Thanks for your messages! The move went great. There are still a few things left to arrive, but we're over 80% settled. Now, I'll leave you with the chapter.
...
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Manhattan, New York City.
The Upper East Side, located between Central Park and the East River, is one of Manhattan's most distinguished neighborhoods. Elegant without needing to be ostentatious, it blends limestone buildings and tree-lined streets with some of the most prestigious museums and boutiques in the world.
On one of those streets, discreetly set apart from the main noise, stood the building where the Green family lived. It wasn't a Hollywood-style mansion, but it occupied an entire floor: four spacious bedrooms, high ceilings, classic moldings, a twenty-four-hour doorman, and a location that alone justified its value. Over four million dollars in pure New York DNA.
The family could afford that lifestyle thanks to Dr. Leonard Green, one of the most sought-after plastic surgeons in the city, with an income comfortably exceeding one million a year.
Inside the apartment, in the brightest wing, was Rachel's room.
It was exactly what you would expect, and a little more.
Spacious, with a large window letting in the soft afternoon light filtered through white curtains. The bed, big and unmade, was covered with more pillows than necessary and a couple of stuffed animals. In front of it, a rack with different outfits hanging.
A bit farther away, a large wooden desk cluttered with stacked fashion magazines, some open, marked with notes, half-finished sketches, and a pair of sunglasses.
The closet, slightly ajar, revealed meticulously organized clothes.
Rachel sat on her bed, cross-legged, with contained energy. "That's everything," she said, finishing a story that had taken her several minutes to tell.
In front of her, Monica remained silent. Her blue eyes, usually steady, were slightly wider than usual, processing the last fifteen minutes since she had arrived.
"Let me see if I got this right…" she said, bringing a hand to her forehead. "In January, you applied to FIDM, a fashion school in Los Angeles more than two thousand miles from here."
Rachel nodded, smiling as if it were no big deal.
Monica continued, now more slowly, as if she needed to hear herself: "You got accepted in April, and you completed all the paperwork behind your parents' backs."
"Yeah. I'm already eighteen, I don't need their permission," Rachel replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Monica stared at her for a few seconds before continuing. "But now you need to tell them. Because you have to pay the tuition for next year. Twenty-five thousand dollars you don't have. And, minor detail: they have no idea you're planning to go study on the other side of the country."
Rachel made a small grimace. There it was. The part that didn't sound so exciting anymore.
"And that's not all, on top of that, you want me to go with you on some kind of adventure together?" Monica added, narrowing her eyes.
"Yes!" Rachel answered immediately, leaning forward and grabbing her hands enthusiastically. "Doesn't it sound exciting?"
"Not to me," Monica said, pulling away and getting up from the bed. "It's a complete change from the plan I had…"
She started biting her nails, a thousand possibilities running through her mind. But then a doubt surfaced, and she turned back to Rachel.
"Wait, why do you want to go to that fashion institute in LA? You're in New York, the fashion capital of the world. I don't know much, but there have to be better schools here."
Rachel sighed softly, as if she had been expecting that exact question. She straightened slightly and raised a finger, ready.
"First," she said, in a tone that made it clear she had rehearsed this answer, "fashion in New York is extremely competitive. Everyone wants in. For example, Parsons is top one in America and top three in the world for fashion, but that's exactly why it's brutal. The GPA they require, the portfolio, and the interviews mean only thirty to forty percent get in."
She paused briefly, then added, "Do I trust my portfolio? Yes. My GPA? Not so much."
Monica listened attentively.
Rachel continued, now more confident. "FIDM is different. They accept more people, so it was much safer for me to get in, and it's in LA, connected to the real industry. Hollywood, major brands… everything is practical. Not as conceptual."
Rachel didn't feel a true connection to artistic haute couture. She liked it, sure, but it wasn't what drove her. Where she really stood out was in the business side of fashion, in her aesthetic eye, in understanding what works and what doesn't.
She had realized that over the past two years, as she became more and more involved, especially working at the boutique her father had helped her get into.
"And second, I want to do it on my own. Not stay here, where everything is already set up for me. Where everything goes through my parents, especially my dad. I want to see if I can do it without someone deciding every step for me," Rachel concluded.
Monica crossed her arms and finally nodded, understanding her points. They were logical, honestly.
Then she fell into thought, tapping her foot lightly against the floor.
