Bigger Than The Program

[Captain Canada]

I was surprised to see those mid passing stats, but I knew Cortez was bound to make an impact somewhere. Solid run.

[redsox907]

rough game, but they happen. Gotta knock the rust off and run this shit all the way to the top

[YaBoyRobRoy]

quite the defensive battle there but nice job scoring the game winner

[The JZA]

If It's Not One Thing, It's Another
(SZN 1 , EPI 11)

The JFK Campus Knights rolled off the FDR and into Brooklyn carrying the silence of a team that had learned how quickly momentum could be murdered. Nobody played music, argued over seats or shouted across the aisle with jokes. Every player who normally treated bus rides like moving locker rooms sat with headphones covering their ears and eyes fixed beyond the windows. Brooklyn slid past in pieces—apartment towers, corner stores, scaffolding, playgrounds trapped behind chain-link fences—but nobody seemed interested in the view.

Coach Lloyd stood near the front of the bus with one hand gripping the overhead rail. He had made the rules clear before they left the Bronx. If anyone so much as sneezed, he might find himself watching the game from the sideline. After the previous week, nobody questioned whether he was serious.

Randolph Campus had walked onto Kennedy’s Coach Horowitz field as a supposedly inferior 3A opponent and left behind a 67–0 crime scene. Three interceptions, two fumbles and a team quitting before halftime.

The loss had stained everybody.

The starters who played, the backups who failed, the coaches who underestimated Randolph, the players who allowed the humiliation to become easy once the outcome felt unavoidable. Cortez had watched from the bleachers, dressed in street clothes while his offense collapsed without him. Now Cortez sat near the middle of the bus with his hood over his head, playbook closed across his lap. He did not need another speech, neither did anybody else.

Eagle Academy II’s field came into view through the windshield.

The Nest.

The bus turned toward the entrance and hissed to a stop. Players rose in organized silence, retrieving helmets, bags, and whatever pride had survived the previous Friday. Coach Lloyd met them near the doors. There was no declaration about brotherhood, no reminder that adversity revealed character, no inspirational movie bullshit, none of that. The closest thing to motivation came through the promise that if Kennedy looked anything like it had against Randolph, Monday’s practice would become a punishment future generations would hear about.

The players believed him.

Summer camp still lived inside their bodies. The heat pressing down on the field before morning had fully broken. Hot laps around the track, 50-yard suicide sprints until lungs tasted like blood and saliva hung from open mouths, quick-feet intervals interrupted by push-ups and barrel rolls, pop-up tackles against the heaviest recruit willing to stand in front of them, and blitz-versus-run scrimmages where the losing side earned another series. Coach Lloyd was not a murderer. He simply understood how close football could bring a man to wishing for death without crossing the legal boundary. Those who survived camp carried the memory beneath their skin. Nobody wanted to experience the advanced version Monday afternoon.

Cortez climbed from the bus and looked across the field. The wind moved through The Nest with enough force to bend the flags above the uprights. It traveled through the open sections of the stadium, catching jerseys, rattling loose equipment, and pushing passing clouds across the sky.

The conditions introduced another opponent. Cortez welcomed it. Randolph had taken something from Kennedy, he intended to steal it back.

The strong wind during the game did more than just bring dynamic trajectories to kicks and passes, Cortez had a sixth sense to reading this game in particular, as passing would not favor the team had they got too comfortable with their usual air raid scheme. Cortez let off a few passes, testing the waters against the Eagles and they came prepared to snatch out anything viable. He understood that this wasn't going to be a game won in the air and that run true.

After a scoreless first half, life on the scoreboard didn't come until late in the 3rd quarter where Heath Goodman put up three points from a 40-yard field goal. Another came from 45 yards in the middle of the 4th. With a 6-0 lead, the Eagles responded almost immediately with a 20-yard run from Kai Jackson that was built off a kick return that started their drive at the 45-yard hash mark.

Kennedy fell into do-or-die mode with about five minutes left in the game.

Cortez lined up the team in go-go formation and did some magic with triple option plays and cross routes out of the backfield. Cortez knew he had time on his side, but he didn't want to chance life on fourth downs while trailing by a single point. Cortez bangs out a 30-yard pass to Pat Gage on the right side and flips the field. Then the tides turn and the battle between gains and losses came at the expanse of false starts.

