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Chapter 115 - The team works
Manual Arts vs. Palisades – Fourth Quarter – 00:42 on the clock
The scoreboard was brutal:
Manual Arts High School 7 – Palisades 65
Most coaches, under those circumstances, would do the obvious:
Hit the brakes. Send in the second team. A polite way of saying "that's enough."
But David knew Andrew wasn't the type to slow down.
Despite the score difference, despite the exhausted faces on the opposing team, despite the uncomfortable murmurs in the stands... Andrew was still playing with full focus.
Standing at the line of scrimmage. Eyes locked on enemy territory, while most of the home crowd watched with a mix of anger and resignation.
"Set... hut!" Andrew shouted, and the snap landed cleanly in his hands.
Andrew stepped back. Faked a look to the right and tossed the ball toward Reggie, who burst forward on a short route, pretending he had the ball. He clutched it to his chest and lowered his body as if protecting the play.
The defense took the bait. Two linebackers lunged at Reggie.
The safety began to close in on that side.
But the ball was still in Andrew's hands. He accelerated, using the deception that didn't last long, but just enough to give him a slight edge.
He cut left, dodged a lineman who turned too late, and leapt over a low tackle with the kind of agility one wouldn't expect from a quarterback. When the Manual Arts cornerback tried to close in... Andrew was already gone.
The Palisades sideline erupted.
The Manual Arts players could only turn their heads and watch as he pulled away, faster than even their own running backs, Archie and Reggie.
The Palisades visiting section exploded with cheers and applause.
"And another touchdown for Palisades... of course. This time, a run by the Eagles' star quarterback, Andrew Pritchett. The guy everyone's talking about. And he's not even slowing down... with forty seconds left on the clock. Incredible..." said the announcer, his tone resigned, barely hiding his annoyance.
Andrew didn't celebrate with jumps or flashy gestures.
He just crossed the goal line with the ball steady in his hand and a calm, contained smile, like someone finishing a perfect drill in practice.
His teammates came after him at a moderate pace to celebrate. A few high fives, nothing flashy, all very respectful.
"Nice job. Great acting," Andrew praised Reggie, who had sold the fake beautifully.
"I could be a Hollywood actor," Reggie joked, high-fiving Andrew.
Archie approached with a raised eyebrow and a sarcastic tone, "Going for two?" he asked, though everyone already knew the answer.
"Of course. Jack, the usual," said Andrew, and the team quickly took their positions.
There was no hesitation, no debate. They moved like a well-tuned orchestra that already knew the notes by heart.
Andrew received the backward snap, faked a glance to the right to pull the coverage, then quickly turned and, before anyone could react, fired a bullet pass to Jack, who cut across the field and caught it just before crossing the goal line.
Two-point conversion.
The final score, lit up starkly on the visitor scoreboard:
Manual Arts 7 – Palisades 73
The home announcer said nothing more.
Only the murmurs of the crowd and the creaking of the metal benches could be heard as some students quietly gathered their things.
In the visitor stands, Cameron had both hands over his chest.
"That jump was too close!" he said, still recovering from Andrew's run that came dangerously close to getting him leveled.
If it were up to Cam, Andrew would throw all his passes from the comfort and safety of the pocket, well protected, like a prince behind a wall of shields.
As much as he enjoyed the show, watching Andrew run toward a defensive line made him break into a cold sweat.
"Cam, breathe," said Mitchell, eyes still fixed on the field.
"It's not healthy for you to look like you're having a heart attack every time Andrew runs."
"I was worried! What if he gets a cramp running at that speed with all those sharp cuts? Or gets injured from a dirty tackle?!" Cam said.
Mitchell looked at him with resignation. He said nothing. 𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙥𝒖𝒃.𝙘𝙤𝒎
He knew it was all pointless, no matter how much he tried to explain that Andrew could handle tackles just fine. He wasn't some scrawny quarterback; he had tough, resilient muscles under that uniform.
"This should probably be considered athletic abuse by now, right?" Alex remarked as he adjusted his glasses, staring at the scoreboard.
"Maybe. The parents might file a complaint for psychological trauma: Your student scored seven touchdowns on our kids, we demand emotional compensation," Haley said with a half-smile.
Claire, who up until that moment had only been clenching her fists with competitive excitement, turned her head and said, "They better get used to it. This is football, not a sport for crybabies. If they don't like being humiliated, they should train harder."
Phil raised an eyebrow. He already knew how tough and competitive Claire could be, so he didn't jump in either, like Mitch with Cam, though for different reasons.
Not far away stood Pippa, Cara, Howard, Leonard, Zach, and other Palisades students.
"Let's go Eagles! Nice work, star boy!" Cara shouted with all her might, waving her arms in the air like they had just won the state championship.
Pippa, beside her, clapped softly with a gentle smile, not raising her voice much. Her eyes stayed fixed on Andrew, who was walking calmly toward the bench with his usual collected demeanor.
Cara glanced at her sideways, confused, "Hey, why so little excitement?"
Pippa didn't take her eyes off the field when she replied, "I am excited. It's just... relative," she said, finally turning to look at her.
