Andrew stepped out of the bathroom in his hotel room, steam still clinging to his skin and damp hair falling over his forehead. He dried himself with a white towel, moving it slowly, as if he hadn't been playing a game just a few hours earlier that had turned out to be far more intense than he initially expected.
For a moment, he stood still in the middle of the room, looking around. He wasn't in his new place, nor in his parents' house, nor anywhere familiar.
He was in a hotel.
He slightly turned his head toward the clock hanging on the wall.
5:34 p.m.
The U.S. Army All-American Bowl had ended just a few minutes ago.
In reality, it had been almost two hours since the final whistle. Because after it came the photos, the interviews with NBC, the journalists, and the MVP ceremony.
On top of that, he had stayed longer, greeting fans and signing jerseys, footballs, and more. Not out of obligation. Because he wanted to. Because he knew a huge part of the people who had filled the stadium were there because of him, and it didn't feel right to just leave.
When he finally left, the drive to the Hotel Emma was short. Barely ten minutes by car, just enough time for his body to start truly feeling the fatigue, once the adrenaline from the game had faded.
Because even if it didn't seem like it, it was there. Five football drives at that level were intense. Adrenaline masked it during the game, but once it dropped, the physical and mental effort became obvious.
There was also the pressure. The expectations.
Even though his performance had been historic, it wasn't like he could completely ignore all of that. He wasn't oblivious to what it meant. He just knew how to move within it better than the rest of the players in his generation.
As soon as he arrived at the hotel, Andrew went straight to take a shower.
Now, back in the room, he let the towel fall to the side. It landed near the trophy:
The MVP.
Shining under the warm light, resting on a low table. Five touchdowns in five drives was enough to earn MVP in this game.
He put on an oversized shirt, loose, comfortable, and dropped onto the bed without resistance. The mattress gave instantly, sinking just enough to wrap around him. Andrew exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.
'This room is insane,' he thought.
The bed was massive, with pristine sheets that smelled incredible. In front of him, a huge television hung on the wall. To one side, a dark wooden shelf held bound books, thick glass bottles, and decorative objects.
The window, framed by luxurious curtains, revealed the Pearl District with views of the river.
This wasn't the kind of place where players stayed.
At the U.S. Army All-American Bowl, recruits were usually housed in large hotels organized by the event itself, tied to the United States Army as the main sponsor.
Comfortable places, high-level, but not this level. Hotels like the JW Marriott San Antonio Hill Country Resort & Spa or the Hyatt Regency Hill Country Resort and Spa. Four stars.
But not a five-star hotel, one of the most renowned in the country.
So why was Andrew there?
It wasn't because of special treatment.
Even if his media attention was far above the rest, this wasn't the kind of event where individual concessions like that were made. Everyone was elite and got the same.
Andrew was there because of Jay.
He had been the one who, without much fuss, offered the whole family, the Pritchett-Tuckers and the Dunphys, a different place to stay. Somewhere quieter. Away from all the noise surrounding the event and the attention Andrew would receive.
He would take care of everything.
Something that, coming from Jay, wasn't all that common. Not because he couldn't. But because he usually didn't. Not with that level of spending without an obvious practical reason. Each room in that hotel easily ran around a thousand dollars per night.
Faced with that offer, no one turned it down. Andrew, in fact, preferred it this way. More peace.
In any case, they wouldn't be there long.
Just two days.
They would leave the next day, around seven in the evening. Leaving that same night didn't make sense. They had traveled more than a thousand miles, they weren't about to make that kind of trip just to leave on the same day, especially one that had been so long.
Andrew, with nothing pressing to do, stretched his arm and grabbed the remote. He had nothing to do, no immediate plans. He pressed the power button, and the screen came to life, softly lighting the room. He didn't hesitate much about what he wanted to watch. He flipped through a couple of channels until he stopped on Cartoon Network.
'Regular Show, nice,' he thought, recognizing the animation instantly.
