Long Island, New York — The Gellers' House
Just like the previous Friday during the Bosco vs. Mater Dei game, the Gellers' living room TV was tuned in to ESPNU.
This time, they were broadcasting the big league final: Mater Dei against Servite. The clock was running out in the final seconds, and the result was already decided.
In the room, just like last Friday, were Jack and Judy Geller, Ross, Chandler, Monica, and Rachel.
Ross and Chandler had come over again and stayed to watch the game. Monica had invited Rachel, who had already planned to watch the game with her because of the little "surprise" she had prepared with Andrew.
On the coffee table, in front of the couches, were the remains of snacks and appetizers Monica had carefully prepared.
[And the referee blows the final whistle!] exclaimed the commentator as the broadcast picked up the clear sound of the whistle. [Mater Dei 40 – Servite 21! The Monarchs are champions of the toughest high school football league in the country!]
[And what a way to do it,] added the analyst with emphasis. [We might be talking about the greatest league season in Mater Dei's history, in terms of dominance and style of play. And all thanks, in large part, to number 19, Andrew Pritchett-Tucker, who once again delivered a masterful performance with five touchdowns.]
"Yes!" Monica jumped up from the couch with a radiant smile.
"Better luck next year, Servite!" Rachel shouted through laughter, clapping enthusiastically. She was still sitting down, but her energy matched Monica's.
Both were wearing Mater Dei jerseys with the number 19. Monica had ordered them online: hers, a looser oversized style, and Rachel's, a more fitted one.
"And so begins… the legend of the high school football Jesus Christ…" Chandler declared, raising both hands toward the ceiling as if in prayer.
Never in his strangest dreams had he imagined becoming a fan of someone younger than him. But watching Andrew play was fun: every game turned into a spectacle. While other teams got bogged down in slow, tedious games, #19 always delivered pure showtime.
Football was already a sport full of action and touchdowns, but some teams' systems dragged drives out for 4–6 minutes. For a neutral spectator, not rooting for either team, it was boring to watch such slow-paced touchdowns.
"Told you, man. Andrew is a special player," Ross commented with a slight smile, not taking his eyes off the screen.
He wasn't as fanatical as Monica, but he had followed Andrew's career closely thanks to her. From Palisades, with his records and countless touchdowns, Ross had already suspected that national stardom was only a matter of time.
Judy, with a glass of wine in hand, shook her head in amazement. "Unbelievable. It looks like he's playing against children."
Jack let out a short chuckle, amused at the memory of the first time he had seen Andrew over a year ago at the Los Angeles mall, during the first subscriber meet-up he had attended with Monica and Ross.
"And to think this is the same kid I took a picture with… Remember? Now he's tearing it up on national TV, and he hasn't even started college yet!" Jack said.
"You should frame that photo, it'll be worth a lot in the future," said Judy.
"I will!" Jack replied with a smile.
Monica rolled her eyes, though she couldn't hide a slight smile. It was nice that her parents could see what her idol was capable of.
As for photos, she already had several with Andrew, thanks to repeated encounters at the first and second subscriber meetups, and later the beach day… she already had some framed in her room.
On the television, the cameras began showing the atmosphere of the packed stands, the celebrations, and the portable stage slowly being set up at midfield for the ceremony. The commentators went over the game's stats.
Suddenly, in one of those quick shots, the camera caught Andrew standing on the sideline. At that exact moment, one of the Mater Dei cheerleaders jumped in to hug him enthusiastically. The image lasted only a few seconds before cutting to another shot, but it was enough.
"What is that girl doing acting so familiar?" Monica asked, frowning. "She's invading his personal space!"
Chandler looked at her, suppressing a grin. "Toxic fan alert? She's a Mater Dei cheerleader, they're probably close…"
"Yeah," Ross nodded, "They put on a good halftime show."
Rachel huffed, crossing her arms. "Pff… the show wasn't that great. I would've done it way better."
Chandler turned his head and looked at her. "You're a cheerleader at your school, right?" he asked.
