After turning off the TV, the group stayed on the couches, the conversation settling back into a more relaxed tone.
Until Monica, with genuine curiosity, looked at Leonard and Howard and asked what they were going to study and where.
They already knew what she would study, she had told them about her two-year cooking program yesterday. They also knew about Rachel and Haley going to Fashion Institute of Design & Merchandising (FIDM). But they hadn't talked about what they would do.
The only thing she had picked up, from scattered comments since they arrived the day before, was that Howard would also be at UCLA.
"I will study engineering at UCLA," Howard replied with a smile, as if it were something meant to impress.
"What kind of engineering?" Monica asked, knowing there were several branches.
Howard nodded, as if he had been waiting for that exact question.
At UCLA, most engineering students applied directly into a specific major, Mechanical, Electrical, among others, from the start. It wasn't like other universities where you could spend a general first year before deciding.
"Actually, thanks to my incredible ability and grades, I got in as undeclared engineering," Howard said, wearing a self-satisfied smile, clearly trying to impress Monica and Rachel.
He explained that this category allowed students to explore different branches during their first year before choosing a final specialization. But it wasn't common, you had to be an outstanding student to get in. It was one of the more selective options within the engineering school.
Once admitted, he had until the end of his first year to decide on his official focus.
"Nice," Monica said, not having much else to add.
Rachel nodded automatically, not fully grasping how competitive it was.
Then both she and Monica turned to Leonard, waiting for his answer.
Leonard cleared his throat slightly. He wasn't particularly shy, but he wasn't the kind of person who showed off when talking about himself.
"California Institute of Technology. Applied physics," he said.
Monica frowned slightly, thoughtful. "Caltech…" she repeated. "That's one of the hardest colleges to get into, right? Like Ivy League."
She associated universities with sports. The Ivy League, eight private universities in the northeastern United States, was known for its prestige, extreme academic rigor, and highly selective admissions. Harvard University, Yale University, Princeton University… names that practically defined the country's academic elite.
In sports, however, it was a different story.
Those universities didn't compete at the highest level of college football. They were part of the FCS, the second tier within Division I. They also didn't offer athletic scholarships, which completely changed the profile of their athletes.
In that sense, if someone combined academic talent with elite athletic ability, it wasn't the most convenient destination if they wanted to compete at the highest level in football.
The closest alternative to that balance was Stanford University, a university with comparable academic level that did compete at the highest level of college football.
"Exactly," Steve nodded, like a proud friend, giving Leonard a pat on the shoulder. "This guy's a real genius. IQ of 173."
"And getting into Caltech is even harder than getting into the Ivy League," Haley added without hesitation.
She didn't say it because Leonard had mentioned it before, but because she knew it well from Alex. Her sister had been obsessed with it for a while, repeating over and over that statistically, Caltech was even more selective than many Ivy League schools.
Although they all sought excellence, the focus was different.
At Caltech, the level in math and science was almost extreme. Near-perfect scores were practically required, and the emphasis was on analytical ability, research, and pure scientific talent.
The Ivy League, on the other hand, also valued other aspects: leadership, sports, the arts, a more well-rounded profile.
There was another key difference as well.
While thousands of students applied to Harvard for the prestige of the name, most of those applying to Caltech were already among the best in math and science in their countries. The level of competition was far more specific, and higher.
Andrew chimed in too. "His IQ puts him in the top 0.0001% of the population," he said, with a hint of pride in his smile.
Leonard scratched the back of his head, uncomfortable with the attention, though he couldn't help a slight smile.
"Wow…" Rachel and Monica said at the same time, looking at him with a mix of respect and disbelief.
They had assumed Leonard was smart. It was almost a given from the first time they met him. He had that slightly awkward genius vibe, but not to that level.
Howard opened his mouth as if he were about to complain about not getting the same attention, but held himself back. He let the moment belong to Leonard.
"And do classes start in late September like everyone else?"
College classes generally began in the last week of September, in this case, Monday the 24th.
For Andrew and Steve, that was a clear advantage: they would have four games without any academic workload, allowing them to focus entirely on football.
"Yeah, the 24th… unfortunately," Leonard replied, letting out a sigh.
Monica narrowed her eyes. "Why that tone?"
He didn't seem like the kind of person who would complain about vacation ending. If anything, someone like him would probably be eager to start.