[Did I not make myself clear?] asked Muscle Man, shirtless, a basketball tucked under his arm.
[What? You're not even using it!] replied Mordecai, his tone somewhere between annoyed and resigned, referring to the computer.
[I'm waiting for an e-mail from this hottie I met online yesterday,] said Muscle Man, completely serious, unwilling to give up the computer.
[What? You met your mom online yesterday?]Rigby shot back.
Andrew couldn't help but laugh.
It wasn't the first time he'd seen that episode. Probably not even the fifth. But it still worked.
He stayed there watching, relaxed, half-sunk into the bed.
The episode ended and commercials began.
Andrew changed the channel without much interest, flipping quickly through a couple of options until he set the remote aside and reached for his phone.
He opened Twitter almost out of habit.
His name was trending. So was the U.S. Army All-American Bowl.
He started reading the first posts that showed up:
@ESPNHS — 5:02 PM · Jan 6, 2012
Team West defeats Team East 38–17 in the U.S. Army All-American Bowl.
A dominant performance from start to finish with a clear protagonist: Andrew Pritchett-Tucker.
The West controlled the pace of the game and capitalized on every offensive opportunity.
The biggest difference showed in each team's offense.
..
@NBCSports — 5:06 PM · Jan 6, 2012
Andrew Pritchett-Tucker — Army Bowl MVP.
A performance to remember:
-20/25 completions
-80% efficiency
-310 passing yards
-45 rushing yards
-355 total yards
-5 TD
-0 INT
One of the most dominant games ever seen in this event.
...
@247Sports — 5:10 PM · Jan 6, 2012
The play of the game that silenced, and then exploded, the entire stadium:
In the tweet was the clip of Andrew's pass to Steve, that final touchdown.
...
@Rivals — 5:12 PM · Jan 6, 2012
Andrew Pritchett-Tucker throws a 78-yard pass in the air from his own end zone under pressure.
Steve Rice catches it in stride and adds 19 more yards for the TD.
Pritchett-Tucker breaks his own previous record (77 yards) set in the CIF final vs Long Beach Poly (2010–2011).
New absolute standard in arm strength and execution.
The best prospect in history rewriting his own ceiling.
…
@On3Recruits — 5:22 PM · Jan 6, 2012
The nation's no.1 QB did exactly what was expected, and still exceeded expectations.
Andrew Pritchett-Tucker dominates the Army Bowl with near-perfect efficiency.
0 mistakes, quick decisions, and total control.
Ready to make an impact from day one in college.
…
Andrew raised an eyebrow as he read. He scrolled down a bit more with his thumb, not particularly interested. Was there not a single post about the game that didn't revolve around him? And that was while he was in the game's trend, not even his own name.
He kept scrolling, more out of inertia than anything else, until finally something different appeared.
He stopped.
A tweet pinned above a video.
@ESPNRecruiting — 5:27 PM · Jan 6, 2012
🚨 LIVE DECISION 🚨
4⭐ WR Amari Cooper (no.8 in his class) announces his college after the Army Bowl.
📍 Total surprise in San Antonio.
Andrew straightened slightly on the bed.
He pressed play.
The video showed Amari Cooper still in his Team East uniform, helmet in hand, breathing slightly heavy, clearly just off the field. Beside him, an interviewer holding a microphone.
[Amari, great game. Have you made a decision?]
'Great game' wasn't said out of courtesy.
Amari had played on the losing team, yes. The score hadn't favored him. But even within that context, he had stood out, and not just a little. As a 4-star wide receiver sharing an offense with 5-star prospects who, in theory, were ranked above him, he had managed something that wasn't easy in an All-Star Game: imposing himself.
He had been his team's most consistent WR, with the best production.
[Yeah, I've made my decision,] Amari nodded.
He paused briefly, then added, [I'm going to UCLA.]
The interviewer blinked, visibly surprised. [UCLA? You're on the East Coast, that's pretty far. And from what I know, you didn't even visit them, right?]
