maintaining focus through that many consecutive plays wears you down more than an explosive play like the ones they had seen in the first two quarters.
Missy nodded occasionally, making little sounds like "uh-huh" or "yeah, yeah," without taking her eyes off the screen.
At that moment, Mary and Mandy returned to the living room with Cece already changed.
Mandy sat beside Georgie, leaning lightly against him as she settled the baby in her lap. Mary remained standing for a few seconds, watching the screen.
"Another MVP?" Mary Cooper asked when she saw the trophy in Andrew's hands, as the award ceremony was nearly over.
She didn't say it as a real question. It was more of a statement.
With the game he had played, it was expected. Inevitable. Almost routine at that point.
"Obviously. Who else?" Missy replied without hesitation.
"Rice could've been an option," George interjected, more analytical. "This was the hardest game yet to give Andrew the MVP. Rice had an excellent performance. He kept Notre Dame's offense alive almost the entire game."
He paused before concluding, "But that final drive and the rushing touchdown on fourth down tipped the scales."
Missy nodded in agreement. Before that, Andrew and Steve had been tied in real impact.
And that, considering it was Andrew, was already unusual. Normally, by this point in a game, Andrew was the undisputed MVP. He usually blew the scoreboard open before the fourth quarter. Not tonight, he had to fight for it until the final play.
"Steve played really well. He's been in several of Andrew's videos. I kind of feel bad for him," Missy added, trying to sound impartial.
Georgie slowly turned his head and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
'I don't believe you for a second,' he thought.
He knew perfectly well that his sister wanted Andrew to win. Throughout the entire game she had celebrated every Mater Dei advance with far too much intensity to now pretend compassion.
But he said nothing.
The minutes kept passing on the broadcast, and finally the moment Missy had been waiting for arrived.
"Shhh," she suddenly ordered, raising her hand to silence everyone.
On the screen, Andrew appeared without his helmet, still in his stained uniform, standing in front of an ESPN microphone.
The post-game interview.
Missy leaned slightly forward on the couch. It usually wasn't a long interview, nor were big plans or grand statements revealed. But it was live. And that was enough for her.
[Hi, Andrew. Angela from ESPN. Congratulations on a big night: title and MVP going home with you. How do you feel?] the reporter asked, microphone in hand.
[Hi. Happy about the win, about the title… about everything,] Andrew replied with a faint smile, running a hand across his forehead to brush aside a strand of jet-black hair that had fallen over his eyes.
[Intense game, right?] Angela asked with a smile, recalling the explosive first two quarters and then the tense second half.
Andrew nodded, now more serious. [Without a doubt the toughest game we've faced this season. We didn't expect them to go toe-to-toe with us offensively, you know?]
The game had ended with just a three-point difference. A field goal. The closest score Mater Dei had not only that season, but the previous one as well.
And that was significant.
This campaign, the Monarchs had been more dominant than ever. Many expected a less tense final than the one against Poly last year. But it had been the complete opposite.
George nodded from his seat. "No one expected Notre Dame to try to outscore the best offense in the country with more offense. And they almost pulled it off."
At one point in the fourth quarter, the Knights had been ahead on the scoreboard.
"If the defense hadn't played so badly…" Missy huffed, still a little resentful about the Monarchs' rough defensive night.
[It was a wake-up call for us,] Andrew continued, and Missy immediately fell silent to listen.
[But we responded. We stayed calm and brought the trophy back to Santa Ana.]
Angela nodded and studied him for a second before continuing. Everything about it felt like a college game.
What seventeen-year-old, on a Friday night, gets interviewed like this? With national cameras pointed at him from every angle, microphones bearing sports network logos, more than forty thousand people in the stadium, and an audience of millions watching on television.
In standard high school football, Friday nights are intense, yes. It's community, local pride, marching bands, neighbors in the stands, families cheering. But it's not this.
It's not live ESPN. Nor a stadium expanded to 41,000 people filled to one hundred percent capacity.
Angela continued, still with that mix of professionalism and slight disbelief at the stage, [A drive of more than seven minutes. The final play, fourth down, win or lose. What was going through your head at that moment?]