When crowd began to rally and make it audibles impossible to hear, Kennedy took a delay of play, setting them back 1st and 20. The very next play would save them effort as the Eagle's EDGE gets called for roughing the passer on a incomplete pass.

With a new set of downs, Eagles played Nickle against goal line formation. With an extensive o-line in the trenches, Cortez calls a play action, tucks and books it on foot. The left tight end does his job and holds the EDGE. Cortez makes the cornerback miss and it was a 35-yard foot race to the endzone before the safety could get to him.

With three minutes left on the clock, defense did their job and held them off for the final whistle. A hard fought victory for Cortez and the Knights to steal a win late in the fourth. With the team back to winning, it was another win in the column for the John F. Kennedy.

The clips reached the internet before the bus crossed back into Manhattan. Parents uploaded shaky footage from the stands, students clipped the winning touchdown, local football web pages reposted Kennedy’s final drive with captions about redemption. Recruiting accounts followed as the algorithms took Cortez’s name and carried it farther than any train or bus ever had. By the end of the week, his national ranking had cracked the top 1,000 with the ranking of 768. The number would have looked insulting to the freshman version of Cortez—the boy who wrote USC, Alabama, Miami, Oregon, and Ohio State inside notebooks like desire alone could reserve a scholarship. The senior version understood what 768 represented. Thousands of quarterbacks played high-school football across the country, thousands believed they had been overlooked, thousands posted clips, attended camps, sent messages to coaches, and waited beside phones that rarely rang.

Cortez had forced his way into the conversation.

He climbed into the top 15 among New York athletes. He remained slightly outside the top 50 quarterbacks nationally, close enough to see the names ahead of him becoming shorter and more impressive while understand that one more performance could rearrange everything. He had come a long way from 59 passing yards and 3 interceptions. The programs reaching out reflected the movement: Missouri, North Carolina State, Pittsburgh, SMU, South Carolina, UCF and Utah.

The names carried more weight than the first wave. Not because the earlier schools lacked value, but because these programs arrived after film, after Tottenville, after New Dorp. After Kennedy collapsed without him and then found its footing when he returned. They were reacting to something Cortez had created on the field.

Three names stood above the rest.

Pittsburgh was closest to home, close enough to not feel isolated in a world much more vast than his. But the problem was the quarterback room. Mason Heintschel appeared settled into the program’s future, and Cortez had no interest in becoming another body holding a clipboard behind someone else’s development.

Utah offered competition along with distance too. Salt Lake City might as well have been another country compared to Kingsbridge Terrace. The program had two seniors nearing the exit and a future opening beneath them. Cortez could picture the depth chart shifting.

SMU carried a different kind of temptation. Kevin Jennings was approaching the final stretch of his college career. The Mustangs’ interest felt aggressive, like a program already searching for the next hand to take control of the offense. Dallas was far, but opportunity had never promised convenience.

Cortez reopened his shortlist more times than he admitted. Rutgers had already begun sliding it-self off the paper after the Indiana massacre. The campus remained close, familiar, and tied to Antonio’s history, but 52–20 had exposed every promise made during the tour and the work it needed beyond four years allotted. Rebuilding sounded good inside meeting rooms, but it looked different while Turbo Richardson was running through arm tackles.

Cortez rearranged names, moved Pittsburgh upward, Placed SMU underneath it. It allowed Utah to enter the top five.

He had once been a dreamer writing famous programs because their jerseys looked good on television. Now he pictured systems, depth charts, distance, playing time, offensive coordinators, how many quarterbacks stood between him and a meaningful snap.

The fantasy had become logistical. That made it more real.

Two additional visits had already been arranged: Boston College the following week when the Eagles hosted Pittsburgh, and Kent State in November for Oklahoma State. One visit involved two programs that interested him, the other felt like an opportunity to examine a school he had not expected to consider.

Every campus represented another possible life. A dorm room, a stadium, a locker and a version of Cortez waking somewhere beyond the Bronx and discovering whether the person he had worked to become could survive outside everything familiar...