Amari gave a small smile, unfazed. [I know…]he replied. [I only took two official visits. I'll do UCLA's now, but I've already made up my mind.]
He shrugged slightly, as if there wasn't much more to explain. The interviewer, however, didn't let it go.
[Why?]
Amari didn't hesitate. [Because of Andrew.]
His answer was direct.
[I've been watching him play for a while,] he continued. [I'm subscribed to his channel. His videos helped me a lot, diet, training, and mindset, especially.]
The interviewer raised his eyebrows slightly.
Amari kept going.
[And today…] he paused briefly, searching for the right words, [today felt different. Being on the same field, seeing him play like that, it's not the same as watching it on video. I want to play with a quarterback like that.]
The clip ended there.
"What pressure…" Andrew muttered, still looking at his phone.
It was unusual for a player to be that direct with his words, and to choose UCLA because of him. For example, in Peat's case, he had also done his interview saying he was going to UCLA, but he hadn't said he was subscribed to Andrew or that he admired him.
It was normal. They were the same age. Talking like that about someone in your own class wasn't common.
At that level, what you usually saw was competition, comparisons, and clashing egos.
But Amari hadn't shown that. He had shown recognition. Admiration.
To say something like that on national television took character. Someone secure in who they were, someone who didn't need to diminish others to validate themselves.
Andrew let the phone rest on his chest for a moment, thoughtful.
Until a faint smile began to form on his face.
Amari Cooper.
Not the Coopers from Texas he had met before when he visited Texas A&M. That last name was pretty common.
But the name itself rang a bell for another reason.
In his past life, Andrew remembered that Amari had been a successful player in the NFL. And his college career had been successful too. He had gone to the University of Alabama, under Nick Saban's system. And there, he hadn't just met expectations.
He had exceeded them.
He had arrived as a 4-star and ended up playing like something more. Much more. Surpassing even 5-star receivers, showing a ceiling that not everyone had recognized at first.
So in real terms, he wasn't just a 4-star inside the top 10.
He was a higher-level talent, one that, if he developed the same way as in that timeline, would end up above many better-ranked names.
'That's great…' Andrew thought, letting the idea settle.
He could already picture it.
The offense starting to take shape. Players from his generation, at the highest level, going to UCLA. Not by chance, because of him.
It didn't just raise the team's ceiling. It simplified the process. The transition to college, the adaptation to the system, even the battle for the starting job became different when the talent around you wasn't just high, but also fit with you.
He hadn't even started a single day at UCLA and yet Brett Hundley, his theoretical direct competition for the starting role, was already in trouble.
He pushed that thought aside. There was something more interesting than a starting job he already saw as his.
'Steve's going to have competition,' he thought.
Steve was ranked higher. Top 5 in his class. Three spots above Amari. And the top 3 were all 5-stars.
But that, to Andrew, wasn't what mattered.
Amari's potential was above that label.
And if Steve wanted to be WR1, he was going to have to truly earn it. Competing against Amari would be much harder than doing it against a sophomore, a junior, or even a senior on UCLA's current roster.
Even so, it wasn't a destructive competition. In an offense, there was space. Three receivers on the field most of the time, each with a role: the primary, the secondary, the slot. It wasn't a fight where one wins and the other disappears.
They could coexist, and even elevate each other. Because the higher one's level rose, the more it forced the other to rise too. And in that kind of dynamic, in the end, the one who truly benefited was the team.
At that moment, his phone vibrated softly on the bed. Andrew picked it up again and looked at the screen. He had several notifications stacked up, many of them silenced so he wouldn't get overwhelmed.
But one in particular made him pause.
The name: Monica G.
Andrew narrowed his eyes slightly, recognizing it instantly.
Monica Geller.
Years had passed, but she wasn't the kind of person you easily forgot. Monica had been following him on YouTube for almost four years. She had attended both, his only two, subscriber meetups. And not just that. They had interacted. More than usual. Especially at the second one.
He remembered clearly how she had gotten his number.
