Saturday, November 19, 2011
It was barely six in the morning, and even so, the Pritchett-Tucker family was already awake.
Mitchell was in the kitchen pouring himself another cup of coffee, his second of the day and he had been awake for barely twenty minutes or less. His hair was slightly messy, unusual for him, and he had faint dark circles that only appear when you slept three hours and your brain is still trying to wake up.
The day was going to be long: airport, flight, hotel, and then a college game in Texas that would surely have an intense and enthusiastic atmosphere.
Lily was sitting at the table, on a regular chair with a cushion underneath to reach better, at almost six years old she only needed a little extra height. She wasn't talking much. She stirred her cereal slowly with her spoon, not seeming very pleased either because of the hour or something else.
And beside her was her father, Cameron, who was the complete opposite of her and Mitchell.
Cam had already finished his breakfast, he had the energy of someone at ten in the morning, not six. In his right hand he held his phone with a smile fixed on his face. Every now and then he let out a brief little chuckle.
That chuckle. The kind that, at that hour, felt like an aggression to Mitch, who was not the person with the best morning mood. The same for Lily.
'Calm down… it's just a laugh,' Mitch thought as he sat across from Cam and set his coffee cup on the table.
As for Andrew, he was in the bathroom.
"This can't be…" Cam murmured, scrolling his thumb across the screen as if he were reading the newspaper.
Of course Cam was reading tweets about last night's game. The main hashtag dominating the conversation was #CIFSSFinal, closely followed by #Drive724, which had already become synonymous with the closing of the game. Others were circulating as well, related to the rivalry and friendship between Steve and Andrew, and several that exploded after the live announcement that he would be visiting Texas A&M that very day.
@ESPNHS — 11:18 PM · Nov 18, 2011
Mater Dei champions of the CIF Southern Section 2011–12 after defeating Notre Dame 52–49 at Angel Stadium.
Andrew Pritchett-Tucker: 6 total TDs.
Final 7:24 drive to win the game.
MVP.
Once again.
#CIFSSFinal #MaterDei #HSFootball
Another tweet under the same hashtag, but from CBS Sports:
@CBSSportsNet — 12:41 AM · Nov 19, 2011
Mater Dei champions of the section again, which hadn't won in more than ten years before the arrival of their AS.
This time there was no +70 yard bomb.
However, something rarer was seen: a 7 minute and 24 second drive by Pritchett-Tucker that sealed the game.
Pressure, what's that?
Management, reading, and total control.
#AndrewPT #CIFSS
Cam kept scrolling.
@RivalsNation — 12:03 AM · Nov 19, 2011
7:24 of possession.
15 plays.
0 mistakes.
TD on 4th down.
That's advanced understanding of the game and he's only 17 years old 🔥
#Drive724 #CIFSS
Cam laughed quietly as he read it. "Of course he understands the game…" he murmured to himself, without taking his eyes off the phone.
His son watched and analyzed football with the same intensity with which he devoured comics or rewatched movies. He didn't watch just for the sake of it. He did it with the intention of analyzing decisions, rhythm, and everything else.
He could make spectacular plays like the leap, the high tempo of the first quarters, or in previous games deep passes, but what Cam liked most was that: that he knew exactly when not to do it.
A small twitch appeared in Mitchell's eye. He said nothing. He just took another long sip from his cup.
Cam kept scrolling down and opened one of the tweets with the most retweets and likes of the night.
@SnoopDogg:
An exciting final and a photo next to an ANIMAL. 🏈🔥
Respect to both teams who gave everything until the end
#CIFSSFinal
The attached image showed Snoop relaxed as always, his arm resting over Andrew's shoulder. They were practically the same height. Andrew was smiling and giving a thumbs-up to the camera.
Cam opened the reply thread.
@tanmay4059:
Wait a minute! Andrew and Snoop Dogg? Since when is Snoop a certified head coach?
@matveyhai (replying to @tanmay4059):
He founded a youth league in 2005, man. This isn't random. He knows football.
@Byhanz1:
If Snoop asks you for a photo and smiles like that, you know you're not a normal player.