"Because I still have to spend three more weeks at home with my mother," Leonard said, completely honest.
Official move-in to the residences usually happened about a week before classes started, around September 18. At Caltech, they weren't called dorms, but Houses.
Howard, meanwhile, would also be moving into the dorms at UCLA around that time.
Steve had been the exception. As a member of the football team, he had been allowed to move in much earlier, in July, to begin conditioning and adapting to the program.
Monica nodded immediately, recognizing the tone. "You don't get along with your mother… neither do I."
Leonard gave a faint smile, as if it comforted him not to be the only one with a complicated parent-child relationship.
"Leonard's mom is way worse, though," Haley commented.
"I don't think so," Monica replied, shaking her head, almost automatically slipping into a kind of competition.
"Trust me, she is," Haley insisted.
She had talked quite a bit with Rachel and Monica in the past weeks, about the apartment, furniture, moving… three girls who never ran out of things to talk about. She didn't know every detail about Monica's relationship with her mother, but enough: constant criticism, passive-aggressive remarks, and clear favoritism toward her older brother.
And even so, she knew Beverly was on another level.
"She never celebrated his birthdays," Andrew said, backing her up.
"She treats him like an experiment," Steve added.
"She measures everything in terms of results, compares him to his siblings, and even wrote a book using him as a case study," Haley finished.
Monica's eyes widened as she turned toward Leonard.
He made a small grimace that confirmed everything.
Then he shared a couple of anecdotes, in an almost casual tone… which somehow made them even more depressing.
Rachel covered her mouth, shocked.
"You win… your mother is worse," Monica finally admitted.
Haley nodded. Even she, who always complained about how controlling Claire could be, now saw things from a different perspective. Lately, their relationship had actually improved a lot.
"Poor thing…" Rachel murmured, with genuine sympathy. "Not even my dad would go that far."
"I suggested throwing a party and trashing the house as revenge, but nobody listened to me," Steve said in a half-complaining tone, as if he still wasn't over having his idea rejected.
Because even though Beverly, and the rest of his cold, distant family, never celebrated Leonard's birthdays, they did.
Ever since Leonard had joined the group and met Andrew, he spent all his birthdays at his house. Cam would cook a huge cake, there were gifts, noise, and people, something completely opposite to what he had growing up.
And little by little, that had changed something in him.
It didn't erase the past, but it balanced it. It gave him something he hadn't had before.
Affection, and a sense of belonging.
At one point, Steve had even suggested taking it a step further: using a weekend when Beverly would be away on a long trip, gone the entire time, and using her house.
Throwing a big, unforgettable party there.
The idea of a completely out-of-control night in the coldest, most perfectly ordered house in the world still seemed brilliant to him.
"I have issues with my mom too…" Howard said in a pitiful tone, trying to get a bit of sympathy.
It didn't work.
"Oh, shut up. Your mom's the best," Steve said without hesitation.
"Yes," Haley added, "she makes the best food in the world and she's really funny when she yells."
"Although her tone of voice is basically preset to sound like she's always yelling," Leonard added with a slight smile.
Steve laughed and nodded. "That's true." Then he looked at Howard and pointed at him. "Your only problem is extreme mommy issues."
He meant the excessive dependence Howard had on his mother, who practically did everything for him, cooking, washing, ironing, cleaning his room, everything.
'These bastards…' Howard thought, feeling a vein pulse on his forehead.
"At least you guys have mothers…" Andrew said, lowering his head.
The effect was immediate.
Monica, Rachel, and Haley leaned toward him almost at the same time, placing a hand on his shoulder, his knee, small, instinctive gestures of comfort.
Andrew held the expression for just a second longer, then lifted his gaze toward Howard, locking eyes with him.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his face. As if to say: that's how it's done.
'Well played,' Howard thought.
Then the conversation drifted to other topics.
The guys, almost without realizing it, ended up talking about video games. And, as always, it turned into discussing the new patch of LoL.
The girls, on the other hand, stayed in their own circle.
Until Rachel looked at Haley, crossed one leg over the other, and lightly tapped her knee with a smile that hinted she had something in mind.
"You know what…" Rachel said in an upbeat tone, "Let's talk about relationships."
Haley smiled immediately, interested. "Okay… what's going on with you?"