At the first meetup, Monica, with that mix of nerves and determination, had asked for contact with a pretty specific excuse: she had given him some protein snacks she made herself, and she wanted Andrew to try them and give her feedback.
Andrew had found her reasoning fair, and gave her his number.
After the second meetup, contact had faded. They lived in different states, and they didn't really have the kind of friendship that would justify keeping in touch.
More than two years without using that chat. For someone with that level of fandom and intensity, she had been surprisingly respectful, and never used the chat the way another fan might have.
Andrew opened the message.
It was a congratulations for the win, and how exciting it had been to see him live. Then another message, congratulating him again, this time for the MVP. And then one final line.
An apology. For texting him as if she might be crossing a line.
Andrew leaned his head slightly against the headboard, reading that last message once more.
'She's definitely very polite,' he thought.
It struck him as curious.
He had given her that number himself, and yet she acted as if using it required justification, as if there were some invisible line she didn't want to cross without permission.
But then he thought about it more carefully. He thought about how much of a fan she was.
And he put himself in her place.
Andrew had his own obsessions too. Football, obviously. But it wasn't the only one. Video games, Star Wars, superheroes…
For a second, he imagined himself in that position.
In front of someone like Tony Stark. That is, Robert Downey Jr.. He probably wouldn't be able to string three words together. And he would know it was an actor, but even so, he'd still see him as Tony Stark.
Then an even worse case: Tom Brady.
His biggest idol.
There wouldn't even be a conversation there. He wouldn't even know what to say first. He'd probably say something stupid, stutter, or just not be able to say anything at all.
If, for some reason, he had Brady's number, he'd probably act just like Monica. That mix of restrained excitement and, at the same time, caution. Wanting to say something, but not wanting to bother.
Andrew let out a soft exhale through his nose, almost a laugh. Thinking about it that way, Monica's behavior made a lot more sense than he had initially thought.
He still found it hard to process the level of fandom people had for him.
With that thought in mind, something simple came up. Why not do something nice for a fan?
That is, something for Monica, since she was literally the only fan he had ever exchanged numbers with.
Andrew started typing on his phone. First, he thanked her for traveling to see him and support him, and for the kind message.
Then he added that if she wanted, they could meet tomorrow.
Nothing weird. Go to a park, throw the ball around for a bit, hang out. He would go with Haley and Steve, so it would be a group thing, not one-on-one.
It was reasonable to assume Monica hadn't traveled alone. And that she wouldn't be leaving the same day either. A trip like that, so long, usually turned into a small weekend getaway. Something to stay and do a bit of sightseeing in the city.
'Could be fun,' Andrew thought as he set his phone aside after sending the message.
He remembered the beach, they had had a good time.
Haley had connected quickly with Monica and Rachel, though especially with the latter.
'I wonder if Rachel came,' Andrew thought.
He also wondered if Ross had come.
And as for Monica, there was nothing behind it. It really was just an invitation to make a nice gesture toward a fan.
Nothing romantic.
Monica was beautiful, yes, and athletic, but she was also his fan. And not in a superficial way. That changed the way he saw her. It felt strange to even think of her any other way.
Besides, he didn't want to get into relationship stuff after what happened with Jade. Andrew pushed that thought aside and looked back at the TV.
…
Several streets away, in a restaurant in downtown San Antonio, the atmosphere was completely different.
One table was completely full. Plates served, overlapping conversations, constant background noise.
But at one end of the table, Monica wasn't part of any of it. Her phone rested next to her plate, her eyes fixed on the screen, as if she expected something to appear just by sheer insistence.
Rachel glanced at her, setting her fork down on the plate.
"Mon…" she said, keeping her tone measured, "You sent the message two minutes ago."
Monica didn't look away. "I know."
"Then stop staring at it like it's going to reply faster because of psychological pressure," Rachel added.
Chandler nodded. "Besides, with the number of messages he must have, if he replies today that's already an achievement," he said.
Monica pressed her lips together.