———————————————



Sunday gave him enough quiet to think about it. The block had settled into its weekly reset. A car hummed through the neighborhood a couple streets away, a dog barked from behind a fence, paused, then resumed as though offended nobody had answered. Conversations drifted from stoops and open windows without carrying the energy of Saturday night. Even New York seemed to understand that Sunday required a lower volume.

Inside Antonio’s house, Cortez worked through cleaning chores. He wiped the kitchen counters, swept the downstairs hallway, and carried a basket of folded towels toward the linen closet. He had nearly finished when the front door opened. Antonio entered beneath four grocery bags cutting into his fingers. The remaining bags hung from both wrists, plastic stretched white around cartons, cans, and containers.

“What's up, OG? Let me give you hand with that.” Cortez crossed the living room. Antonio transferred four bags into his arms before continuing toward the kitchen. “I thought you were putting in some hours at the gym today? How's business?”

They set the groceries along the counter. Antonio unpacked with a system he never consciously explained: eggs into the same refrigerator section, produce sorted by shelf, meat sent toward the deep freezer and dry goods lined together according to use rather than packaging.

“Business is good. Real good, actually.” He removed a container of protein powder from the shopping bag and placed it near the counter. “Signed eight new memberships to kick off the week. Young guys mostly, high school seniors wanting to bulk up before college.”

Antonio shut the refrigerator and turned toward Cortez. “But honestly? The gym's doing well enough that I'm thinking about expanding. Maybe adding another location downtown. Something bigger, with more amenities.”

The possibility changed his face. “Course, that means more overhead, more staff... and frankly, I don't know if I'm ready to handle managing that many moving parts yet.”

“Really?” Cortez pulled canned goods and seasoning from one bag, placing them inside the cupboard above the stove. “The place was booming over the summer, but I didn't think it was that far along already.”

Antonio’s gym had grown through word of mouth. Men who trained there brought sons, nephews and cousins. Athletes arrived after hearing about the private sessions. People trusted Antonio because he did not sell transformation as magic.

He promised work. Nothing more.

Cortez reached into another bag. “Well, you know what they say, 'scared money don't make money'. Have you thought about seeking a partnership?”

Antonio nodded slowly. “Honestly hadn't given it much thought beyond just hiring more trainers and front desk staff. But a partner...”

He placed the final bags along the counter. “That could work. Someone with complementary skills—maybe marketing and sales instead of just operations. Someone who could help grow the client base even further. ”

Antonio folded his arms. “But here's the thing, kid—partnerships aren't just about splitting profits fifty-fifty.”

“Of course, not at all. I'm just saying, four hands are better than two.” Cortez turned toward the sink. He balled the empty grocery bags together before pushing them into the larger collection beneath the cabinet.

“I mean, I'm no business expert, but I would assume expanding meant going into business with others to make the process smoother. But hey, what do I know?” He shrugged and leaned against the counter.

The conversation felt lighter than recruiting, more familiar than choosing universities. Antonio’s business had become another kind of future opening inside the house.

“So what's up with tonight? I was going to invite Kareem and his mom over for dinner. You down?”

Antonio finished organizing the groceries and wiped his hands against a towel. “Tonight? Well...”

His eyes shifted briefly toward the living room. “Actually, I already invited someone else over for dinner.”

Cortez watched him, the hesitation carried its own warning.

Antonio crossed his arms again. “Your mother. Evelyn said she'd be here later this evening.”

The kitchen cooled. Not literally, but the air seemed to withdraw anyway. Cortez’s expression hardened without drama. He leaned away from the counter and moved toward the living room, checking whether Lauri was somewhere nearby.

The room was empty. No footsteps came from the stairs. He returned to the kitchen.

“What you inviting her over for? You forgot what happened at her place? Better yet, did you ask either of us if we wanted her presence around?”

Antonio’s face shifted beneath the accusation. Mild annoyance tightened his jaw, but he kept his voice even.

“I didn't forget what happened at Evelyn's place, Cortez. But last I check, she's my sister-in-law”

“Ex-sister-in-law.” Cortez murmured under his breath.

The divorce might not have carried all the paperwork required to satisfy a courthouse, cortez did not care. Derrick Terrano had abandoned the family. Whatever title Evelyn maintained in relation to Antonio felt like a technicality built over wreckage.

