Andrew and Rachel walked along the stone path, gradually moving away from the noise of the Geller siblings' absurdly intense game. They were heading toward some nearby supermarket or small store where they could grab something light to eat and bring back. The fresh air hit them head-on, clean and crisp.
As he walked, Andrew couldn't help but glance at her from the corner of his eye.
Rachel was quiet, and that was a little unusual. He knew she wasn't shy. Nor was she someone who got intimidated by his fame. In fact, out of the whole group, she had been the most natural when they arrived, the most grounded, along with Carol.
She didn't seem angry anymore, but she wasn't entirely okay either. There was something in her expression, a mix of mild annoyance and bruised pride that hadn't quite faded.
"Still mad about the game, huh?" Andrew said, breaking the silence.
"Of course," Rachel replied, not hiding it. "My best friend doesn't even pass me the ball. It was supposed to be for fun, but she plays like it's the world finals."
"I know that feeling," Andrew said, nodding. "My best friend voted for me not to play. Traitor."
"Two traitors," Rachel said. "And Steve shouldn't be the Apostle John. He should be Judas."
Andrew let out a laugh. "Yeah… Steve Judas Rice. Sounds better."
Rachel laughed too, this time more genuinely. "We have to tell him. I want to see his face."
Andrew nodded, still holding a faint smile, but then he looked at her again, more serious this time.
"But seriously," he said, "it's not just their fault."
Rachel looked at him. "What?"
"They actually tried to pass it to you a few times at the start of the game, but you didn't catch any. You really suck as a receiver," Andrew said.
Rachel stopped dead in her tracks and looked at him, hands on her hips. "Hey!" she said. "I thought we were allies."
Andrew stopped too, holding her gaze. "We are. But I'm also honest."
Rachel frowned. "When you threw me the ball at the beach, I caught them," she shot back.
"Yeah, I remember," Andrew said, nodding slightly. "But that was me, you know? I make a living out of making sure my passes get caught…"
He remembered it clearly: it hadn't been automatic, nor easy. It took a couple of attempts to figure out the timing, the velocity, and the arc he needed to give the ball to fit her. He found the rhythm in the end, sure, but it was adaptation.
And that had been in a completely controlled setting.
In a game, with people moving, split-second decisions, and someone trying to tag you before you complete the play, that was a different story.
Rachel's shoulders dropped slightly. "Am I that bad?" she asked, her voice softer now.
"You're not bad," Andrew said immediately.
Rachel's expression shifted at once, easing a little.
"In fact," he continued, "you should probably be better than Haley, Monica, and most of the girls."
Rachel blinked, surprised. A smile slipped out before she could stop it.
"Really?" she asked, her tone suddenly lighter, almost happy. It wasn't a small thing, the best football prospect in the country praising her like that.
Andrew looked at her for a second with a strange expression, as if he didn't quite understand the doubt.
"Don't you know?" he said finally.
Rachel frowned slightly.
Andrew tilted his head. "You're the captain of the cheerleading, right?
Rachel nodded.
"Being a cheerleading captain isn't easy," Andrew said, his tone turning more analytical.
He wasn't saying it just to flatter her or boost her confidence. Making the cheerleading team already requires a medium-to-high level of skill. It's not just about cheering. It's a sport that combines gymnastics, dance, and acrobatics.
Sure, at smaller schools it can be more accessible, but it's still demanding.
And from what little he knows and remembers, Rachel and Monica go to a well-known, large school in New York. An environment where football isn't the main sport, but where basketball has a strong program. Athletic competition still exists there, it just expresses itself through other sports.
The cheerleading team, moreover, is usually the same across different seasons: football in the fall, basketball in the winter.
That means continuity, constant physical demand, and a sustained standard.
At a school with a respectable program, each year anywhere between 50 and 100 girls can try out. Only about 12 to 25 make it.
The selection process isn't superficial. There's real evaluation: dance routines, energy, coordination, jumps, tumbling, and body control.
Staying on the team isn't any easier than getting in.
The fact that Rachel has been a cheerleading captain for several years, from what Andrew knows, implies that she's very good.
She has flexibility, strength, especially in her core and legs, endurance to handle full practices and games, the ability to perform more complex acrobatics, and above all, timing.
Being captain means being above even those who already made the team.