"Nothing," Rachel replied too quickly, shaking her head, though she kept smiling, which made it all a bit suspicious.
Haley narrowed her eyes, confused. She brought it up and had nothing?
After that brief silence, Rachel added, "You go."
Haley let out a small sigh. "My prom date is moving to another state… so now I've got nothing."
"The pilot?" Steve asked, turning his head instantly, interested in the conversation.
Haley nodded, then looked at Monica, as if passing the question along.
"No one," Monica answered simply. "I barely even know you guys here."
It didn't make sense to think about that yet. She had only been in a completely new state for two days.
"Three single girls… how depressing," Steve commented with a teasing smile.
Haley jabbed him lightly in the stomach. "You're a single loser too."
"Incorrect," Steve replied, raising a finger as if correcting an obvious mistake. "I'm seeing someone now."
The reactions came instantly, exaggerated noises, whistles, and applause.
"Tell us, tell us…"
Steve smiled, enjoying the moment. "Her name's Sam. She's studying law at UCLA, she's a sophomore, and I met her because she's also taking summer classes in August."
"A studious girl, huh?" Leonard commented, raising an eyebrow.
That wasn't Steve's usual type. Girls like that tended to fit more with Andrew, though they always joked about it.
If she was taking extra classes in the summer, she was someone who took her studies seriously.
Steve shrugged. "I'm expanding my horizons."
"So when do we meet her?" Howard asked, with a mix of genuine curiosity and a bit of strategic interest. That could mean meeting Sam's friends. Potential double dates.
It was practically an unwritten rule among them.
"If things keep going well… soon," Steve replied with a half-smile.
"Who's next?" Rachel asked, clapping lightly as her gaze moved across Leonard, Howard, and Andrew.
'Well… at least she's not being obvious,' Monica thought, letting out a small sigh.
She knew exactly what Rachel was doing. They had talked about it the night before: if Rachel wanted to try something with Andrew, she first needed to find out if there was anyone else. And if there wasn't, she couldn't waste time.
Andrew wasn't the kind of guy who went unnoticed. He definitely had options.
So this wasn't random.
Talking about relationships, starting with Haley, letting others join in, and now steering the conversation toward the rest.
It was a natural strategy, and subtle enough not to raise suspicion.
Besides, Rachel had always been naturally curious.
"I'm single," Howard said, raising both eyebrows repeatedly while looking straight at Monica.
"If he had a girlfriend, he wouldn't be hanging out with us," Leonard said with a teasing smile.
Haley, Steve, and Andrew laughed immediately.
Haley leaned toward Monica and Rachel, lowering her voice slightly. "He's the type who disappears when he's in a relationship," she whispered, amused.
Both of them smiled, as if that confirmed exactly what they had imagined.
Then the attention shifted to Leonard.
"No one," he said, giving a small shrug. "Same as Haley… my prom date is going to a college in another state."
He let out a soft sigh.
It was pretty common at that point.
Relationships that had just started, or even some serious ones, ended right there, when everyone went their separate ways after senior year.
All eyes turned to Andrew. He was the only one left.
"Same. No one," Andrew said casually.
Rachel almost smiled, but Steve reacted instantly.
"Liar!" he said, pointing at him.
The looks shifted toward him, confused. Even Andrew frowned. "Excuse me?"
"I know that on Wednesdays, for the past two weeks, you leave around four-thirty to go somewhere," Steve said, his grin growing. "It's for a girl, isn't it?"
Andrew made a slight face. The downside of having a roommate, he knows your routine.
To the rest, that sounded almost like confirmation.
Howard snapped his fingers. "He hooked up!"
"Of course not," Andrew denied immediately.
"Then you're seeing someone!" Howard insisted.
"No."
"Then what?" Haley asked, crossing her arms.
Andrew looked at them for a second before answering, firm. "I'm not going to answer that. I'm an adult, I don't have to tell you everything about my life."
"He hooked up!" Steve and Howard repeated in unison, while Leonard let out a laugh.
"I see family drama coming when everyone finds out who it is," Haley said, amused, though with a faint note of warning.
"Believe whatever you want," Andrew huffed, knowing nothing good was going to come from that.
The conversation began to drift to other topics.
Monica gently placed a hand on Rachel's knee.
The next day, Wednesday, Andrew was leaving his apartment. He locked the door and walked toward the elevator.