“That's neither here or there, she's still family. And what happened, that was weeks ago. I'm not saying you guys have to automatically forgive her, but at least hear her out, champ.”

He held Cortez’s stare. “I understand this is unexpected news to you. But she hit me up this morning while I was at the facility, and she wanted us to have dinner together. This was her idea, so apparently, she wants to talk to you both.”

Cortez moved toward the dining table and sat. A deep breath dragged through him as both hands traveled over his face. The peace he had felt cleaning the house disappeared.

“I don't know man, I got nothing to say to her. And I can imagine Lauri feels the same.”

Antonio took the seat across from him, his elbows settled against the tabletop. “I get it, champ. Trust me, I get it.”

Patience remained inside his tone with firmness. “What your mom did was fucked up. But I also know she's struggling with her own stuff right now. She reached out because she wants to talk—to apologize, probably.”

Antonio lifted one hand before Cortez could interrupt. “And yeah, I could've told you before I extended the invite. My bad for that. Sometimes I move ahead without thinking how it lands with everyone involved.”

His eyes searched Cortez’s face. “But I wouldn't even be bringing this up if I didn't think it mattered. She's family. More than that, she's the blood the pumps through your veins, as Mama Terrano always say.”

Blood. The word had been used to excuse enough damage inside the Terrano family. Blood meant Cortez should forgive Derrick for leaving. Blood meant Evelyn could raise a hand and still be owed access. Blood meant Antonio carried people after they had proven too heavy because turning away from family felt like betraying something older than any individual wound.

Cortez looked toward the floor then back toward his uncle. “Whatever man, as long as she's not on some other type of time, then it's whatever with me. It's Lauri that she has to convince for forgiveness.”

Antonio nodded. “Fair enough.” He allowed the agreement to remain for a moment.

“Actually, why don't you and Lauri talk it over. At least give her a chance to prepare herself instead of being blindsided like I did you. My bad on that.”

Antonio stood and placed one hand against Cortez’s shoulder. “I know Evelyn. She's stubborn, but she cares. Deep down, she does. Give her a chance to explain herself, at least.”

He patted Cortez and left the kitchen. Cortez remained at the table as he tried imagining dinner, imagine Evelyn apologizing. The images refused to agree with the hard facts that Cortez experienced. But maybe Antonio was right. Maybe Evelyn had finally reached the point where shame outweighed pride. Maybe she wanted to make amends.

But there was nothing wrong 'wanting'.

Their relationship had already been damaged across years of distrust, absence, screaming, belts, slaps, and apologies that lasted until the next explosion. Cortez gathered enough energy to stand. The conversation with Lauri waited upstairs. She would not accept the news with Antonio’s patience.

He was right. She deserved a warning.

Cortez found her in her bedroom. He explained the invitation carefully, putting Antonio’s apology for blindsiding them before Evelyn’s request to visit. Lauri’s face tightened before he finished. The idea of Evelyn entering Antonio’s house made her visibly ill.

This was the safe place. Antonio's home. Her home.

Evelyn had already violated one sense of safety. Now she was being invited into another.

She had only recently started leaving her room again. Returning to jokes. Reopening conversations about shoots and outfits. Allowing herself to exist without examining every sentence that had led to her mother’s hand crossing the space between them.

Now dinner threatened to drag it all back...



———————————————



Usually, Sunday meals belonged to Lauri. She selected recipes, played music from her phone, and treated Antonio’s kitchen like a stage. Tonight, Antonio and Cortez took the responsibility away from her, a gesture of kindness to sweeten the deal to have her present at the dining table tonight. Lauri remained upstairs while the men prepared the food. Mediterranean salmon rubbed with seasoning and citrus, asparagus roasted with honey, garlic, and parmesan, and mashed potatoes smooth enough to hold gravy they had not made.

Simple food. Comforting food. A meal selected to create warmth in a house preparing for cold conversation.

Evening settled around Kingsbridge Terrace then the solid knocks came. They struck the screen door hard enough to resemble police announcing a warrant.

Cortez approached reluctantly. When he opened the door, Evelyn stood beneath the porch light looking younger than she had in years.