@skytomm.:
Another photo next to a celebrity for the collection. Andrew's college era is going to be legendary 🗿
Cam let out a small chuckle at each comment he read. This caused Lily to crush a piece of cereal with her spoon, one of many, and glance at him sideways.
"What's so funny?" Mitchell finally asked, looking at Cam.
"Nothing… I'm just looking at Snoop Dogg's post. Look!" he replied, showing him the phone with the tweet and the photo.
Mitchell glanced at it for barely a second, then looked back at Cam.
"Yeah, great. And? You took that picture…" he said, as if he didn't understand what was so exciting when they had lived it in person the night before.
"That's exactly why! Snoop used the photo I took with his phone!" Cam replied, unable to lower his volume.
Lily furrowed her brows, clearly annoyed by the tone at that hour.
"Don't yell. It's six," Mitchell said, noticing his daughter's discomfort.
"I know! But it's exciting to see all the reactions we didn't get to see last night, all thanks to the internet. Look at this," he said, and started reading at random:
"Angel Stadium looked like the NFL. More than forty thousand people. WHAT DID I JUST WATCH?"
He paused briefly and read another. "Andrew Pritchett-Tucker IS NOT REAL. I repeat: he's not real. He must be an android."
Cam let out a nasal laugh and kept sliding his finger across the screen. "Oh, this one's even better: Andrew at Mater Dei already has more than 120 touchdowns in two years. Five stars aren't enough to classify him. I'm petitioning Rivals, 247Sports, and all recruiting sites: create a six-star category just for him."
Mitchell slightly raised an eyebrow. "Six stars, huh? Wouldn't be bad…" he murmured, joining the conversation despite himself.
Cam nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. A bunch of people are quoting it and supporting the motion. They're officially asking for a six-star prospect category. It already feels like some kind of organized movement," he said, amused by the collective absurdity.
At that moment, Andrew walked into the kitchen. He had just taken a quick shower, already changed and fully awake. As if he hadn't played a historic final less than ten hours earlier. This thanks to his fairly strict routine, his almost obsessive discipline with rest, and of course, the elite metabolism of a seventeen-year-old helping quite a bit.
"Why all the commotion?" he asked casually as he took his seat, right next to Lily. There were still a few minutes before they had to leave.
Lily looked up from her cereal. "The usual. Dad being dramatic at any hour," she said with complete childlike serenity.
Andrew couldn't help but laugh.
Cam immediately looked at his daughter with automatic indignation. "I am not being dramatic!"
Lily and Andrew instantly looked at each other as if to say: right, and we're not adopted.
Then they both looked at Cam at the same time.
"Of course not," they said almost in sync.
"It's a joke," Andrew added with a faint smile.
Lily nodded.
Seeing that his father still wasn't fully convinced, Andrew continued, "You're just enthusiastic, and that's a good thing."
Cam softened his expression and smiled, satisfied. "It's good that you know how to tell the difference," he said, turning his attention back to his phone with dignified air.
Lily and Andrew exchanged another brief, complicit glance.
Mitch, who had been watching everything, brought a hand to his forehead and shook his head slightly.
Lily quickly climbed down from her chair and, without asking permission, settled onto Andrew's lap.
"I want to go…" she said in a plaintive tone, resting her head against his chest.
Andrew looked at her without flinching. Inside, a part of him immediately felt the urge to give in. But he had to stay firm. This trip to Texas wasn't a family outing. And Lily already had plans: Claire and Phil would be watching her for that day and a half.
"You can't… you already have plans. Or are you going to go back on your word?" Andrew replied calmly. "Besides, it'll be much more fun for you to spend the weekend with our uncles."
And it wasn't a lie.
During official university visits, Lily never had a blast. Too early, plane trips, vans, and then a football game that wasn't even her brother's. For her, it was boring.
Lily made a pitiful expression. "You're abandoning me…" she murmured just loud enough for him to hear.
Andrew smiled, and Lily immediately knew that wasn't a good sign.
"We're not abandoning you. You agreed to plans with your uncles first. It just so happens it coincides with my last visit. And you won't manipulate me like you do Dad," Andrew replied, murmuring the last part low enough so Cam wouldn't hear.