Just as he was about to reach it, the doors opened.
Rachel stepped out first, carrying several bags.
When she saw him, she smiled immediately. "Hey."
"Hey," Andrew replied, pausing for a second. His gaze dropped to the bags. "Wow… you really went shopping."
Rachel let out a small laugh. "Yeah. The stores around here are great, and I can wear summer clothes for a lot longer. Haley bought a lot too."
It was a clear difference from New York. There, summer was hot, but also humid and suffocating. Then winter came, with intense cold and snow.
Los Angeles, on the other hand, had a much more stable and mild climate almost all year round.
"And Haley?" Andrew asked.
"She went to visit her parents," Rachel replied, and he nodded.
There was a brief silence. Then she spoke again. "What about you? Where are you going?" she asked casually.
On the surface, it sounded casual. It wasn't entirely, she still remembered what Steve had said yesterday.
Even though Andrew had denied it, everyone, including her, had assumed the same thing.
Still, a small part of her wanted to believe it wasn't that.
"Just running a few errands," Andrew replied, without giving details.
Rachel nodded, not pushing. She knew where the line was.
"Well… good luck," she said, holding a calm smile that didn't reveal anything else.
They said goodbye with a brief gesture, and she started walking toward her apartment, her back straight, her steps steady, as if the encounter hadn't meant anything at all. She didn't look back.
Behind her, Andrew was already stepping into the elevator. The doors closed with a soft metallic sound.
Rachel walked down the hallway to her door, fumbled slightly with her keys among the bags, and finally managed to open it. As soon as she stepped inside, she pushed the door closed with her back, leaving outside any trace of the composure she had held just moments before.
And then it all came crashing down.
Her shoulders dropped all at once. She let go of the bags, and they fell carelessly to the floor. Rachel let out a long sigh.
"He's definitely seeing someone," she murmured.
It wasn't exactly sadness. More like a quiet sense of defeat, of having arrived late to something she wasn't even sure had ever existed.
"What's wrong?" Monica asked from the kitchen, leaning slightly to look at her from across the room, one eyebrow raised.
"Nothing," Rachel replied immediately, not even bothering to pick up the bags as she walked toward her.
She paused for a second and sniffed the air. "That smells amazing… what are you making?"
"Pancakes," Monica answered without taking her eyes off the pan.
Then she turned her head slightly toward her. "Now answer the first question. It's weird to see you like this after shopping. Where's Haley?"
Rachel sighed again, this time more dramatically. "Haley went to see her family," she said, distracted.
She paused briefly and added, "I ran into Andrew."
Monica didn't say anything, but her attention sharpened.
"And it looked like he was going to see… that secret person," Rachel continued, with a mix of annoyance and resignation.
Monica kept cooking, focused. "He said it wasn't that," she commented, as if stating a fact. "Don't jump to conclusions so quickly."
Rachel let out a scoff. "Come on, it's obvious it's a date or something."
Monica gave a slight shrug. "I was just trying to help."
Deep down, she thought the same.
It didn't make much sense for Andrew to hide something like that if it wasn't exactly that. He wasn't the type to be careless with his time, it showed in everything. He had a clear routine, partly because of his personality and partly because he now carried the weight of being the face of UCLA's football team.
So… what else could it be that he'd want to keep secret?
Always on Wednesdays, the lightest training day, according to Steve.
With his growing fame, and a family that seemed a bit intrusive, it made even more sense that if he was seeing someone, he'd want to keep it private, at least at first.
Rachel let out another sigh, longer this time. "That doesn't help."
'Then what exactly do you want me to say?' Monica thought, glancing at her sideways, her brow slightly furrowed.
First she had tried to give her hope by pointing out that Andrew said he wasn't seeing anyone, and it hadn't worked. Now that she agreed with her, that didn't seem to help either.
She sighed to herself and turned back to the pan, realizing Rachel just needed to vent.
…
Andrew drove about fifteen minutes from his apartment to Brentwood. When he arrived, he parked calmly, turned off the engine, and stepped out of the car. The building was discreet, the kind that didn't draw attention from the outside. He went in and walked down a short hallway to the office.
The waiting room was medium-sized.