[Not much,] Andrew replied without hesitation. [That play wasn't the only important one. There were fifteen. The other fourteen were win or lose too. Every third down, every gain and read. If we had failed earlier, we wouldn't have reached that last one.]
He paused briefly. [Of course the fourth down was special, but the entire drive was the moment.]
George nodded slowly. "That's what I'm telling you, it wasn't the run or that final jump. It was the control of the entire drive. Your old man doesn't talk just to talk," he said, looking at his daughter.
Missy rolled her eyes, though she couldn't stop a small smile from slipping out. "Alright, alright. I get it. You win," she conceded. "Broadly speaking… yeah, the whole drive was more impressive than the jump."
George tilted his head with contained satisfaction. "Exactly."
"But the jump will be the highlight everyone watches," Missy added, and George didn't deny it.
Angela wasn't finished yet. [One of the biggest stadiums you've played in. Forty-one thousand people. Many traveling from other states. Millions watching you on television, following your game, your style of play. Do you realize the joy you bring to people?]
Andrew let out a small, almost shy laugh. He glanced to the side for a second, as if searching for an answer that wouldn't sound exaggerated, then looked forward again.
[I don't know…] he answered honestly. [I just play football. I like to compete. If people enjoy it, it's not just because of me, but because of this Monarchs team that wins and plays so well.]
He paused briefly and looked toward the stands, still full.
[When people travel to see us, when they fill a stadium like this… you feel it. On every play you feel it, the support. That noise, that energy, it's like fuel. It pushes you not to slow down, to respond when the game gets tough.]
He smiled a little more. [Though of course… it also adds a little more pressure. But the good kind.]
Angela laughed softly. [Pressure you seem to handle pretty well.]
Andrew shrugged slightly. [I try.]
In the Cooper living room, the reactions weren't loud. They were internal.
George saw something more complete. A perfect prospect. Not just numbers or just talent. He shows up in tough games. He leads. And he has ego, of course he does, every competitor needs it, but it's not arrogant or empty. He doesn't sound falsely humble. He sounds secure.
'The university that lands him will be a national title contender without a doubt,' George thought, taking a sip of his beer.
Mandy murmured under her breath, almost to herself. "He doesn't seem seventeen, poor opponents…"
With answers like that, he didn't sound like a kid dazzled by early fame, nor like someone drowning in the noise around him. He sounded prepared. Too prepared.
She wasn't the biggest fan in the room, but as a Texan, football had always been part of her life. She looked at her husband, expecting a joke or a light comment.
But Georgie was silent. And silence in him was rare.
'What maturity,' Mary thought.
Missy, on the other hand, wasn't analyzing anything. She wasn't thinking about leadership, projection, or maturity. She just stared at the screen, biting her lower lip without realizing it, following every word Andrew said.
[Last question, Andrew,] Angela said with a smile that already anticipated headlines. [UCLA Bruins, Georgia Bulldogs, Missouri Tigers, and Stanford Cardinal… Decision Day is getting closer. Have you set your fifth official visit yet? Or will the choice be only among those four?]
In college recruiting, a prospect can take up to five official visits. No more. They are trips paid for by the university.
But that doesn't mean he has to use all five.
Many elite recruits visit two or three programs and make their decision. Some take four. Rarely do they need all five if they already know their destination.
In Andrew's case, however, the entire country seemed to be waiting for that fifth visit. It meant more headlines, more theories, and more anticipation.
It would almost be anticlimactic if it stayed between those four and he didn't use his final card.
Andrew smiled slightly, [There will be five visits.]
Angela nodded immediately. That alone was news. It confirmed that another university would officially enter the race.
[Anyone in mind?]
[Actually, I already have it decided,] Andrew said casually.
Angela's eyes widened slightly. She knew that at this point the answer was usually evasive. A "I'm still evaluating" or something along those lines.
But pushing a little never hurt.
[Oh…] she said, leaning slightly toward him. [Care to share which one?]
Andrew didn't hesitate. [I don't see why not. I'm heading there tomorrow anyway.]
Angela blinked, surprised by the frankness. Instinctively, she moved the microphone closer. The cameraman adjusted the framing. Even a few reporters nearby, off camera, leaned in slightly to hear better.