She also understood why Rachel wanted her to come along. It wasn't just about not going alone to a state so far away, even if part of all this was proving herself, having someone close made the idea less intimidating and a lot more fun.
And, deep down, she knew Rachel was thinking about her too. Monica had been considering moving out for a while. Her relationship with her mother, Judith, was tense, they always clashed and argued. On top of that, there was the constant shadow of Ross, hard to ignore even when he wasn't around.
There was also her vocation. Cooking didn't follow the traditional college path. Usually, the ideal route was intensive, short, practical programs, where experience mattered as much as a degree. And there, once again, came the conflict with traditional families, who tended to look more favorably on a standard university career.
"It would be interesting to go to LA… I could free myself from my mother's constant judgment and from Ross's shadow, but New York is much better gastronomically," Monica said at last.
She didn't say it out of simple preference, she was thinking about her future as a chef. New York offered a more established culinary scene.
"I get that," Rachel nodded, standing up. "I'm just asking you to look into cooking schools in LA and compare them to the ones you were planning to check out here. Maybe you'll like them more."
Monica looked at her for a few seconds, evaluating the proposal, and nodded. "Alright. I will."
In the end, the idea still had something appealing to it. Truly becoming independent. Getting away from her family, and making her own decisions.
And it wasn't like LA lagged behind in culinary terms. It was simply different. Just as New York dominated the more classic and conceptual side of fashion, LA had its own strengths. The same applied to food.
"Thanks for considering it," Rachel said with a sincere smile.
"It's nothing," Monica replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. "But… wow, I didn't expect this from you."
Rachel Green leaving for the other side of the country, walking away from all the privileges she had grown up with, was no small thing. Monica knew her friend's father well, this news wasn't going to sit well with him, and it would surely have consequences for her lifestyle.
And then there was the fact of seeing Rachel so determined and organized. Handling all the paperwork on her own, having solid arguments, and knowing exactly what she wanted to do with her life. It was unusual.
Most people their age barely had any idea where they were headed.
But thinking about it more carefully, Rachel had been moving in this direction for a while. It hadn't come out of nowhere. She had been working at a fashion boutique for months, beyond the fact that her father had pulled some strings to get her the job, she had built a portfolio and improved her grades as much as she could.
She was focused.
Different from the image Monica had always had of her.
The change had been so gradual that she had barely noticed it, unless she stopped to really think about it, like now.
'She's been like this for about two years?' Monica thought, narrowing her eyes slightly.
And then she started connecting the dots.
The trip to LA for Andrew's second subscriber meetup. The day at the beach with him, with Haley, with Leonard and Howard.
That's when something had started to change in Rachel.
After that, once they were back in New York, Rachel had managed to stay in touch with Andrew through Facebook, and later got his number. She had even gotten Andrew to send Monica a greeting, just to see her amused reaction at being acknowledged by her idol on national television.
But over time, that contact faded. The distance was too much, they couldn't keep talking forever while living on opposite ends of the country.
'Until the All-American Bowl…' Monica thought. January of that same year, in Texas.
That's when everything sparked again. Monica had worked up the nerve to send Andrew a congratulatory message, and he had invited them to hang out for a while.
Monica had accepted, bringing along Rachel, Ross, Carol, and Chandler.
And there, when Monica had started playing a game against Ross, Andrew and Rachel, who weren't playing, had gone off together to the supermarket.
Rachel had told that story over and over again. Too many times. Laughing, remembering every detail of the walk, everything they had said, and that strange game of embarrassment they had played.
And now she was saying she wanted to go to LA to study fashion. She had started the application process right after the Texas trip.
Everything clicked at once in Monica's mind.
"You…!" she said suddenly, standing up and pointing at her.
Rachel looked at her, confused by the sudden shift in energy. "What?"
"You want to go to LA not just for fashion!" Monica shot back. "You want to go for Andrew!"
Rachel fell momentarily silent, as if she'd been caught in something she hadn't even fully sorted out herself. Finally, she reacted.
"Of course not…" she said, crossing her arms and turning her head away so she wouldn't look at her.
"Of course you do! You're in love!" Monica blurted out, and a smile began to form on her face.
"Shut up," Rachel huffed.