It's a filter within the filter.
Haley, who always liked popularity and being the center of attention, never made it in, even though she clearly would have liked to.
And Monica, although she's always been competitive and now has a solid physical base, is probably quite a bit behind Rachel in areas like endurance, flexibility, and body control.
So not being able to catch a ball isn't a lack of ability or because she sucks, it's simply that she doesn't want to catch it.
"So… why am I so bad at this?" Rachel asked.
'It's pretty obvious…' Andrew thought.
"Being athletic isn't the same as being a receiver," Andrew explained. "Catching a moving ball, reading its trajectory, with someone on you, that's a specific skill."
"That must be it, one hundred percent," Rachel said, nodding.
"Yes and no, your problem is another, more immediate one," Andrew said, making Rachel frown, confused.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"You're afraid of the ball," Andrew replied, looking at her with a hint of disbelief. "I saw it while I was watching the game. You close your eyes, cover your face, or pull away so it doesn't hit your hands… when you should be catching it."
Rachel stayed silent for a few seconds.
"Maybe," she finally admitted.
"It's not maybe, that's what it is," Andrew corrected, resuming his walk. Rachel followed.
"For you to catch my passes, I had to throw them perfectly. Straight to your hands, without scaring you, at just the right speed so you couldn't pull back and had no choice but to catch it. And you responded well. You have good reflexes."
'He still remembers that?' Rachel thought, slightly surprised.
"Well, yeah, but Steve's and Monica's throws were going straight at my face," she defended herself, raising her voice a little. "They throw hard! I don't want them hitting me…"
She paused and raised her hands in front of him, showing them. Her nails were perfectly done, neat, an impeccable manicure.
"And I don't want to ruin this either," Rachel added with a half-smile. "Look at them… they're pretty, right?"
Andrew looked at them for a second, clearly amused. "Yeah, they're pretty," he admitted.
Then he looked back up at her, not losing his point, "But that doesn't fix the problem."
Rachel let out a small sigh. "It's not just that…" she murmured, hesitating for a second before continuing. "If I catch the ball, I might make a weird face. You know, from concentrating or whatever."
Andrew frowned slightly, looking at her with an expression that mixed surprise and confusion. "That worries you too?"
Rachel shrugged lightly. "Yeah, I mean… I don't want the ball bouncing off my face or to make a weird expression."
"But you're a cheerleader," Andrew said, tilting his head, as if it were contradictory. "You do flips, you shout, you jump… you're constantly in front of people."
"Yes, but there I control everything," Rachel explained. "I know how I look, how I move, and I always look good. It's different."
Andrew watched her for a second and said, "So you don't want to catch the ball if there's even a small chance something goes wrong and makes you look weird."
Rachel hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
"That's another problem," Andrew said, shaking his head slightly.
Rachel looked up, frowning. "What problem?"
"You care about how people see you," he replied, completely matter-of-fact.
Rachel reacted instantly, almost offended. "That's not it," she said quickly. "It's not embarrassment or anything like that. I just don't want to make weird faces."
Andrew looked at her, unconvinced, and shook his head again. "Doesn't seem like it."
"Oh, really?" Rachel said, narrowing her eyes. "And what about you? You always look perfect in photos, even when you're running, throwing, or dodging half a team. You've got a public image to maintain, don't you?"
Andrew let out a soft exhale through his nose, almost like a laugh.
"Of course not," he replied. "I'm not thinking about that. I just look like that… It's not something I think about in the middle of a game, embarrassment doesn't chase me."
"I'm not embarrassed either," Rachel said firmly. "In fact, I'm probably better than you at that. Less embarrassed."
"Yeah, sure," Andrew said, his tone clearly sarcastic.
"Want to bet?" Rachel challenged.
Andrew looked at her oddly, somewhere between curious and suspicious. "Bet what? And how exactly would we compete?" he asked.
Rachel tilted her head, thinking for a second. "Not betting anything in particular," she said finally. "Just see who wins. And competing is easy. We're in a public place, full of people we don't know, in a city we're leaving tomorrow."
Her eyes lit up slightly, amused by the idea.
"We can do things that would be embarrassing. Whoever handles it better wins. Or whoever can't do it loses," she added.
Andrew watched her in silence for another second. Then a faint smile appeared on his face.