[Which one?] Angela asked.
In the Cooper living room, there was only silence.
Cece slept in Mandy's arms.
Georgie, without realizing it, had leaned forward.
Missy stopped biting her lip.
Even George straightened in his seat.
On the screen, Andrew answered with the same calm as always.
[Texas A&M.]
Missy, who had been sitting cross-legged on the floor, shot her eyes open. She turned her head toward her brother and grabbed his knee as if she needed to make sure she had heard correctly.
"Did you hear that?!"
Georgie looked at her exactly the same way, eyes wide open.
"Texas A&M!" they repeated almost at the same time.
"Well… the move to the SEC probably caught his attention. Same as it did with the Tigers," George commented, though there was surprise in his voice.
"And what does that matter?!" Missy burst out, like she'd just been injected with sugar. "It's A&M! Our university! I'm going there next year!"
She jumped to her feet, visibly thrilled at a scenario she hadn't imagined, or maybe she had, just never thought there was a real chance it would happen.
When she said our university, it wasn't an exaggeration.
For the town of Medford, Texas A&M wasn't just a university. It was a little over an hour's drive away. Many people from town had studied there. Pickup trucks with the Aggies logo parked in front of the grocery store. Maroon and white caps at church on Sundays. Proud alumni talking about the last game on local radio.
Even Sheldon had graduated from there. He enrolled at eleven and finished at fourteen before moving to Pasadena. In town, that was still told like a historical anecdote.
On Saturdays, when the Aggies played, it wasn't just "watching football." It was a regional event. Entire families drove to College Station. Others gathered in homes or bars. The traffic toward campus became part of the ritual.
Mandy looked at Georgie with a half-smile. "Well… if that boy ends up there, this town is going to become unbearable on Saturdays. Even more than it already is."
Missy was just about to start rambling excitedly when the reporter's voice made her sit back down abruptly.
On the screen, Angela continued.
[Texas A&M… many will say that's an interesting choice. A program with strong tradition in the state of Texas. What attracted you to that option?]
[For one, the move to the SEC. Competing against the best every week is always appealing,] Andrew replied.
He paused briefly before continuing. [And also because it's Texas. They say football is lived with a different intensity there. I think for those of us who aren't from there, it's something you want to experience at least once.]
Angela smiled, understanding the weight of those words. [No doubt all your fans in Texas watching right now will be happy to have you there. Thanks for your time, Andrew.]
[Thank you,] he replied, flashing a quick thumbs-up with a smile before stepping out of frame.
In the living room, the television was no longer the most important thing for Missy. She was sitting stiffly, phone in hand, typing at an absurd speed.
George was processing it more calmly. "Well, he chose the powerful Texas program," he said thoughtfully. "But not the historic brand."
He didn't say the name, but everyone knew which one he meant.
Georgie nodded. "Yeah, it fits his pattern. He always goes to strong teams, but not ready-made dynasties. He doesn't seem like the type who wants to step into something already built. He'd rather build it."
Missy abruptly cut into the discussion.
"Dad! Can you take Cassie and me to the College Station airport tomorrow?" she asked, clasping her hands together in dramatic pleading.
She meant Easterwood Airport, located in College Station, less than ten minutes by car from the Texas A&M Aggies campus.
George slowly crossed his arms. He knew exactly why she wanted to go.
"What time?"
Missy had everything calculated. "It's Saturday, there's a game. Andrew has to arrive early. On his other visits, from what I saw on forums and photos, he usually lands between ten-thirty and eleven. But if we want a good spot, we need to be there earlier. By nine there should already be people. So, we leave here at eight."
George raised an eyebrow. "Leave at eight in the morning on a Saturday? On my day off?"
"Yes, come on, Dad. You watch all of Andrew's games and thanks to him you lost forty-five pounds."
George went quiet. It wasn't a lie.
"Fine. But we leave at eight-thirty. You'll get there an half hour later and have more than enough time for… whatever it is you're planning to do there," he said with a sigh.