"Now everything makes sense…" Monica continued, starting to pace around the large room. "You turned down every prom invitation, you want to go to LA to a school suspiciously close to UCLA…"
Prom was just a week away, the last big social event before graduation. Getting a date for that night was usually something people figured out weeks, even months, in advance. And yet, to everyone's surprise at school, Rachel, the head cheerleader, had turned down every guy who had asked her.
"Oh my God… you're in love, in love," Monica said, grinning as she poked her with her fingers. "Did you seriously fall for him with how little we actually saw him?"
In person, Rachel had interacted with Andrew three times. Only two of those had really been meaningful: the day at the beach and the day after the All-American Bowl.
After that, yes, they had talked through messages, but how much? A month? Maybe a little more.
"Stop it!" Rachel protested, pushing her hands away. "I'm not in love, just… a little interested."
Monica looked at her, more serious now. "So you're going to LA just for him?"
To Monica, it seemed like a terrible decision, to move to the other side of the country just because of what was probably a fleeting crush.
Rachel held her gaze for a moment before answering. "Everything I told you before was true."
She wanted to live on her own, away from the path her parents had already laid out for her. She wanted independence. The fashion part was real too, she was looking for something practical, connected to the industry like in LA. And, being honest with herself, her portfolio was good, but getting into Parsons would be very difficult.
She paused briefly.
"But… it's also because of Andrew," she admitted at last, lowering her guard a little. "Just a little."
She sat back down on the bed and continued. "That day at the supermarket… I did things I never thought I'd have the nerve to do. I said I was transgender, Monica," she added, letting out a small, disbelieving laugh. "And I laughed about it, I wasn't embarrassed. I put a watermelon under my shirt to pretend I was pregnant. Then I fell, and it felt looked the baby had exploded into a thousand pieces, I almost gave an old lady a heart attack."
She shook her head.
"I've never felt like that with any guy. It wasn't even a date, and it still felt like the best date I've ever had. I had way too much fun. It's not like I'm in love, but it was different, I don't know…" she concluded.
'I think you are,' Monica thought, though she didn't say it.
The idea felt, in part, too much like a movie, one of those stories that, in real life, could go very wrong. But she could also see that Rachel wasn't basing everything on that. There were real, logical reasons behind her decision.
Monica sighed softly and sat down on the bed beside her, taking her hands.
"I support you," she said at last. "Just don't tell your father you're going to LA because of a guy."
Rachel let out a short laugh. "I know, I'm not an idiot."
And so the days passed, and Friday arrived, the day before prom.
At school, Monica closed her locker while Rachel, in front of the small mirror inside it, carefully touched up her lips.
"You still haven't told your parents?" Monica asked, tapping her shoulder to get her attention.
"Hey, you're moving me," Rachel complained without taking her eyes off the mirror. Then, seeing Monica's expression, she cleared her throat slightly. "Not yet."
"Then tell them," Monica insisted, lowering her voice but not softening her tone. "Time's running out."
Monica had already made her decision. She would go to Los Angeles. She had found a solid culinary program, two years, focused on practical chef training, costing around twenty thousand dollars a year. It wasn't cheap, but compared to options like the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, which was closer to forty thousand annually, it was much more accessible for her family.
Her parents had supported her. Well, her father, Jack, especially. It hadn't been an entirely easy conversation, distance was always an issue, but he had ultimately understood her reasons. And she wouldn't be alone. She was going with a friend. In the end, they didn't have much room to oppose it without contradicting everything they had saved for over the years for her education.
Rachel's situation was different.
She still hadn't told her parents anything. And even though legally she could study wherever she wanted, she was already eighteen, the reality was different: she needed their financial support. Without that, there was no tuition.
"I'll do it today, I promise," Rachel said finally, closing her locker.
She didn't have many other options. The first tuition payment was getting closer and closer.
She did it.
That same night, during dinner, Rachel told her parents the news. It wasn't easy. There was tension, and a predictable reaction from her father, who clearly didn't agree. Even so, after discussing it, he ended up accepting it reluctantly.
His position was clear: he would pay for college. Nothing more. He wasn't going to finance her life in LA.
For Rachel, deep down, that wasn't a problem. Her plan had always been to become independent, so as long as tuition was covered, the rest was up to her.
Her parents supported education.
Not her decision to leave New York or to step off the path they had planned for her.
"It's done," Rachel said, already in her room, sitting at her desk with her laptop open on a video call.