Lily made a small defeated face. She didn't say anything else. She stayed quiet, playing with the small Millennium Falcon necklace hanging from Andrew's neck, running her fingers over the tiny ship.
Andrew watched her for a few seconds and sighed. "Listen, during the week we can go to the arcades. Just you and me. The whole afternoon. What do you say?"
Lily's expression changed instantly. Her eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Really."
"What day?"
Andrew smiled. "Whichever one you want. You're the priority. Though I'd recommend next Saturday, because—"
"Thursday," Lily interrupted without hesitation.
Andrew blinked. "What?"
"On Thursday I want to go."
Andrew hesitated for a second. "On Thursday I have a date with Jade."
Lily stared at him. "Didn't you say I'd be the priority?"
Andrew opened his mouth, closed it, and stayed thinking.
Lily didn't look away.
Finally, Andrew exhaled. "Fine. Thursday."
"But we're going with Jade. I can't cancel on her," Andrew added quickly.
Lily evaluated that for a second and nodded. "Okay."
The deal was sealed.
Cam, who had been silent for barely a few seconds, straightened in his chair. "This…" he murmured with even more emotion than before.
Andrew, Mitch, and Lily looked at him at the same time.
"What now?" Mitchell asked, resigned.
Cam cleared his throat lightly and read the tweet in a moved tone. "Last night there were 101 points, 41,000 people, and a champion decided by just three points. But this image is the one that will remain, and my favorite. Pritchett-Tucker and Rice. Friends since childhood. Rivals for one night. One celebrates. The other processes the loss. And still they sit together, laughing like when they were ten. Football is also this."
Cam turned the phone around so they could see the photo referenced in the tweet.
Andrew raised an eyebrow when he saw it. It was the photo where Steve and he were sitting on the steps, without helmets, sweaty, exhausted, and laughing. No poses. Just two friends, now wearing different jerseys.
'There was a photographer…' Andrew thought. At the time he hadn't noticed someone taking the picture. Though, in a final like that, it wasn't strange either.
"It's a fantastic photo," Mitchell said, genuinely moved by both the text and the image.
Andrew nodded in agreement.
Lily frowned. "Steve was laughing…? But he lost," she asked, confused.
Andrew smiled, "Yes, he was laughing, even though he lost. Steve is a great competitor," he said with true admiration.
He knew Steve would be upset about the loss. That he would train harder than ever. That he would use it as fuel. But what was admirable wasn't just his talent as a receiver, which was already elite, but his mindset in defeat.
They were probably at the airport now, and Steve would be the same as always. He wouldn't act distant or upset with him.
Andrew looked at the ceiling for a moment, falling silent. Would he have reacted the same way if he had lost?
In this life he hadn't lost, not a single game. But in his first life he had known defeat. And he had learned to digest it, to grow stronger from it.
So many years had passed since then that he no longer knew for sure how he would react now to a major loss. To disappointment. And to the pressure of everyone, which was much greater than in his first life.
That was why he found it admirable, almost enviable, to see Steve like that in that image.
Finally, it was time to leave.
Lily picked up her small bag, already packed the night before to spend the days at the Dunphys' house, and walked out of the house with sleep still weighing on her.
They dropped her off at Phil and Claire's place, who were already awake.
In fact, Phil greeted them with unnecessary enthusiasm for six-something in the morning. Claire, more practical, already had everything organized.
"Have a good flight. Let us know when you land," Claire said.
Lily barely said goodbye. A bed was waiting for her so she could go back to sleep.
A quick hug, see you Sunday, and the door closed.
From there, they headed to the meeting point with Jay.
Jay, of course, was coming along. He wasn't going to miss this. He had only missed one previous official visit, and that was because he had a romantic plan previously arranged with Gloria.
He was leaning against the car, arms crossed and wearing his usual unfriendly expression. "Let's go," he simply said when he saw them.
And so they set off toward Texas.
…
Easterwood Airport in College Station was not a major airport. It was a small regional facility, with a single terminal building, a couple of boarding gates, and only a handful of commercial arrivals per day.