"Challenge accepted," he said without hesitation.
With a new challenge neither of them intended to lose, they kept walking. In barely ten minutes, they had reached the Pearl District, an urban area filled with shops, cafés, and markets.
While Rachel was still thinking about what to do for the competition, Andrew acted.
As they passed by a well-dressed middle-aged man sitting on a bench with his dog, Andrew stopped.
"Excuse me, sir," he said.
Rachel stopped too when she saw him.
The man looked up. "What is it, son?" he asked. His gaze lingered on Andrew's face for a second longer than usual, as if it seemed familiar, though he didn't quite place it.
"My friend," Andrew said, pointing at Rachel, "was just staring at you, completely amazed. Her partner of five years left her recently, can you believe that? And she's having a really hard time getting over it… so I thought maybe you could give her your number and take her out."
'What?' Rachel thought, keeping a completely neutral expression as she tried to process what she had just heard.
The man looked surprised as well. He glanced at Rachel, then back at Andrew.
"Uh… I—"
"She's eighteen, totally legal, sir. And she likes older men," Andrew added casually. "Right, Rach?" he said, nudging her lightly with his elbow.
The man looked at her again.
In a normal situation, Rachel would have wanted to disappear on the spot. But she couldn't. Not now.
She clenched her teeth slightly and nodded.
"Yes… I like older men," Rachel said, with forced calm. "And I'm a miserable girl who got dumped by the love of her life."
"I'm sorry…" the man replied, raising his hand and showing his ring. "But I'm happily married."
"Shame," Andrew sighed, clearly amused on the inside. "Thanks for your time."
He gave Rachel a light pat on the shoulder, as if they were old friends, and resumed walking. Rachel followed him out of inertia.
They walked a few steps in silence.
"So that's how you want to play, huh?" Rachel said, looking at him.
Andrew raised his hands, as if to say that's how it goes, then smiled.
"Well done back there," he said. "I thought you'd turn red as a tomato, but you handled it. Point for you."
He had put her in an uncomfortable, clearly embarrassing situation, and even so, Rachel had held her ground. She didn't break or walk away.
Rachel made a face, acknowledging he had a point. But it wasn't exactly the kind of game she had expected.
And she wasn't going to fall behind.
Just a few steps later, as they passed a café with outdoor seating, she saw her opportunity. A group of three women, quite a bit older, were chatting calmly.
Rachel didn't hesitate.
"Excuse me, ladies," she said, stopping and grabbing Andrew by the arm, pulling him closer before he could react.
"Yes, dear?" one of the women replied, white-haired, taking a sip of her tea.
"He's my brother," Rachel said, gesturing toward Andrew with an open palm, "and throughout all of high school, he never had a girlfriend. He's very shy and a little pathetic."
All three women turned their attention to Andrew.
One of them frowned slightly, as if he looked familiar. The other two studied him with curiosity.
He didn't exactly look shy. And definitely not pathetic. But why would his sister lie?
Andrew took barely a second to adapt. He nodded slightly. He had to play along or lose.
"And as his sister…" Rachel continued, regaining their attention, "I want to help him get a date. You're all very beautiful, and he likes older women, right, bro?"
Andrew hesitated for just a moment before answering, "Yeah, that's true."
All three women reacted almost at the same time. They laughed, clearly flattered.
"Oh, sweetheart…" one of them said with a wide smile, "you're very cute, but you should look for someone your own age."
"Yes," another added, still chuckling softly, "besides, we're married."
The third nodded in agreement.
"But don't worry," she said, looking at Andrew, "I'm sure you'll find someone. You just need to lose a bit of that shyness."
Rachel nodded with a small smile. "Bad luck," she said, "but thanks for your time."
Without giving Andrew a chance to respond, she grabbed his arm again and gently pulled him away.
"Good composure, bro," Rachel said now with an amused smile. "Tie."
Andrew nodded, surprised by how quickly Rachel had improvised and adapted to the game. This wasn't going to be as easy as he initially thought.
Before they entered the supermarket, the perfect situation for Rachel appeared.
Two girls, about their age, approached with huge smiles and obvious nervousness, looking straight at Andrew.
They had recognized him.
"Andrew!" one of them whispered, breathless, covering her mouth with her hands.