A couple of well-placed couches, a low table with neatly arranged magazines, and behind a desk, a middle-aged receptionist going over some papers. Andrew approached, greeted her, and gave his name naturally. She nodded as if she already had him scheduled and told him to take a seat.
He sat down on one of the couches. He was the only one there, besides the receptionist.
'They've got everything very organized,' he thought, glancing briefly around. Then he checked the time. Five minutes until his appointment.
It wasn't a hospital or a regular medical office.
He was at a psychologist's office.
That was what he did on Wednesdays at that time.
What Steve and the others assumed was a date with some girl was completely far from reality.
He didn't tell them. Not because he was ashamed. He just didn't want to deal with explanations, questions, or have something so simple turn into unnecessary concern, from his family or his friends.
Andrew came from a different mindset. In his previous life, mental health was already treated as a fundamental part of performance. Professional teams, and even many college programs, had sports psychologists. Managing pressure, focus, emotional load… all of that mattered just as much as the physical or tactical side.
Here, in 2012, it still wasn't as visible.
It existed, yes. But it wasn't fully normalized. In an environment like football, going to a psychologist could be seen as a sign of weakness, as if you couldn't handle the pressure on your own.
Andrew didn't share that view.
To him, it was a tool.
That's why he had started two weeks ago.
This was his third session.
He wasn't in crisis. It was prevention and control.
Because, even though he had experienced hype in his previous life, it had been within normal parameters. Nothing comparable to this.
Now, the expectation was something else entirely.
He wasn't just a five-star recruit.
He wasn't just the best high school prospect in history.
Now he was, according to many media outlets, the most anticipated debut in college football history.
That wasn't a small thing, even for someone like him.
Andrew picked up a magazine more out of habit than interest. He didn't want to stay on his phone, so he opened it to a random page and started reading without really paying attention.
After a few minutes, he heard the office door open. A couple of farewell murmurs, footsteps fading away and then a voice directed at him.
"Come on, kid."
Andrew looked up.
There was his psychologist.
A middle-aged man, with a thick beard already streaked with gray and messy hair falling carelessly to the sides. He wore thin glasses that didn't hide a calm gaze.
His posture was relaxed, not overly rigid or clinical, more approachable, yet still carried a certain presence.
Andrew had chosen him almost at random. In that area there had been dozens of options, and he had simply picked the first one that fit his schedule. Even so, the previous two sessions had been… useful, in a way.
Or at least, that's what he thought.
He wasn't entirely sure how to measure it. He wasn't there because he was broken, or in crisis. He answered questions, talked about his routine, about what went through his head, and about those concerns he wasn't even sure deserved to be called that.
He closed the magazine and left it on the table. He stood up, catching a glimpse of the back of the patient who was leaving.
"Hey, Sean," he greeted, shaking his hand.
He walked into the office.
The room was pleasant. A pair of sofas facing each other, a bookshelf filled with books, natural light coming in through the window. Nothing clinical.
Andrew sat on the sofa meant for patients, settling in naturally.
Sean closed the door behind him and walked over to the other sofa. He sat down unhurriedly, resting one arm on the backrest, and looked at him with that same calm expression.
"How was your week?" Sean asked after a few seconds.
"Good. Normal," Andrew said, interlacing his hands.
Sean gave a faint smile, already used to that kind of vague answer, especially in younger patients, and even more so in men.
But with Andrew, it wasn't just that.
In the previous two sessions, he had already formed a fairly clear first impression. And of course, he had recognized him from the start. It was impossible not to. The kid everyone in the country was talking about. The name repeated on television, on the radio, and in sports articles.
When he saw him walk in for the first time, the reason seemed obvious: pressure, expectations, and media noise.
What wasn't so common was the way he approached it.
Athletes came, yes.
But most of them arrived dragged in by something, a slump, an injury, or a drop in performance.
Andrew didn't fit that pattern. He hadn't lost. Not once.
A statistical anomaly in itself, and at the same time, the perfect explanation for why everyone was watching him so closely. His debut wasn't just another one.
And yet, he was there.
Not out of obligation. By choice.
Sean had noticed it from the beginning. There was an intention in Andrew. Calculated. Almost strategic.
He had also picked up on the pattern. Andrew talked, answered, even analyzed situations well, but always from a certain distance. As if he understood the problem, but never quite touched it or examined it deeply.