"Good job," Monica replied, letting out a sigh of relief.
The most critical point was settled.
If Dr. Green had refused to pay, the entire LA plan would have fallen apart. And Monica, who had already talked to her parents and made her decision, didn't know how she would've handled that.
"And you didn't cry," she added, nodding with a mix of pride and surprise. Rachel could be very dramatic.
Rachel smiled faintly, and they moved on to the next issue: housing.
That's where the first real problem appeared. Neither FIDM nor the culinary school Monica would attend had student housing like universities such as UCLA or USC.
That meant one thing: rent.
A fixed monthly expense covering housing, utilities, and food.
And since their parents would only cover tuition, both of them needed, at the very least, a part-time job.
In Monica's case, the situation was more stable. Her parents would give her an allowance of one thousand dollars a month. Partly because they had originally planned to pay for a more expensive university, around thirty thousand a year and for a longer period, so that money would be a way of redistributing that budget. Even so, it wasn't enough on its own. She would still have to work.
Rachel, on the other hand, had something in her favor.
She had worked for twelve months at the boutique, earning approximately one thousand dollars per month. After taxes, she had managed to save around ten thousand dollars.
And most importantly, she hadn't spent a single dollar.
While she was working, she still had access to her father's money, so she had decided not to touch her own salary. A decision that turned out to be very wise. Now that that support was gone, she had a small cushion to start with.
"I have some good news when it comes to rent…" Rachel said with a smile.
…
Saturday, May 19, 2012
[Dunphy House]
It was nearly six-thirty in the evening, and in the Dunphy household there was a mix of excitement and pride that was hard to hide.
In the living room, Haley was already ready. A perfectly chosen dress, hair styled down to the last detail, and balanced makeup.
Claire watched her with a wide smile, one that blended pride with a hint of disbelief, as if she still couldn't quite believe her daughter had reached this moment. Phil, meanwhile, couldn't stop taking photos from different angles, shifting slightly around the room in search of the perfect shot, even though he had already taken ten identical ones.
"You look incredible, honey," Claire said with a proud smile.
She couldn't believe that four years of high school were about to end, and that Haley, who had caused them so many problems: punishments, arguments, was now on the verge of becoming an adult and following a path that finally gave her peace of mind.
Fashion was no longer just a passing idea; it had become something serious. Being accepted into FIDM confirmed that.
At the beginning of the year, she had considered Otis, and it wasn't a minor option. Neither of them were. Both required a portfolio, a strong GPA, and even then, nothing was guaranteed.
But Haley had made it. And the cost was something they could handle without it becoming a constant concern.
For the first time in a long while, Claire didn't feel like she was pushing her daughter in a certain direction, Haley, on her own, was moving forward.
"One more, Sweetie," Phil said, his eye pressed to the camera.
Haley posed again, smiling naturally while her father, fully in proud-dad mode, kept capturing the moment from every possible angle.
After a few seconds, Haley glanced around the living room.
"Are they still in the backyard with Luke?" she asked.
"Yes," Claire nodded, though with a slightly odd expression. She was referring to Andrew, Steve, and Luke.
"Can you call them? I want to dazzle them," Haley added, looking at her father with a half-smile.
Phil didn't need anything else. He nodded and disappeared toward the backyard.
A few moments later, he returned with Andrew and Steve.
Both had a bit of dirt on their clothes, their hair slightly messy, and sweat on their foreheads. Andrew was still holding a football, casually spinning it in his hand as he walked in. Luke hadn't shown up.
The contrast with Haley was immediate.
While she was ready for one of the most important nights of her senior year, they looked like they had just come from an impromptu training session in the backyard.
Neither of them had plans to go to prom.
"What do you think?" Haley asked, giving a small spin.
"Very nice," Andrew said, lightly clapping with a smile.
"You'll definitely be prom queen," Steve added, in the grand, exaggerated tone he often used, though deep down, he meant it.
Haley smiled, satisfied.
Phil then looked at them with a hint of regret. "It's a shame you guys aren't going to prom."
Claire, beside him, nodded, especially looking at Steve.
Andrew's situation made sense. He had graduated early and was already a college student, wrapping up his first semester. His world now revolved around UCLA: classes, exams, and above all, football, even if this was a slightly quieter month.