"What if I went too far?" she blurted out suddenly, raising her voice slightly. "What if I shouldn't have texted him?"
Ross looked at her, confused. "What?"
"Maybe I crossed a line!" Monica insisted, now looking at all of them. "You guys told me to text him!"
"We said: you could text him. There's an important legal difference," Chandler argued.
"It's the same thing!"
Rachel sighed. "Relax. Remember when we went to California? I called him while I was mad, and he still didn't get upset. He's definitely not going to get upset because you congratulated him on today's game."
Ross nodded. "It's true. Andrew's great, we got along well at Comic-Con. Why would he get mad over a simple message?"
Monica nodded. That made sense.
Then her phone vibrated.
Monica froze for a second.
Everyone, except Carol, slightly turned their heads toward the phone, trying to hide that they were paying attention.
"…don't look," Chandler muttered to Ross. "Make it seem like we don't care."
"Is it him?" Ross asked, making no attempt to hide it.
Monica already had the phone in her hand and nodded.
Chandler tilted his head. "Well, that was fast."
Rachel, without saying anything, grabbed a glass of water and handed it to her.
"Here," she said. "Before you open the chat and have a heart attack."
Monica took it almost by reflex with one hand, while unlocking her phone with the other.
She opened the chat and started reading.
One second.
Two.
And suddenly, "Pff—!"
Monica coughed, spitting the water she was drinking straight onto Chandler.
"HEY!" he jumped back, wiping himself with a napkin. "What's wrong with you?!"
Monica started coughing, covering her mouth, completely overwhelmed.
Rachel leaned forward. "What happened?" she asked. "Did he block you?"
Monica shook her head quickly, still trying to catch her breath. "No!"
She looked at the screen again, as if she needed to confirm what she had just read, then looked up.
"He invited me to a nearby park to hang out tomorrow," she said, a huge smile forming on her face, impossible to hide.
The table fell silent.
"What?" Chandler finally said, blinking.
"Seriously?" Jack, Monica and Ross's father, asked, leaning forward, surprised.
Judith, on the other hand, didn't react with enthusiasm. She calmly set her utensils down and looked at her daughter with a much more analytical expression.
"Monica…" she said, in that measured tone she always used, "This isn't about taking advantage of being his fan to try something romantic, right?"
Rachel immediately turned her head toward Monica, waiting for her answer.
Monica blushed. "No!" she replied right away. "No, no. His cousin Haley is going, and Steve, the receiver… the one who played with him today."
Chandler raised a finger, interrupting. "No need to clarify who he is," he said. "We all saw the guy who caught a seventy-plus-yard pass and turned it into a touchdown."
Monica didn't even hear him. "And he said I could go with someone if I wanted," she added, still caught between disbelief and excitement.
Ross reacted instantly.
"That's awesome!" he said, leaning forward.
The last time had been that Comic-Con, he had a great time with Andrew, Leonard, and Howard. It had been a while, and back then Andrew's fame hadn't been nearly as big as it was now.
Rachel rested her elbow on the table, watching Monica with a faint smile she tried to hide. "It'll be fun…" she murmured, as if she didn't want to give it too much weight, though deep down she was curious about tomorrow.
Chandler, meanwhile, kept staring at Monica, trying to process the situation, as if he still couldn't quite believe this was actually happening.
"Someone pinch me," he finally said. "This can't be real."
Ross didn't hesitate and pinched him.
"Ouch!" Chandler complained, pulling his arm away. "Not literally! It was a metaphor."
The others laughed, and as Chandler rubbed his arm, he added more seriously, "So tomorrow we're meeting Jesus Christ and John the Apostle."
Carol looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "John the Apostle?"
She knew that Andrew had the nickname Jesus Christ of football.
Chandler nodded with complete confidence. "Yeah. John was Jesus's best friend. That is, Steve in our sports reality."
Carol smiled and shook her head.
Monica was already focused on her phone, replying.
And just like that, the day arrived.