"A photo, please!" the other added, stepping a little closer.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Rachel said, stepping in front of Andrew like a shield.
The two girls stopped in their tracks.
They frowned slightly when they saw such an attractive girl standing next to him. The scene didn't match what they expected. In a matter of seconds, they went from excitement to a kind of silent alert.
Who was she?
Were they together?
Did Andrew have a girlfriend?
Since when?
Too many questions in too little time.
"Of course he'll take pictures with you," Rachel continued naturally, "but you need to know something."
She paused, as if revealing sensitive information.
"Andrew Pritchett-Tucker has a social anxiety disorder that prevents him from talking to women. He can barely say a few words at best. And in photos… be careful with proximity. We don't want him having a panic attack."
'This woman…' Andrew thought, suppressing a grimace.
The game was getting out of hand.
"Really?" the two girls said, looking at him in disbelief.
The dominant quarterback. The one who never lost. The one who seemed completely unshakable on a field full of pressure.
And he had that kind of weakness?
Andrew lowered his gaze slightly and nodded, adopting a more withdrawn posture.
"He can only talk to the women in his family," Rachel added, reinforcing the story.
"Are you his sister or something?" one of them asked, raising an eyebrow.
Rachel fell silent for a second. The two girls looked like intense fans, the kind who probably knew more about Andrew than they should.
A bad lie here could ruin everything.
"Nope…" Rachel answered, hesitantly.
"Then how can he be with you and talk?" the other asked, pointing out the obvious contradiction. They had seen them together before approaching, talking normally. It's just that, caught up in the excitement of seeing him, they hadn't paid much attention to Rachel at the time.
"Uhh…" Rachel dragged out the word, not really knowing what to say.
Andrew took that moment.
Without looking directly at either of the girls, maintaining the facade Rachel had created, he spoke in a low voice, with forced shyness.
"She's not a woman, she's transgender. She used to be a man. That's why I can talk to him or her..."
The two girls blinked, surprised. "What?" they murmured at the same time, turning their gaze to Rachel. "Really?"
Rachel froze completely for a second.
Then, with no other option, she nodded. "Yeah, I am. I used to be a man…"
"Woah…" one of them said, looking her up and down carefully. "The doctor you had did an excellent job."
The other one looked at her as well, with a mix of surprise and admiration. "You really look incredible, you even got boobs," she added.
Rachel nodded again, holding her composure as best she could. The focus had completely shifted, and now she was the center of everything.
"What was your male name before?" one of them asked, clearly curious.
Rachel hesitated for just a moment. "I… my name was John."
The two girls nodded, processing the information.
Finally, Rachel took one of their phones.
They gathered for the photo, smiling, though keeping a certain distance from Andrew, just as they had been told.
Rachel took the picture, and the two girls left, happy, chatting about the strange information.
Andrew and Rachel stayed silent, watching them walk away. Then they looked at each other.
"Well played," Rachel admitted.
"You too…" Andrew said.
They had both held their ground. Still tied. They resumed walking and finally entered a supermarket.
The change in atmosphere was immediate. Air conditioning, white lights, organized aisles, and the low murmur of people doing their shopping. They grabbed a cart and started moving.
Rachel was the first to break the competitive rhythm, scanning the shelves.
"Snacks, snacks…" she murmured, picking up a bag and dropping it into the cart.
Andrew nodded, grabbing something else without thinking much about it.
Rachel kept looking around absentmindedly when something made her stop.
She leaned slightly and saw it. A cucumber. But not a normal one. It was excessively large. Easily over twenty centimeters.
Rachel evaluated it, and a slow smile spread across her face.
"Alright," Rachel said, picking up the cucumber.
Andrew looked at her, suspicious.
"If you're so unembarrassed…" Rachel continued, "put this in your pants and walk around the supermarket like that."
Andrew looked down at the object. Then back at her.
"Give it to me," he said, taking the cucumber.
He waited until no one was looking at that moment. A couple of people walked by, distracted. He adjusted his posture slightly and slipped it into his pants.
Rachel watched him, arms crossed, smiling.
Andrew looked up and started walking as if there was absolutely nothing out of place.
That was the problem.
Because from the outside, without context, the first thing anyone would think when seeing him walk by was that he had an enormous penis. Too exaggerated. Enough for doubt to appear quickly. And then, a second later, the realization that it couldn't be that.