Denim skinny jeans, white K-Swiss sneakers, a white Champion T-shirt tucked cleanly into her waist. Her hair had been pressed into a tight bun instead of falling loose and frizzy around her face. Makeup softened the exhaustion beneath her eyes, contour hiding the evidence of long shifts and sleepless mornings.

She looked rested. Prepared. Curated.

Cortez had seen this version before. The polished Evelyn appeared during apologies, family gatherings, school events, and any situation where presentation could stand between her and accountability. The effort itself was not the problem, the facade was. She looked like someone returning from vacation rather than a mother entering a house to face the daughter she had struck.

Cortez moved aside, letting Evelyn enter. Antonio greeted her with enough warmth to prevent the doorway from becoming a battlefield. Lauri came downstairs later and took her place at the table without offering more than acknowledgment.

The four sat together.

Conversation moved mostly between Antonio and Evelyn.

Work. The gym. The changing weather. A relative Cortez barely remembered. Each topic existed to break the ice.

Cortez ate without contributing. Lauri cut the salmon into smaller and smaller pieces, rearranging them across her plate without bringing enough to her mouth.

Evelyn watched both of her children. She forced a smile that stopped before reaching her eyes. Several minutes passed beneath the clink of utensils and polite questions dying without answers.

Evelyn finally placed her fork down and cleared her throat.

“So... I guess y'all been avoiding me, huh?” No anger sharpened the question. Something softer waited beneath it. Shame, perhaps.

Antonio kept his attention on the plate, Cortez did the same. The question had been shaped for both children, but everyone understood who was expected to answer.

Lauri’s jaw tightened as her fork stabbed through a piece of asparagus. “...Obviously,” The bitterness inside the word entered the room before her eyes lifted. “Why wouldn't we? After everything...”

She placed the fork down harder than intended, her lips pressed into a thin line. “What do you want from me, ma? Seriously.”

Evelyn’s prepared expression faltered.

“I... I want to apologize, ” Her voice barely rose above the table.

“I know sorry doesn't fix everything, but I need you to know I'm truly sorry for what I said, and what I did. I was out of line. It just... It just happened so quickly, I wasn't thinking straight.”

Evelyn’s hand moved toward Lauri. The movement stopped halfway. She withdrew before contact could become another violation.

“I love you, baby girl. More than anything. And I want to be in your life - really be in it this time.”

Her eyes shined. She looked from Lauri to Cortez. Cortez shifted inside his chair and glanced toward Antonio. His uncle’s expression revealed nothing while Cortez’s held words he had no interest in releasing yet.

Lauri stared at the food. The word 'love' tightened something inside her chest.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” The coldness in her voice weakened near the end. “Love isn't supposed to hurt, ma. At least not like that. You spent years taking your anger out on us.”

She finally looked up. Her eyes were sharp. Wet but unwavering.

“How do I know this won't happen again? How do I know tomorrow or the next day won't be the same exact thing?”

Evelyn’s face softened beneath the accusation. The pain had entered without defense. She wiped the corners of her eyes with her fingers, careful not to smear the work she had done before arriving.

“I... I don't have an answer for that except to say I'm trying to work on myself,” Her voice quiet from sounding too professional.

“I'm looking at therapy. Meditation... Trying to figure out why I get so triggered sometimes and how to better manage those feelings before they explode.”

She swallowed. “I'm not perfect, Lauri. Far from it. But I promise you - no, I swear to you - that I'm going to put in the work to be better. For both of you.”

Evelyn’s gaze found Cortez briefly. “And I know actions speak louder than words...”

Antonio lowered his utensils carefully. Metal touched ceramic with a soft sound that drew every pair of eyes.

He cleared his throat. “Look, I get it. Both sides. But I gotta say something here.”

Antonio looked at each of them. “Your mama's trying here, kids, We've been talking about this incident for a while now and I can see that she's genuine in her words. If she says she's going to put in the work, at least give her the chance.”

He leaned back then sighed. “ Yeah, she messed up, bad. But we all do. Question is - can we learn from our mistakes and grow? Or do we keep holding onto the past forever?”