"Yeah, head cheerleader," Rachel said, straightening up with pride.
"And how did your team do today?" Chandler asked, a little curious. He wanted to compare it to what they were watching on screen.
The game at Monica and Rachel's school had ended around 9:30 p.m. in New York. Andrew's game in Los Angeles had only just started at 7 p.m. local time (10 p.m. in New York). That gave Rachel enough time to fulfill her duties as cheer captain and still make it to watch Mater Dei's game.
Rachel grimaced at the memory of her school's result. "Bad, as always. This game was just for pride, because even if we had won, we had no chance of making the playoffs…"
"Our quarterback, Chip sucks," Monica said bluntly. "Against low-division teams he barely manages one or two touchdowns if we're lucky. Our coaches suck, our defensive line sucks… basically, the whole team sucks, except the cheerleaders."
And she wasn't saying it just because Rachel was captain. The truth was, the only reason the school still managed to generate some excitement in the stands was the cheerleading squad, which shone every game with demanding, perfectly coordinated routines.
The school band was also good.
Rachel nodded firmly in agreement. In her first year, she had thought the team was good. She had even been dazzled by Chip, and they had dated for a while. In her mind, he was the best quarterback in New York, and everyone at school idolized him for having earned the starting spot as a freshman.
However, that early starting role was only because of the school's low level. There was no competition, and the program had always been weak.
Over time, she realized that at best they might scrape into the playoffs. Later, when she met Andrew through Monica, saw him live at Dana Hills, and now on television, the comparison became brutal.
She didn't even expect Chip to play like Andrew, she knew that was impossible, Andrew was one of a kind, but at least to throw three touchdowns in a lower-division game, to secure an important win. Something. A reason to celebrate. But no.
"Yes, our school was always bad, though it always had support in football…" Ross said, shaking his head as he remembered his years there.
"That sucks," Chandler said with a touch of pity. "I guess not everyone can have a Jesus Christ of football on their team."
Monica looked at the TV, noticed the stage still wasn't ready, and got up from the couch. "I'll be right back," she said, disappearing down the hallway.
Rachel followed her with her eyes, hiding a satisfied smile. Her plan of filling Monica with cups of water during the last quarters had worked.
As soon as Monica was out of sight, Rachel pulled out her phone and placed it on a bookshelf, adjusting it carefully until it was recording. She quickly returned to the couch as if nothing had happened.
"What are you doing?" Chandler asked, confused.
Rachel leaned toward him and whispered, "I've been talking with Andrew, and I asked him to give Monica a shout-out in the live interview. He agreed. I want to record her reaction and send it to him later."
Chandler's eyes widened and he let out a laugh. "This is going to be good. I didn't think you'd actually take my suggestion seriously."
Jack, who had overheard, smiled. "I'm not missing this either."
"You really shouldn't be encouraging this, Jack…" Judy muttered more to herself, as she cleared the coffee table and began taking empty plates and glasses to the kitchen.
Ross looked at Rachel with a mix of surprise and something harder to hide. "Y-you… you talk to Andrew?" he asked, stammering slightly.
Rachel raised an eyebrow at him, not really understanding the question. What was so strange about that?
"Yeah, we talk on Facebook," she answered, then turned her eyes back to the television, waiting for Monica's return.
Ross swallowed. "Oh… I see," he murmured.
He knew his sister and Rachel had spent a beach day with Andrew, him cousin, Leonard, and Howard. Monica never stopped talking about that day as if it were the best of her life, and he'd seen the photos. But he never imagined that Rachel's connection with Andrew from that single day would continue afterward, enough for them to be in frequent contact on Facebook.
Now that he thought about it, he realized Rachel's excitement over Andrew's games had grown a lot since that summer. At first it seemed like passing curiosity, but soon it became something else: she bought the jersey, celebrated every touchdown with unusual energy…
Ross clenched his jaw. 'No, no, they live too far apart…' he forced himself to think, shaking his head.