Even so, he had received invitations to attend prom at Mater Dei. And of course, Cam had insisted repeatedly, trying to convince him it was a beautiful experience he shouldn't miss.
"My dad begged me to go..." Andrew said with a somewhat odd smile, almost amused.
"I've got things to do, I can't get distracted by a dance," Steve said, waving his hand dismissively.
Though he wasn't being entirely honest.
He was interested. He had received invitations from girls. But he chose not to go after seeing Andrew's level of focus.
He knew what was coming. UCLA. A competitive roster, experienced receivers, and new talent fighting for starting spots. If he wanted to keep up, he couldn't afford distractions. He couldn't rely on his status as a high four-star recruit.
That's why he decided not to go to prom. And he had also asked Andrew for help to learn the playbook.
Andrew had agreed.
In the past few days, he had practically become his teacher. He had Chow's playbook completely memorized, and teaching it to a wide receiver like Steve not only helped him, it also allowed Andrew to deepen his own understanding of the system even further.
Haley looked at him, offended. "What things do you have to do? Play LoL and suck at it?"
"Hey! I don't suck, it was a bad game. We all fed, Howard even more!" Steve shot back, frowning.
Haley smirked, crossing her arms. "Sure, because going one–ten–three isn't sucking."
Steve made a face. He hadn't expected Haley not only to remember the game, but also to have picked up concepts like feeding and what disastrous stats meant so quickly, after learning about LoL less than a month ago.
Before the argument could escalate, as it usually did between them, a loud thud echoed from the backyard. Something hit hard near the door.
Claire closed her eyes for a moment, as if she already knew exactly what had happened.
"Luke!" she shouted, a mix of scolding and resignation in her voice. "Stop kicking that damn ball!"
The silence that followed was brief. Claire sighed but didn't move. She knew going out there now wouldn't change anything and more importantly, this was Haley's moment.
Andrew and Steve exchanged a quick glance and nodded, satisfied.
"The Luke project is going well," Andrew said, completely serious.
"Very well," Steve added, nodding in approval.
Phil looked at them, completely confused. "The Luke project?"
Claire turned to him as if the answer were obvious. "You don't know?"
Phil shook his head, unaware that any project even carried his son's name.
Claire briefly explained that Andrew and Steve, especially Andrew, had taken on the role of Luke's personal trainers.
They had a clear plan: by the time Luke started his freshman year of high school, he would be prepared enough to make the Palisades football team.
A team that Andrew, Steve, and their entire generation had completely transformed. They had taken it from being irrelevant to becoming a regional and state-level powerhouse within its division. And even after that "miracle generation" graduated, the school had continued to grow, in just two years, Palisades had moved up from Division IV to Division III.
Now, the goal was even more ambitious.
For Luke, over the course of his four years, to push the team toward Division II, or even Division I in the best-case scenario.
His position?
Running back and kicker.
The kicker handled field goals, extra points, kickoffs, and even punts. A highly valued position at higher levels, but in high school it was often combined with another role, since the same level of specialization as in college or the NFL didn't exist.
"That's why the bag full of balls…" Phil muttered, starting to connect the dots.
In the past few days, Andrew and Steve had been showing up much more often. Sometimes Luke went out with them; other times, they trained in the backyard. And almost always, they arrived carrying bags full of footballs.
"Phil, your son has a talent for kicking things. He just needs direction, and that's what we're going to teach him," Steve said with a confident smile, almost like a salesman coach.
Beside him, Andrew kept a completely serious tone. "And as a runner, he also has potential. Good acceleration in his first steps, more explosiveness than endurance for now. The direction he can develop."
Phil looked at them, both impressed and slightly concerned.
Claire, on the other hand, watched them for a few seconds longer before speaking.
"Just promise me one thing, Andrew…" she said, looking at him intently.
Andrew raised an eyebrow, surprised by her tone. "What?"
"That when you have kids, you won't start projects like this before they're even born. You know, the kind of parents who plan everything: what they'll be, how they'll train, how they'll become geniuses by the age of three."
Andrew let out a small snort, shaking his head. "I'm not that crazy," he said, but his gaze shifted slightly.
Claire narrowed her eyes at him for a second longer, as if assessing how much of that was true.
Fortunately for him, the doorbell rang.
"Dylan's here," Steve said with a teasing smile.