"This game wasn't exactly a feat for Andrew. It was a clean, controlled execution... just the way he likes it."
Cara blinked, "Not a feat? He threw like six touchdown passes!"
"I know," Pippa admitted with a small shrug, "But I'm not going to get super hyped over a game we won by more than fifty points. Don't you think?"
"Whoa, cold," Cara said.
"I'm not cold. Look, even Andrew's not as pumped as you. Not even Reggie, and that says a lot," Pippa added, raising an eyebrow.
In tougher or more intense games, or at least in the early touchdowns that open the score, Pippa usually gets very enthusiastic and celebrates loudly, even scolding the team harshly if they don't support her boyfriend properly.
Cara looked out onto the field, searching for Andrew. She found him walking alongside his teammates, exchanging high-fives, smiling modestly, like he'd just wrapped up a successful practice rather than having played a flawless game.
The game ended.
Andrew headed straight to the locker room in great spirits. Unlike the previous game, which they had also won, this time there was a key difference: he enjoyed every second of it.
The scoreboard against Manual Arts had been crushing, but it wasn't just about the result. What truly left him satisfied was how they had won.
Last week, despite the victory, he'd walked off frustrated. Steve hadn't played at 100%, passing routes kept breaking down mid-play, and Andrew had been forced to run more than he liked, relying on his dual-threat quarterback abilities to salvage situations that shouldn't have rested entirely on his shoulders.
Yes, their last opponent had been stronger than Manual Arts.
But still, there had been no tactical excuse for all the improvisation.
Today, things were different.
The new offensive formation, with only two wide receivers instead of three, worked perfectly.
Jack and Nico had started and responded with unexpected maturity: clean routes, precise timing, sure hands.
Andrew threw six touchdown passes.
Archie and Reggie also stood out more than they had in the previous setup. The team felt more balanced overall.
It was the first game of the season in Division 4 that they won by over fifty points. A very good sign, and hopefully, the start of a consistent trend.
'Who knows... maybe if we keep winning like this, CIF might actually promote us,' Andrew thought as he changed in the locker room.
But he wasn't entirely sure.
Nothing is guaranteed by performance alone. There are other variables. And just two years ago, Palisades wasn't even considered a serious contender for the D5 state championship.
Andrew knew that.
He knew that even if they dominated Division 4, the committee could still choose to leave them there for another year, out of caution, internal politics, or simply because that's how the system works.
Using the same strategy he applied in his YouTube video probably wouldn't help much this time, it could even backfire, making him seem overly arrogant.
Andrew had a deep affection for Palisades, not just because of the team, but because of what it represented: a school with no football legacy, brought to the top by a united and disciplined group.
A star quarterback, yes, but also a talented offensive line: Archie, Reggie, Kevin, even Steve, despite not being at his peak performance. A defensive line that gives it its all. Coaches who had trusted him since ninth grade, letting him lead.
Taking Palisades all the way to the top during his high school years...
That would be a far greater achievement than simply transferring to an already established Division 1 school. An incredible legacy.
But he wasn't naïve. If CIF didn't promote them to Division 3 after this season, he would make a difficult but necessary decision.
He had already received offers last year. Schools with elite programs wanted him. And if this season continued as it had started, even more offers would come.
And he wasn't going to waste another year in Division 4, where the challenge was limited and his growth restrained.
Playing in D1 didn't scare him, he already knew that level in his past life. He had won, though he died, the state championship at sixteen, playing for one of the top football programs in Texas.
Thinking about all of this, Andrew couldn't help but clench his fists for a moment. Then he slammed the locker door shut and sighed.
Transferring meant leaving a lot behind.
Not just his childhood friends: Reggie, Archie, Kevin... even Steve, despite everything.
But also Leonard, Howard, Zach...
Cara, with her boundless energy.
Haley, even if he'd still see her often; after all, they were family.
And of course: Pippa.
The thought of leaving all that behind hurt. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he felt it.
'Stop thinking about depressing stuff... the year's far from over,' Andrew told himself, scratching his head.
They had a fun party to go to tonight, and after this huge win, it was bound to be lively.
He left the locker room and found his family and friends waiting outside. After the greetings, photos (Cam loved capturing every one of his games), and Jay's final comment: "You beat them so badly you should pay for their therapy"—Andrew went back home with his parents.
He showered, had dinner, then edited what he could from the video using the highlight clips Howard had sent him. Finally, Mitchell drove him to Liam's house, where the party was being held.
"No alcohol, understood? I don't want a repeat of last time..." Mitchell said in a firm, no-nonsense tone.
"Yes, I promise..." Andrew replied, a little embarrassed about that night, which had ended up being epic in its own way, but also earned him a long punishment.
"I'll pick you up at midnight sharp," Mitchell said as Andrew stepped out of the car and closed the door behind him.
"Alright. See you," Andrew replied, waving goodbye to his dad.
As for Haley, she didn't come with him. She was grounded, because of him.
Claire had not been amused when she found out Haley had snuck out in the middle of the night to attend a college party with Dylan. Her punishment: one full month.
A tragedy of biblical proportions, according to Haley.
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