On a normal Saturday morning, it might handle a few hundred passengers in total, split between connecting flights to Houston or Dallas. Nothing that remotely resembled a crowd.
But at 8:45 a.m., something wasn't normal.
From the window of a small shop, a store that sold snacks, magazines, Texas A&M souvenirs, and coffee, you could see how the parking lot was filling up far too quickly for that hour.
Groups of teenagers wearing red jerseys with the number 19, others in Texas A&M shirts. Also parents with younger kids. Some had rolled-up signs under their arms. Others had digital cameras hanging around their necks.
A young employee, stocking bottles in a refrigerator, looked up.
"What the hell…?" he muttered, watching the flow of people increase minute by minute.
His coworker, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, watched the scene with a half-smile.
"Don't you know?"
"Know what?" the first one asked, confused.
"Today the standard is coming," he replied grandly, waiting for a reaction.
He didn't get one.
The other looked at him blankly.
"The what?"
"The Jesus Christ of high school football," he clarified, exaggerating even more.
The first employee blinked slowly. "What the hell are you talking about?"
The one with his arms crossed let out a breath, incredulous. "Andrew Pritchett-Tucker, dude. The guy everyone's talking about. The one they say will be the next Heisman."
The employee hesitated for a second. "I don't watch football…"
As soon as he finished the sentence, he regretted it. His father always told him not to admit that out loud. Not in Texas. And especially not living ten minutes from Texas A&M.
His coworker looked at him as if he had just confessed to a minor crime.
Seeing that look, the first one sighed, glancing again at the crowd that kept growing. 'This country is obsessed with football,' he thought silently.
Outside, the number of people kept increasing.
Less than five minutes before nine, the Coopers arrived at Easterwood.
Cole Dawson's large truck struggled to make its way through badly parked cars and groups already walking toward the terminal. They weren't the only ones who had the same idea: inside the vehicle were more than eight people, mostly teenagers, all talking excitedly at once.
Missy and her friend Cassie were the first to jump out as soon as the sliding door opened.
Missy took two steps, looked around, and stopped.
The crowd already seemed to be around more than two hundred people. And the flight wasn't even close to landing yet.
"Shit," Missy cursed under her breath. "I knew we should've come earlier. Move!"
Cassie didn't protest. They knew that if they didn't find a good spot now, seeing Andrew step off the plane up close, shouting something to him, maybe getting a photo if he came near, would be impossible.
The other kids jumped out behind them and followed.
George stepped out of the passenger seat more calmly, closed the door, and watched as the young ones hurried away at full speed.
"How considerate," he commented with obvious sarcasm.
He looked at Cole, expecting a reply, a laugh, something.
Nothing.
Cole closed the driver's door with a strange expression. The same one he had worn throughout the entire ride.
George had known him for years. They played poker on Thursdays. Cole knew football; he never missed a game of the local team where his own son, Caleb, had joined this year as the backup QB. Their kids weren't friends, Missy was in her senior year, but they had known each other for many years, living in the same town.
George studied him for another second.
'He's acting strange,' he thought.
But he said nothing. He just started walking behind the group of kids.
George and Cole didn't go mix in with the fans. They didn't have the age or the patience for that. They positioned themselves farther back, leaning against a side wall of the building, from where they could see the exit area without getting trapped in the middle of the crowd.
"You can see perfectly from here," George murmured.
Time started to pass.
By 9:30, the number of people seemed to have doubled.
By 10:00, it wasn't just a curious group anymore. It was a crowd that easily surpassed a thousand people.
George shook his head. "This is crazy…" he commented.
There were handmade banners. Mater Dei jerseys with Andrew's number. Many with digital cameras hanging around their necks, others recording with their phones, holding them as high as possible. Children sitting on their parents' shoulders to see over the sea of heads.
Local media even began to arrive with microphones and cameras. Airport security appeared in greater numbers, along with Texas A&M staff organizing a small improvised corridor with movable barriers. Otherwise, it would have been chaos.
"I've never seen this for an official visit from any prospect," George said quietly.
Cole only nodded, never taking his eyes off the direction the crowd was facing.
Finally, the plane everyone was waiting for appeared on the runway.