Besides, he didn't mind the idea either. Seeing in person the most dominant high school player anyone could remember. The same one he had watched every Friday night from his couch. The same one whose movements and discipline he used as an example for the kids he coached Monday through Friday on the local team.
Missy opened her mouth to protest, but held back. She knew that was the best deal she was going to get. "Fine."
"Whoa…" Mandy said, surprised. "All this fuss like he's already a college star? If you get there that early, you'll probably get a picture or have him sign your shirt."
There was immediate silence.
Missy, George, and Georgie all looked at her at the same time and shook their heads.
"Forgive her ignorance," Georgie murmured solemnly.
"Ignorance?" Mandy shot back, glaring at her husband. "Explain yourself."
Georgie didn't back down. "Andrew's more famous than a college star. He's the biggest YouTuber in the world right now. Over five million subscribers. That's huge. And a lot of his content is football. In Texas, that's not a small detail."
George stepped in. "Here, football is religion. And that kid is the number one prospect in the country. Now that he said live on air he's coming to Texas A&M, we have no idea how many people might show up at the airport."
Missy nodded quickly. "The forums must already be exploding. If someone leaks the flight time, it could fill up with people just to watch him step off the plane."
Georgie added, "And we're not talking about ten people. We're talking a lot. I don't know if saying it on national television was such a great idea," he finished, a little amused by the potential chaos awaiting tomorrow.
"On the team I coach, every kid knows him. Every single one. From freshmen to seniors. And that's just my program. Multiply that by every high school in the area. And probably the same with middle schools," George said as an example.
Mandy blinked. "Oh, I get it now."
They kept talking for a few more minutes. Missy didn't put her phone down once. She typed, read, replied. Until she finally looked up.
"Change of plans, Dad. You can sleep on your day off. Mr. Dawson is taking us."
"Seriously?" George asked.
He knew Dawson well. Cole Dawson. His son, Caleb, was the fourteen-year-old backup quarterback on the team where he was head coach.
"Yes. He has the big truck, with three rows. He's taking several people. And he's leaving earlier," Missy nodded, satisfied.
"They sure organized that quickly," Mandy commented, still surprised by the efficiency a group of teenagers showed just to see another teenager who played football well, or very well.
Missy smiled faintly. "There's a Texas Andrew fan page. The second he said Texas A&M, they started coordinating. It wasn't hard."
George frowned. "But I want to go."
Mary, sitting beside him, couldn't help but smile. She even let out a soft laugh.
"Then tell Mr. Dawson you're going with him. You're friends, aren't you? You play poker on Thursdays. I'm sure he'd appreciate another adult going along. But you're leaving at eight. Not eight-thirty," Missy suggested casually. It wasn't her problem.
George sighed, defeated by logistics organized in record time. "Fine…"
…
Dawson House – Medford, Texas
The house was quiet. Past midnight, and after the high school game of the year, at least for many, it was time to sleep.
In the master bedroom, Cole Dawson finished setting the alarm on his phone. 7:00 a.m. He sighed. He had only a few hours of sleep ahead.
He sat on the edge of the bed. His wife, Heather, looked at him from where she leaned against the headboard, a warm smile on her face.
"It's a nice thing you're doing," she said softly. "Taking Caleb and all the guys. They'll get to see their idol."
"And George is going with you, so you won't be the only babysitter," she added with a smile.
Cole smiled faintly. "Yeah, sure."
He didn't add much more.
Heather frowned slightly. "Are you okay? You seem off."
Cole shook his head. "Nothing. Long day at work. That's all."
He stood and walked into the bathroom, closing the door gently behind him.
He turned on the light. The reflection in the mirror showed a tired face. He picked up his toothbrush and began brushing in silence.
When he finished, instead of leaving, he rested his hands on the sink for a moment.
Then he reached into the back pocket of his pants. He pulled out his wallet and from one of the compartments took out a folded, slightly wrinkled photo.
It wasn't a picture he had taken. It was an image printed from the internet. Andrew appeared in his Mater Dei uniform, helmet in one hand, dark hair slightly damp with sweat. That natural smile that came effortlessly to him, confident, almost calm after winning a game.
Cole held it for a few seconds.