Then he noticed that Andrew was keeping it a secret. When he had asked him about it in the last session, Andrew confirmed it. Neither his family nor his friends knew he was there.
Not out of shame, that didn't fit him. Nor out of fear of the locker room. If someone questioned him, it probably wouldn't bother him much.
It was something else.
Andrew had a present, involved family. That wasn't hard to see, even without him explaining it in detail. And precisely because of that, he kept it hidden. He didn't want to open an unnecessary door. He didn't want questions, or concern, or for something small to turn into something bigger than it really was.
With his friends, it was something similar.
Sean knew Andrew was cooperative, that he answered well, but he controlled what he showed. So the approach had to go around him, not confront him directly.
"Normal?" Sean repeated, with a slight nuance in his voice. "Starting at UCLA as a freshman… debuting at number seventeen in the AP Poll after years…" He let the idea hang for a second. "Sounds pretty demanding to me."
Andrew hesitated for a moment, surprised that he knew so much, though, deep down, it wasn't strange at all. It had been all over the news. He just hadn't realized how much Sean followed football, since he had never mentioned his hobbies. "Well… yeah, it is."
"And do you feel happy about earning the starting job?"
Andrew took a few seconds to respond. He shrugged. "I guess so."
"I guess…" Sean repeated, a faint hint of amusement crossing his face.
Then his expression returned to neutral. "How did your friend Steve react?"
Andrew remembered the moment clearly. The smile Steve had tried to hold back when Mora said his name, the clenched fist, the contained energy that almost spilled over. He was sure that, in his head, Steve had shouted something. Then the bathroom, he hadn't seen it, but he could easily picture him celebrating in some ridiculous way. And later, when he told Claire, the jump, the hug.
"Happy. Very happy," Andrew said.
"Then… why aren't you?"
Andrew held his gaze for a moment. "I guess people react differently."
Sean nodded slightly, conceding the point, but only up to a certain extent.
"Sure, everyone expresses things in their own way. Some are more demonstrative, others more reserved," he paused briefly, "but there's a difference between expressing it differently and barely feeling it at all."
Andrew understood the point.
Being named a starter as a freshman, especially at quarterback, was no small thing. It was rare. Exceptional. Even for someone reserved, you'd expect some clear sense of satisfaction: pride, relief, excitement… something.
Not indifference.
And Andrew, with that shrug, had been closer to that than anything else.
"You're right," he admitted. "I guess I didn't celebrate it because it felt expected."
"Expected that you'd win the job?"
Andrew nodded. "Yeah. It's what people expected of me."
"Who?"
Andrew fell silent for a moment, as if the question were broader than it seemed.
"Everyone," he said finally. "The team, the coaches, the media, the fans… people."
Sean tilted his head slightly, thoughtful. "So it wasn't just a possibility for you. It was a requirement. When something feels mandatory, it stops feeling like an achievement."
Andrew processed that without rushing. Then he nodded, as if it made sense.
Sean watched him for another moment. "Alright… let me try to guess what you felt when you were named the starter," he said calmly. "Relief?"
Andrew shook his head almost immediately. "No. I already knew I was ahead in the competition weeks ago."
"Did you feel relief? Think about it," Sean repeated.
Andrew frowned slightly, complying. He went back to that moment, the announcement, the exact instant.
He took a few more seconds than usual.
"A little," he admitted at last. "Not much, but… yeah. Like a small exhale."
Sean nodded, as if that fit perfectly. "Then it was there."
He let the idea settle before continuing.
"Now tell me, what's next?"
"The first game," Sean went on. "You play against Houston, you win… and then what?"
Andrew didn't answer.
"You'll think it was obvious. Weaker opponent, first game, nothing special," he listed calmly. "Next game… the same. And then another. And another."
He leaned slightly forward.
"The goal will always be the next one. Keep the record. Go for the conference. Win the championship. Then defend it. Aim for individual awards like everyone already expects you to get… then repeat, and after that, the draft."
He paused briefly.
"Always the next thing. A cycle."
Andrew remained silent.
"And in all that process," Sean added, "when do you stop to recognize anything?"
There was no immediate answer.
"You got here in January," Sean continued. "You've spent more than six months working toward this. Training, studying, adapting. Everything focused on becoming the leader of UCLA offense, and you did it."
Andrew held his gaze.