The crowd stirred like a wave. Some started running toward the designated area. Others began clapping even before the door opened.
But the first people to come down weren't Andrew. It was a commercial flight. It wasn't like he had a private jet.
Passengers stepped off confused, staring at the human mass watching them like they were the wrong celebrities.
"What's going on?" a middle-aged woman could be heard saying, bewildered.
Then he appeared. Andrew came down the plane's stairs with a backpack over his shoulder, and the sound exploded.
Teenage screams, some high-pitched from girls, others much deeper from boys.
Children jumping and waving their arms to be seen.
"Andrew!"
"Let's go, Aggies!"
"Number one!"
"Texas, baby!"
"YOU HAVE TO CHOOSE US!"
"The first six-star!"
Andrew stood still for half a second when he touched the ground. He looked left. Then right.
'Damn… I shouldn't have done that,' Andrew thought, referring to how less than 24 hours earlier he had announced in the live postgame interview that he would be visiting Texas A&M.
He had forgotten a small detail from his previous state.
This was Texas.
And in Texas, football was breathed and lived differently.
"Oh, boy…" Mitchell murmured with a pale expression as he saw the frenzied crowd of teenagers and kids.
He even spotted students who clearly looked like they were from Texas A&M, since they seemed older than 17.
"Don't they have anything better to do?" Jay grumbled behind Mitch, frowning at the crowd, though a spark of pride shone in his eyes at the welcome they were giving his grandson.
Andrew, meanwhile, couldn't help remembering his second subscriber meet-up, the one that had ended in chaos and from which he had to escape through the back exit of a mall. The feeling was similar.
But here there was a key difference.
The university staff and airport security were already deployed. They had anticipated this. Movable barriers, a small designated corridor, personnel controlling the flow. It was clear they understood the intensity of football in Texas.
Even so, Andrew didn't leave immediately.
He couldn't just raise his hand in a general wave and walk off as if it were nothing.
He stepped closer, hearing the shouts nearer than ever, smiled, signed a football someone handed him, then a jersey, leaned down for a photo with a kid, high-fived boys who looked his age or a bit younger.
"ANDREW, OVER HERE!" Cassie shouted in a sharp, powerful tone.
Missy looked at her in surprise, but then nodded in satisfaction when she saw Andrew turn his head and start walking in their direction.
From farther back, Cole watched the scene. Then at one point he turned on himself. "I'm going to have a smoke," he said simply.
George, who had been watching everything, saw him walk away. He looked at his friend's back, then back at the crowd, then at Cole again.
He sighed and followed him.
They moved off to a side area of the parking lot, away from the noise.
Cole lit the cigarette in silence.
"Why did you come?" he asked after a few seconds.
George took a moment before answering. "I'm too old to ask a seventeen-year-old kid for a photo," he said with a half-smile. "I respect him as a player, as a talent, but I'm too old for that kind of thing."
Cole let out a small laugh. The first real smile of the entire morning.
After a few seconds in silence, with the smoke dissipating into the cool morning air, George couldn't help but ask, "Is something wrong? You seem off today."
He knew Cole. He wasn't apathetic or cold. At poker nights he was the most talkative after Ryan. He had a good sense of humor, a good relationship with his kids, and he always spoke proudly about Caleb.
George expected a simple "I'm fine" and for the topic to die there. They were men. They didn't insist too much on those things. You asked once more out of courtesy and that was it.
But Cole didn't respond right away.
He sighed, and his expression didn't improve. "Can you promise me you won't tell anyone?"
George looked at him steadily. 'What the hell is he about to tell me?' he thought, and his mind began forming guesses: An affair? Trouble at home? Money?
"Yeah, sure," he finally answered. He wasn't someone who went around telling other people's secrets. At most, he would tell his wife, Mary, since they told each other everything.
Cole insisted, "Seriously. Do you promise?"
George frowned slightly. "That serious, huh…" he muttered. But seeing that Cole wasn't smiling, he nodded. "Yes. I promise."
Cole nodded. "Good…"
He stood there for a few seconds staring at the ground, the cigarette burning down between his fingers.
Then he looked up and said it:
"Andrew Pritchett-Tucker is my son."
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