His expression shifted slightly. Not pride. Not joy.
'My son…' he thought.
…
Angel Stadium – Anaheim
The final was over. It was nearly eleven at night in California. The ceremony, the official photos, everything had already happened. The stadium was slowly beginning to empty, though scattered groups still lingered in the stands, celebrating or talking.
On one of the lower steps near the tunnel, Andrew was sitting down.
He no longer wore his helmet. Nor his shoulder pads. Just the tight black undershirt clinging to his torso, still damp with sweat from the game, outlining the tension still alive in his arms and shoulders. The championship medal hung around his neck.
Sitting beside him on the same step was Steve.
No helmet either. No rival stiffness. Just the Knights' undershirt and the runner-up medal resting on his chest.
They were talking and laughing.
"You son of a bitch, I swear for a second I thought I had you," Steve said between laughs, still shaking his head.
Andrew looked at him with a half-smile. "Not today, my friend… You underestimate my power."
Steve stared at him for a moment. "Did you just quote Anakin in Episode III? The exact line right before Obi-Wan cuts off his limbs?"
Andrew held the stare, serious for a second. Then he put a hand on Steve's shoulder and gave him two firm pats. "We trained you well. Too well."
Steve burst out laughing.
It hadn't always been like this.
At first, during freshman year, when Andrew, Howard, and Leonard talked about Star Wars, Steve could barely tell a Jedi from a Sith. Sure, he knew the movies, but not at that almost obsessive level. He'd seen them maybe once, without paying attention to dialogue or details.
But as the years passed, especially after the original Palisades group split and he started spending more time with the geek group, he absorbed more.
He watched the entire Star Wars saga. More times than a normal person would. Ridiculously detailed debates. Even comics.
He ended up knowing enough not to let a misplaced reference slide.
"In that scene, Anakin loses. You didn't," Steve said, finding the logical flaw in the comparison. "He overestimated his power against Obi-Wan."
Andrew looked at him for a second and nodded. "Good point…"
Steve smiled, satisfied to have beaten him at least in that.
A few feet away, a photographer captured the moment. He fired off several shots in a row. Two players from rival teams, sweaty and exhausted, laughing as if they hadn't just played the most intense high school final in the country that season.
The photographer lowered the camera slightly.
'This is gold…' he thought.
Not the final jump. Not lifting the trophy. But that image of respect. Of real competition, without toxicity.
"Any plans for tonight?" Steve asked, spinning his medal between his fingers.
"I'm having dinner with my whole family. All of them, literally," Andrew replied, letting out a sigh at the thought. He knew the Tuckers would be there too. He was happy they'd all come. But it was a lot of strong personalities at one table at eleven at night.
"But after that we can do something with the guys. Though we've got an early morning tomorrow."
Steve nodded, still looking at his silver medal. "Works for me…"
There was a second of silence, and then Andrew added with a slight smile, "I can tell Jade. And she can let her friend know. Thursday's double date went well."
Steve immediately lifted his head. His expression changed. "Well? I got scammed!" he exclaimed. "Damn Jade! Her friend didn't have a single ounce of goth in her!"
Andrew couldn't hold back the laughter. He leaned back slightly on the step. "Well… she said she was her friend. It was our fault for assuming that meant she'd be goth."
Steve shook his head firmly. "Don't defend her. I'm sure she did it on purpose. I'm sure she loves internally gloating about this stuff."
Andrew tried to compose himself. "I don't entirely deny that…" he muttered. "But hey, you got along with her, didn't you?"
Steve shrugged. "Yeah, she's cute. Too cheerful and innocent. I don't know how she can be friends with Jade, they're complete opposites."
"Yeah," Andrew replied, nodding.
They kept talking for a few more minutes. They commented on one or two plays from the game, teased each other over a mistake or two, and left the idea of doing something later hanging in the air.
But they didn't.
The adrenaline faded, and the exhaustion began to show for real. Eventually, they each went their separate ways.
Steve had dinner with his family. And Andrew with his.
The next day, despite it being Saturday, Andrew woke up early.
Far too early for someone who had played a historic final the night before.
But Texas was waiting for him, his former home.
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