"But you didn't even smile when you told me," Sean added, not harshly. "I'm not saying you need to go out and celebrate big or do something that isn't you. But you should give yourself some space."
"A real disconnect. Even if it's just for moments. That constant focus isn't healthy either, you know that," he pointed out. "Overtraining doesn't just affect the body. It affects the mind too."
"You told me that in high school you had certain rules," Sean went on. "That every now and then you'd go out with your friends, go to a party…"
Andrew nodded slightly.
"Did you have a bad time?"
Andrew thought about it for a second and shook his head.
He wasn't the partying type. He never had been. He didn't drink, or very little, and now, practically not at all. But he didn't avoid everything either.
He had fun at those parties, the ring night, among other good nights.
Sean watched him. "That's part of balance too. Not everything has to be optimized all the time. If you don't want to go somewhere full of strangers, that's fine. Do something at home with your friends, like you used to. But it's also not bad to go out, change your environment once in a while."
Andrew nodded again, this time without resistance.
The session came to an end. Andrew stood up, exchanged a brief goodbye, and left the office.
Sean stayed seated on the couch for a few seconds, in silence. It had been a small step forward. Nothing big, nothing definitive. But at least this time, he had acknowledged something, his achievements, and the idea that he could allow himself space to enjoy them without losing focus.
'What a prematurely mature kid,' Sean thought, as the next patient walked in.
…
The days passed until Sunday, August 26 arrived. Less than a week remained before the debut.
Around ten in the morning, outside the Dunphy house, the scene was starting to become routine. Phil pulled the curtain aside slightly and looked outside.
Three cars were parked along the curb.
Andrew's BMW.
Steve's.
And a large SUV he already recognized, Andrus Peat's.
Twelve guys in total. Four per car, including Andrew and Steve. All freshmen.
Every Sunday they did the same thing. They met early and drove to a nearby football field. It wasn't an official practice or anything close to it. No contact, no heavy workload. More like a light session: going over plays, adjusting routes, talking through the playbook, and moving around a bit.
Building chemistry. That was the important part.
Andrew naturally took the lead in those sessions. And in the end, it turned into something everyone enjoyed. They weren't just improving on the field, they were getting to know each other, building the connection they still lacked as a new group.
For Phil, it was no longer strange to see them there on a Sunday morning.
Still, every time he looked out the window, he couldn't help feeling a mix of pride and surprise.
"Luke, the guys are here!" he called out with a smile.
He was still processing the fact that his son was going out to train with a group like that. Elite prospects, top-level players, and in the middle of them, Andrew.
His nephew. The best of them all. Somehow, that part already felt normal to him.
Luke came downstairs with his backpack slung over his shoulder, though without much enthusiasm on his face.
Phil walked him to the door, and just as he opened it, Andrew was arriving along the sidewalk. He greeted both of them with ease.
Luke muttered something under his breath and kept walking toward the curb, where the rest of the guys were already waiting. As soon as he got there, they welcomed him naturally, with greetings and a few quick comments. He was the youngest of the group, just entering high school, but that didn't seem to matter. They treated him like a little brother.
And Luke, for his part, fit in without any trouble.
Andrew stayed a few seconds longer with Phil, exchanging a couple of words before saying goodbye. Then he turned and walked toward the others.
Within minutes, everyone got into the cars. Engines started, doors slammed, and the small convoy set off.
They drove to a nearby field. When they arrived, they got out calmly, opened the trunks, and started taking out bags with footballs, cones, and other training gear.
As they did, the conversation flowed effortlessly, jokes, comments, and small exchanges about plays or ideas from the playbook.
Andrew used those Sundays to train Luke, just as he had promised, preparing him for when the time came to join the team at Palisades.
Luke's training was split into two parts.
First, conditioning. Improving his cardio, speed, and explosiveness. As a running back, that was essential.
Then, technique.
His kick between the goalposts was already respectable, but Andrew still made him repeat it over and over again. Strike after strike, adjusting details, chasing perfection.
After that, they moved on to running back routes. Simple movements at first, short releases, quick cuts, and easy catches so the ball practically arrived in his hands. Andrew fine-tuned that timing, forcing him to focus on every motion.
Then he raised the intensity.
Straight-line routes, direction changes, and zigzags through cones. Catches on the move, adjusting his body. And sometimes with one of the guys trailing him closely to simulate pressure.