Just an idiot.
A complete idiot walking through a supermarket with a cucumber in his pants.
Rachel followed him, pushing the cart, laughing to herself, trying to hold it in but failing every few steps.
Andrew, for his part, was smiling, clearly more amused than embarrassed. He gave her a light nudge on the arm.
"Act normal," he said quietly, "or the illusion falls apart too fast."
Rachel nodded quickly, trying to compose herself. "Yeah, yeah… zen mode," she muttered, exhaling and forcing a neutral expression.
They turned into an aisle where there was only one person.
A few meters away, a boy, about ten or eleven years old, with neatly rounded brown hair, wearing a light shirt and a patterned knitted vest, stood picking out cereal with great concentration.
But at the sound of the cart, the boy turned his head and saw them.
The moment he saw Andrew's face, he lit up.
He smiled immediately, with genuine excitement, raising a hand as if he was about to call out to him. He had clearly recognized him. He had watched the game yesterday on TV, he couldn't see it live because the tickets were too expensive and sold out quickly.
But then he went silent.
His expression changed completely. The excitement froze. His brow slowly furrowed, and his confused gaze started drifting downward.
From Andrew's face down until it stopped right at his pants.
The confusion on his face was absolute. As if his brain was trying to process something that didn't make sense.
Andrew and Rachel noticed and bit their lips to keep from laughing.
They kept walking. A little faster. As if they hadn't noticed.
They turned the next corner, and as soon as they were out of sight, they burst out laughing.
Rachel leaned slightly over the stroller, laughing, "No, it can't be…" she managed to say between laughs, "Did you see his face! From pure joy to total confusion!"
Andrew let out a low laugh, shaking his head, "The existential doubt I caused him…"
Rachel looked up, still laughing, "You just ruined that kid's childhood. He'll think he has a micropenis."
"No, me. Us, you made me put this cucumber on," Andrew said, correcting her.
Rachel accepted some of the blame. They kept wandering around like this without putting anything in the cart, delighting in people's expressions when they noticed the bulge in Andrew's pants.
Until, finally, Andrew decided that enough was enough.
Casually, taking advantage of a moment when no one was looking directly at them, he adjusted himself and pulled the cucumber out of his pants.
He left it in the cart. He couldn't just put it back on the shelf after all that.
Rachel looked at him, still smiling.
Andrew, on the other hand, was already thinking about what came next.
They passed by the fruit section, and he picked up a large, perfectly round watermelon.
"Your turn," he said, handing it to Rachel.
"Challenge accepted," Rachel said, taking the watermelon and placing it under her clothes against her stomach. There was no need to explain what Andrew was going for.
They started walking again, this time with Andrew pushing the cart.
Rachel walked beside him, slower, more measured in every step, surprisingly convincing.
It didn't take long before they drew attention.
An older woman with a kind face looked at them as they passed. She stopped and smiled. "Dear, congratulations," she said warmly, looking at Rachel. "How many months?"
Rachel felt the laughter rise instantly, but she held it in. Her expression barely changed.
"Seven months," she replied seriously.
The woman nodded, satisfied, then turned her gaze to Andrew. "You're a lovely couple, though very young."
Andrew nodded slowly.
"Yeah, well," he began, in an uncomfortably honest tone, "it was kind of her fault. She doesn't like using protection, or any kind of contraception during or after sex, and well… this is how we ended up."
The woman blinked.
Rachel's eyes widened as she looked at him, clearly not expecting that.
Andrew continued, as if nothing had happened. "But that's life. Now we'll have to give up our dreams and work to provide a roof and food for the baby."
The woman looked back at Rachel.
Rachel forced herself back into character. "Heh… yeah," she said, with a barely held smile. "I learned the importance of sex education the hard way, but… it could be worse… I don't know, like HIV or something," she added casually, shrugging slightly.
The woman nodded slowly, not quite knowing what to say.
Andrew brought his fist to his mouth and coughed a couple of times.
"I hope things work out for you," the woman finally said, with an awkward smile, before quickly walking away.
Rachel, seeing the woman disappear between the aisles, couldn't hold it in anymore. "You can't just say that like it's nothing!" she said between laughs, hitting his shoulder.