Besides, even though Rachel had been his crush since ninth grade, he had never had the courage to make a move. And now it didn't make sense. He was in college, starting to get to know Carol, a girl he truly liked and with whom he could build something real.
He couldn't stay trapped in a teenage platonic crush while the world kept moving forward. It was time to move on.
Chandler leaned toward Ross and joked, "I'll have 911 on standby in case your sister has a meltdown when she hears her name on TV out of her idol's mouth."
Rachel, who overheard, let out a little laugh and fixed her eyes back on the screen. Her phone kept recording from the bookshelf, waiting for the perfect moment.
Monica returned from the bathroom and dropped onto the couch beside Rachel. She suspected nothing, nor did she notice the phone in its odd position, since her eyes immediately locked on the television.
In Santa Ana, the award ceremony had begun. At midfield, a metal stage covered in red carpet displayed the league's logo on the podium.
First came the Servite players, their faces still heavy with frustration. They walked onto the stage in order, receiving respectful applause, even from the home crowd. Only a few scattered boos broke the cordial atmosphere.
Finally, it was the champions' turn. The Mater Dei players were called one by one, climbing the stage to deafening cheers. Behind them came the coaches: Bruce, Rick, and the rest of the staff.
A middle-aged man dressed in a sober suit took the microphone. His voice echoed through the speakers: [Before presenting the main trophy, we have an individual recognition. In cooperation with ESPN and the Trinity League committee, the award for League Most Valuable Player of this game, goes to… Andrew Pritchett-Tucker!]
The stadium erupted in applause and cheers. Andrew stepped forward, smiling slightly, and received a shiny metal plaque engraved with the league and ESPN logos alongside his name.
"Obvious…" Chandler muttered.
"Another MVP," Rachel whispered to herself in amazement. She had already seen Andrew live being named MVP at the prestigious Dana Hills summer tournament, now again, in the toughest league in the country. Two high-level competitions.
Monica only smiled. The MVP was more than deserved, there was no better player in the league this year than Andrew.
Then came the culminating moment: the league championship trophy. Though not as grand and glorious as the sectional or state trophies, it was still significant.
It was first handed to Bruce, who raised it high above his head with a proud expression. The Mater Dei players exploded in celebration. True to his style, Bruce quickly passed it on to the captains: Andrew and Kevin.
The two held it together and lifted it toward the stadium lights, sealing the title.
A few minutes after the celebration on stage ended, came the highly anticipated sideline interview. Of course, the player chosen was the game's MVP, Andrew, just as in the Bosco game the previous Friday.
He stood there with his sweaty jersey and the MVP trophy in one hand.
'Finally…' Rachel thought, suppressing a smile and glancing sideways at Monica.
The interviewer was the same journalist as in the Bosco game: [Hello again, Andrew. MVP once more, this time with five touchdowns, no less, against the reigning Southern Section champion. How does it feel to get the win, the title, and of course, this great performance that cements you as the player of the game?]
[Hi, nice to see you again,] Andrew replied politely. [I'm happy, especially about the title. Beating a team like Servite, the reigning sectional champion, gives us huge confidence going forward. It shows what this team is capable of. And of course, I'm glad I was able to keep up my level and help my teammates.]
As Monica listened, she hugged the pillow to her chest. That was what she liked about Andrew, he wasn't egotistical, but he didn't overdo the humility either.
Rachel sat silently, forgetting for a moment that her phone was still recording.
Jack shook his head with a laugh. "This kid is pure ice… At his age I couldn't even speak during a class presentation without stuttering."
The reporter followed up with another question: [Andrew, tonight you also broke records again. Five touchdowns against Servite, something probably no one has achieved since the team's founding in 1958. The last quarterback to even come close was Jimmy Clausen, who scored four against a weaker defense. You scored five against the best Servite. And on top of that, with those numbers, you've now tied Matt Barkley's historic 35-touchdown season with Mater Dei, the same one that earned him the Gatorade Player of the Year award. How do you feel hearing about all these records you're setting?]