But always without contact.
No tackles.
They were eighteen-year-old players, already physically prepared for the college level. If any of them went full speed at Luke, the outcome would be obvious.
And besides, there was an unspoken rule, one that Andrew and Steve, especially, had very clear in mind.
Claire.
No one wanted to have to explain to Claire that Luke had gotten injured.
In the final part of the session, Andrew dropped any softness with Luke. He took him to the center of the field and put a weighted vest on him, along with ankle weights that made every movement heavier than normal.
The drill was simple in theory. Cones marking short distances. Back and forth. Turn, accelerate, change direction. Repeat.
In practice, it wasn't.
Luke was already soaked in sweat, his shirt clinging to his body, his sneakers kicking up dirt with every burst. His breathing grew heavier and heavier while Andrew kept the pace without easing up.
He was looking for the mistake. Pushing him to the limit.
"Faster!" Andrew called out, walking alongside him. "Don't slow down!"
"Keep going, keep going!" he pressed. "Just two more rounds!"
Off to the side, the rest watched with drinks in hand.
Amari took a sip and shook his head. "Poor Luke…"
Andrus nodded, not taking his eyes off him. He didn't say anything, but the thought was clear: he wouldn't be able to push his younger brothers like that. Not to that level.
Jordan let out a short laugh. "Good thing he doesn't train us like that…" he said, relaxed.
Alexander nodded. "It'd be a disaster, we'd show up dead on Mondays and the coaches would kill us."
Steve smirked. "Andrew's not an idiot."
"Last one!" Andrew shouted. "Finish it!"
Luke reached the final cone, turned as best he could, and as he slowed down, he simply dropped onto his back on the grass.
He stayed there, gasping, staring at the sky without really seeing anything.
Andrew walked over, crouched beside him, and gave him a couple of firm pats on the chest.
"Good job."
He left a water bottle next to him.
"Recover," he added. "We're going to eat somewhere good."
Luke barely managed to raise a hand to show he'd heard him.
Andrew stood up and walked back toward Steve, Andrus, and the rest, as if nothing had happened.
Minutes later, Luke was by a row of drinking fountains, leaning over one while letting the water run. He drank in long gulps and, without much grace, ended up sticking his head under the stream, soaking his hair and face.
"You survived another day."
The voice, playful in tone, made him turn slightly. Luke looked up, still dripping, and saw Steve smiling.
He shut off the faucet and looked at him without a trace of humor, unusual for him.
"It's Sunday… I don't want to train like this anymore. All my friends are on vacation."
Steve's smile faded a bit as he caught the tone.
"I know Andrew can be a bit extreme," he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Trust me, I went through it at your age, and even before that. But it works. It's not going to break you."
He paused briefly, looking at him more seriously.
"And tell me something…" he added. "You're almost done. Are you really going to quit now, when you've got just one training session left with him?"
Luke fell silent, processing it.
He hadn't realized it, but it was true. Summer had practically passed. Since he started training with Andrew, it had all been this: heat, effort, repetition.
He cursed internally the day he asked Andrew to train him.
But he had also made it through.
There was only one left. Wednesday. After that, Andrew would start the season and wouldn't have time anymore. And Luke would begin school too, with his own team.
Seeing him hesitate, Steve continued, "Besides, Palisades is going to feel easy after this."
Luke nodded slowly. A smile started to form on his face.
"Just one more!" he said, with a bit more energy.
Put that way, it felt different. Like closing something out, and a satisfying achievement.
Steve smiled again, this time pleased. "That's the spirit."
He gave him a light pat on the back.
"Come on, they're waiting for us. I'm starving."
Luke nodded, running a hand through his still-wet hair as he followed him.
And just like that, almost without noticing, the days kept moving forward.
Luke completed the training. He finished that demanding summer under Andrew's guidance, one that, in the moment, had felt endless. It had been tough, exhausting, and often frustrating. But there had also been progress.
And above all, the feeling of having endured it until the end.
It wasn't just about getting better. It was about holding on.
At home, Claire and Phil didn't let that go unnoticed. There was recognition, and even a small celebration, simple rewards that reinforced the idea that all that effort had been worth it.
And then the day arrived.
The most anticipated debut for a prospect in the history of college football.
UCLA Bruins football vs Rice Owls football.
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