What kind of couple goes around telling a stranger they don't use protection?
Andrew was laughing too. "Hey, you adapted really well," he said. "I didn't expect the HIV part."
Rachel let out another laugh, still catching her breath.
They kept walking, now approaching the checkout area.
The atmosphere was returning to normal.
Rachel looked down at her stomach. "Alright, time to take this off," she said, still amused.
Andrew nodded. "Yes, that's enough for today."
Rachel smiled, still relaxed from the situation, and right at that moment, without warning, Andrew lightly swept his foot across hers.
Rachel, completely caught off guard, didn't see it coming and fell.
Straight to the floor. The watermelon hit first, and burst.
The sound was wet, loud. Red pieces splattered across the ground.
To anyone watching, without knowing there had been a watermelon, it looked like blood.
A second of absolute silence, and then:
"AHHHH!" the cashier screamed from her register, covering her mouth.
The older woman from before, who was just paying, turned her head, and screamed as well.
"OH MY GOD!"
Several people froze. Some stepped back.
Others stared in pure horror.
Rachel, on the floor, placed her hands down and looked up at Andrew.
"Andrew!" she exclaimed, somewhere between angry, amused, and completely embarrassed.
"I'm sorry," Andrew said quickly, caught between guilt and suppressed laughter.
He moved toward her immediately, kneeling in front of her and taking her hands to help her up.
"It was an intrusive thought," he added. "Are you okay?" he asked, with genuine concern.
He lifted her carefully, his hands still holding hers.
Rachel's anger faded almost as quickly as it had appeared.
She looked at him up close for a second longer, still processing, but no longer with any real intention of complaining.
"Yes, I'm fine," she murmured. "I didn't expect it…"
She paused, then let out a small laugh, "But we made quite a mess."
Both of them now looked around.
Many eyes on them. Indignant faces. Others still trying to understand what they had just witnessed. Even the store's security guard had shown up.
Ten minutes later, they were leaving the supermarket. Each holding a bag. Walking in silence, moving away from the place at a slightly faster pace than normal.
"Well, that was definitely embarrassing," Andrew said finally.
Rachel nodded.
They had to explain everything. Pay for the broken watermelon under everyone's watchful eyes. Endure the uncomfortable silence in line, the whispers, and above all, the icy stare of the older woman, who now fully understood there had been no pregnancy, just two young people playing a stupid joke.
"But it was totally worth it," Rachel said, breaking the silence, with a smile she no longer tried to hide. "That was really fun."
Andrew let out a laugh through his nose and nodded. At that point, the competition had already faded into the background. It had been fun.
They returned to the park. The game hadn't fully ended.
Monica and Ross were lying on the grass, facing each other, both with their hands firmly gripping the ball against the ground. Neither willing to let go.
There had been a confusing play. Technically a touchdown. But Haley hadn't fully entered the end zone. She let go of the ball too early, celebrating, and the ball stayed live.
What followed was inevitable. Monica and Ross dove at the same time, and there they still were, minutes later.
Neither giving in.
"You took your time," Haley said, watching them with a raised eyebrow.
"Ahem… things happened," Rachel replied.
Andrew nodded beside her.
"What things?" Steve asked, now more relaxed, as he pulled snacks out of the bags and started opening them.
"Nothing important," Andrew said with complete seriousness. "Just that we can't come back to San Antonio… ever."
Rachel nodded, fully agreeing.
The afternoon continued more calmly.
Andrew stepped aside a bit with Rachel, taking the ball he had brought. Not Monica and Ross's, who were still locked in their silent war.
He managed to get Rachel to leave her fear of catching the ball behind.
Rachel didn't hesitate. She didn't close her eyes or step back.
And most importantly, she didn't think about whether she'd make a weird face or anything like that.
After everything that had happened on the way, and in the supermarket, that no longer seemed like anything.
Later, when Monica and Ross finally let go of the ball, without either admitting defeat, they organized a second game.
This time, without the absurd intensity of the first.
Rachel played again with renewed confidence and asked for the ball.
Monica did pass it to her, mostly to avoid her best friend getting mad, but the result surprised her.
Rachel was catching passes. And not just that. Her whole style of play changed.