Haley reacted instantly, kicking him in the heel. "Shut up. It's Allan."
"Sorry, it's true you managed to break that cycle a while ago," Steve added, laughing as he stepped back under Haley's deadly glare.
"I'll get it," Phil cut in quickly, already heading for the door. He wasn't about to let the guy just walk in and see Haley like that without warning.
Meanwhile, Andrew frowned slightly.
"Allan… the guy from the club..."
"Aeronautics," Haley said.
Andrew and Steve exchanged a glance, surprised, and nodded almost at the same time.
"A future pilot, not bad," Steve commented.
But when the guy walked into the living room, the image didn't match what they had imagined at all.
Skinny, slightly hunched posture, shy expression, glasses, closer to blending into the background than standing out.
Andrew sized him up for a second. "Let's get back to Luke," he said simply, turning around.
Steve followed without hesitation.
After greeting Allan, Haley raised her voice slightly before Andrew left. "I've got something to tell you later."
Andrew paused and glanced back. "Good or bad?"
Haley tilted her head, thoughtful. "I don't know… I'd say curious, more than anything. I'll tell you later, I've got to go."
Andrew nodded. "Good luck."
Without another word, he headed out to the backyard with Steve.
Luke's training continued until seven. He finished covered in dirt and sweat, and Claire didn't give him a choice, straight to the shower before dinner.
Andrew and Steve were invited to stay for dinner. Both accepted without hesitation.
While they waited and Luke showered, they sat outside on lounge chairs under the night sky. The air was cooler now.
"By the way, I've got something to ask you," Steve said, taking a sip from his can of diet soda. Not ideal, he knew, but he allowed himself that on a Saturday.
"What is it?" Andrew asked, not taking his eyes off the sky.
Steve hesitated for a second, scratching the back of his head, as if slightly uncomfortable. "As you know, classes are ending soon, and in July I'm supposed to move into the UCLA dorms. But I was thinking…"
Andrew finally turned his head. "What is it? Say it, man."
Steve took a breath. "I wanted to know if I could move in with you."
Andrew raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Not for free, of course," Steve added quickly. "I'd pay half the rent. My dad will give me the money they saved for college, so there wouldn't be any issues with the NCAA."
The NCAA prohibits extra benefits, money, gifts, or free housing. Unless it's a family member who pays, like in Andrew's case.
So if Andrew, whose millionaire grandfather paid his rent, let Steve live there for free, it could become a problem if the NCAA ever investigated or found out.
That's why Steve was willing to pay. He had a full scholarship at UCLA, so all the money his parents had saved for his education could now go toward something else.
"It's expensive," Andrew said. "The apartment is almost four thousand dollars."
"I know," Steve nodded. "I can cover it."
There was a brief silence.
"You don't have to answer right now," Steve added, shrugging. "Think about it. And it's fine if you don't want to."
Andrew didn't hesitate. "It's fine, you can move in."
Steve turned his head immediately, surprised. "Really? That fast?"
Andrew didn't even ask for an explanation.
But Steve had several reasons. Living in an apartment like Andrew's was far more appealing than any UCLA dorm, more space, two bedrooms, a comfortable living room, a proper kitchen, and less than five minutes from campus.
It was also much better to live with Andrew, his best friend, than with a stranger.
And another important point: Steve knew he wasn't the most disciplined person in the world. Living with someone like Andrew, with his routine, his focus, and his almost obsessive approach to football, would push him to keep up. To improve. Not to relax.
Andrew shrugged, as if it were no big deal. "I don't even use the other room. It'll be fun."
He didn't mind at all. Besides, he was already missing out on the college dorm experience. Having a roommate would actually be enjoyable.
"Thanks, man," Steve said, giving him a friendly punch on the shoulder.
And so the days passed.
The first week of June brought the graduation of the Class of 2012, a definitive closing of that chapter. And as soon as it was over, Steve moved into Andrew's apartment almost immediately.
On June 18, UCLA officially began for the new players. There were no dorms for Steve, but the important part was there: the initial evaluations, physical tests, strength assessments, and more.
From there came personalized planning. Each new player, like Peat, Amari, received a program tailored to their position and physical condition.
The days began to find their rhythm. Preparing for fall camp in August.
That's where promises and high school reputations meant nothing. It was the moment everything was decided: the starters, the rotations, who would be on the field in September when the season began.