Andrew raised an eyebrow before answering, as if he hadn't expected such a record-focused question. [It's always good to play well, and of course, to break records. Who doesn't like that? But the most important thing is the victory and lifting this title with my teammates. I'm already thinking about what's next, the playoffs. I'll think about the Gatorade awards when the season is over.]
Judy, who had just come back into the room, caught that answer and couldn't help but comment softly, "The way he downplays it, he sounds more like an adult than a sixteen-year-old."
Finally, the reporter asked one last question, with a touch of curiosity: [I saw you at the end of the game speaking with Troy Niklas, Servite's defensive leader. What did you talk about?]
Andrew brushed a strand of hair aside and gave a half-smile. [Nothing important. I just told him good game. He sacked me three times, so he ruined my stats,] he replied lightly, drawing a laugh from the reporter.
Immediately, Andrew shifted back to a serious tone. [He's a great defender, one of the best I've played against. That's why I wanted to greet him.]
The reporter looked at him with a hint of surprise, as if he hadn't expected such composure right after telling him he'd broken records and that his season was already surpassing Barkley's. What stood out was that Andrew's humility wasn't exaggerated, he stayed in that balanced middle ground: confident, but respectful.
Taking advantage of the silence, Andrew added, looking straight into the camera: [And once again, I want to thank all my subscribers who keep supporting me. If you're watching this, know that you're part of every victory and of course the record-breaking audiences… And especially, to one of the very first who supported me from the start… Monica, if you're watching, this one's for you.]
He said it in the same calm tone as always, as if it were just another thank-you. Though inside, he was already looking forward to seeing the video of Monica's reaction that Rachel would send him.
Monica froze on the couch, her eyes wide as saucers. It took her a second to react, then she let out a sharp squeal, throwing her hands to her face and jumping to her feet.
"Oh my God!" Monica screamed, unable to contain herself. "He said my name! On national TV!"
Rachel covered her mouth to keep from laughing. Part of her wanted to laugh at Monica's over-the-top reaction, but another part felt genuine warmth.
"Well done, kid. You behaved last year, and Santa Claus delivered your wish. Congratulations," Chandler joked, raising an imaginary glass.
"Why the big fuss?" Ross asked, rolling his eyes. It had been fun, sure, but he couldn't understand why his sister kept up such a level of fanaticism. "You literally spent a day with Andrew. You should've toned it down a notch since then."
"Shut up, Ross!" Monica shot back with a triumphant grin, still glued to the screen. "You're just jealous because he didn't say your name on national television in a historic game."
Ross clicked his tongue and said nothing more.
The interview ended, and the broadcast wrapped up. Monica, still smiling, slowly began to calm down. Until a thought struck her. She frowned, turning her head slowly toward Rachel.
"Wait a second… why would Andrew send me a shout-out?" she murmured, piecing it together.
She knew Rachel talked with Andrew. Besides, he wouldn't just give her a shout-out out of nowhere. And she remembered that little joke last Friday between Chandler, Monica, and Ross, suggesting in jest that she should ask Andrew for a greeting and that if he did it, she might have a heart attack.
Monica narrowed her eyes. "You…" she managed, pointing an accusing finger at her friend.
Rachel, with a faint smile, took a step back and raised her hands like someone caught in mischief. "Surprise."
To Rachel's astonishment, Monica didn't scold her. She had expected a lecture about crossing a line, that Andrew shouldn't be bothered with requests like that.
But no. Monica stayed silent for a few seconds, processing, then hugged her tightly.
"Thanks! Thanks, thanks, thanks" she exclaimed, eyes shining.
Rachel laughed. "You're welcome…" she said, giving her friend a couple of weird pats on the back. "I knew how happy it would make you…"
"What a noble friend, with no ulterior motives," Chandler remarked. Rachel, still locked in Monica's hug, shot him a death glare. He raised his hands in mock surrender, adding nothing more.
Once Monica finally let go, Rachel made sure to recover her phone without raising suspicion, quickly pressing stop and tucking it away.
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