Her speed was evident. She easily outran Ross, Chandler, Monica, Haley, Luke, and Carol. Only Steve, and clearly Andrew, could outdo her in that regard.
And then her jumps, high and precise, with almost perfect timing. She made clean, controlled catches, even under coverage.
Chandler, Ross, and Luke could barely do anything against her. She outpaced them, read them, and left them behind without much effort.
Haley watched her with a mix of surprise and frustration. 'What the hell? Was she this good?' she thought.
"Nice job, girl!" Monica exclaimed, happy since Rachel was on her team.
Her team won. Ross got beaten without expecting that the piece that tipped the balance had been Rachel.
Steve, with the limitations placed on him, couldn't do enough to help Ross.
The conversations slowly began to fade, as if no one wanted to be the first to truly end the day.
It was time to say goodbye. Andrew and his group had a flight that same night.
Andrew said goodbye to everyone, leaving Rachel for last.
"That was fun today," he said.
Rachel nodded. "It was," she replied.
There was something different in her tone. Softer.
"Hope you have a good flight," she added, so it wouldn't fall into an awkward silence.
"Thanks," Andrew said with a slight smile. "You too, you're heading back tomorrow, right?"
Rachel nodded. "Yeah, we're staying one more day."
There was a small pause. Not uncomfortable, but not completely natural either. As if there was something else to say, and neither quite found the way to say it.
They exchanged a couple more words. Simple ones. And finally, each group started walking away in opposite directions.
The trip to Texas for the U.S. Army All-American Bowl was over.
The following Monday, with barely any time to process it, Andrew started college. January slipped by quickly: new schedules, studying Norm Chow's offensive playbook, strength and conditioning workouts, meetings, and names to learn, classmates and professors.
Then came National Signing Day.
February first, which fell on a Wednesday.
The most important day in recruiting.
ESPN had been in continuous coverage for hours. Split screens, announcements, and live signings from all over the country. For most, it was decision time. For Andrew, it wasn't. His decision had been made weeks ago, set in stone everywhere, repeated endlessly. He was already at UCLA.
Even so, the final step was still pending. It was mandatory.
And he had to do it at his high school, Mater Dei, which filled up again. Cameras once more, though the tone was different. No longer uncertainty, but confirmation.
Andrew had to go back, sit in front of the flashes, hold the paper, and sign his National Letter of Intent like any other prospect in the country.
The tension was minimal, almost nonexistent. Technically, until that moment, everything had still been verbal. He could have changed his mind. He could have made a last-second turn.
It would have been a national scandal, the kind of story that freezes an entire day. But no one in the room really believed that was possible.
The signing came without drama. Then a short press conference.
Meanwhile, the rest of the country stayed glued to every announcement. Throughout the day, ESPN updated its live board: every signature added points, every decision shifted rankings. Entire shows dedicated to tracking the standings in real time, universities rising and falling with each name made official.
UCLA kept climbing.
Each fulfilled commitment reinforced what had already been clear since December. The recruits who had given their word held it: Steve Rice, Andrus Peat, Amari Cooper, along with other elite prospects. No negative surprises, no last-minute losses.
Only confirmations.
As the afternoon went on, the board began to stabilize. The powerhouse programs took their usual spots, but there was one name that didn't quite fit the traditional order.
When the official 2012 class rankings were finally released, the result was set:
1. Alabama Crimson Tide football
2. UCLA Bruins football
3. Texas Longhorns football
4. Florida Gators football
5. USC Trojans football
The jump was immediate, impossible to ignore.
A year earlier, UCLA had been outside the Top 20.
Now it was number two in the country. Something historic for the university.
Not just because of the position, but because of how it happened. It wasn't a slow accumulation of talent or the result of years of work. It was an abrupt shift, almost violent in recruiting terms, driven by a central figure who had reshaped everything around him.
The Andrew effect.
A quarterback capable of attracting talent, convincing players, and changing decisions. Turning UCLA, in a matter of weeks, into a priority destination for some of the best players in the country.
A program that, even in its best years, barely cracked the Top 10, and that alone was considered a success, now stood at number two in the nation.
It was the confirmation of something that had been repeated for months, almost like an exaggerated theory now backed by facts: whichever university Andrew chose wouldn't just gain the best player of the generation, it would see its status transformed instantly.
Without him having played a single game.