His eyes rested on Lauri. “I'm not saying forget what happened. But holding grudges... that eats you up inside, princess. Trust me on that one.”

Evelyn pressed her lips together. Hope and fear shared the same space in her expression.

“Baby, please... I know I don't deserve it, but... can we try? Just give me a chance to prove I can be better. Please.”

She searched Lauri’s face. The makeup could not hide the vulnerability anymore.

Lauri sat trapped between anger and need. Cortez recognized the conflict because he had lived inside it himself.

Lauri's relationship with Evelyn had always been volatile. When it was bad, the apartment became a war zone. When it was good, the memories could almost convince them the bad had been exaggerated.

Lauri needed her mother, not the woman who treated every disagreement like a challenge to her authority, not the woman whose hands answered questions her words could not. She needed the mother who could listen without turning defensive. The mother who remembered what foods she liked. The mother who could offer safety without attaching fear beneath it. Cortez saw an answer being begged for before Lauri had enough time to understand what she felt.

He spoke first.

“I think if you really want to show proof of you trying to be a better person, I think you should actually put in the work and give it time.”

His voice remained measured, the sternness lived inside his eyes. “I don't think an answer right now from Lauri changes anything. She's just getting past the incident, and I think it's best you give her the space to breathe a bit more while you seek therapy.”

Evelyn listened. Relief crossed her face—not because she had received forgiveness, but because Cortez had helped leave the door unlocked.

“You're absolutely right, baby boy. I appreciate that. ” She looked toward Lauri, then back to him.

“Thank you for that perspective. I... I just needed to know I hadn't completely lost you both.”

Evelyn paused for a moment. “I'll respect whatever space you need. And I'm actually going to see someone about... well, about everything, really.”

Her voice lowered. “I just want you kids to know I love you. Truly.”

“Small steps, one day at a time.” Antonio’s statement loosened something around the table.

Evelyn nodded. Lauri remained silent. She did not protest, but that was not forgiveness. Nobody pretended it was.

The remainder of dinner fell into awkward quiet. Antonio and Evelyn attempted small talk between stretches of silence. Cortez finished what remained on his plate. Lauri barely touched hers. Then Cortez’s phone began vibrating inside his pocket repeatedly.

The timing felt almost merciful. He reached beneath the table and removed it.

Jennessa. Of course.

A piece of him died each time her name appeared in clusters of notifications, another piece felt relieved. The messages created an escape from the heaviness surrounding the table. Cortez excused himself and left the kitchen. He rounded the corner into the hallway and leaned against the wall. The conversation behind him softened into indistinct voices while his thumb moved through Jennessa’s barrage of text.

Paragraphs of emotions, plea defenses and what not, the usual rah-rah dressed as urgency.

One message stood apart.

[Jennessa - 8:41PM]: "I didn't wanna have to show u dis"

A photograph waited beneath it pending download. Cortez stared at the blurred preview. His first instinct was exhaustion, delete the thread and continue on with his night. Whatever Jennessa believed she possessed would become another attempt to reopen the same wound. Another screenshot without context. Another version of the party rearranged to make her look misunderstood and Lauri look dishonest.

Cortez tapped the image. The loading circle turned and pixels cleared slowly from the center outward.

Color appeared. Dark walls. Party lighting. Bodies caught in the background. Jennessa sat holding a drink, smiling toward whoever had taken the photograph. Cortez recognized the night immediately.

The party.

The one that had ended his relationship. The one Lauri had described in pieces.

His eyes moved across the image then stopped.

Lauri sat beside Jennessa. Not just close, but pressed against her.

A black fishnet shirt over a black crop top. baggy jeans, crispy white Air Forces.

Cortez remembered the outfit because he had argued against it before she left. Lauri had accused him of acting like a father and reminded him she was capable of dressing herself.

There she was. Her face rested inside the crook of Jennessa’s neck. Their bodies fit together with an intimacy the photograph refused to explain away.

Cortez enlarged the image and studied the angle.

The position of Lauri’s arm, Jennessa’s smile, the closeness between them.

The hallway seemed to narrow. Behind him, his mother was apologizing for one betrayal, inside his hand waited evidence of another.

Maybe...

A photograph captured one second, but It didn't explain what came before or after, only the moment.

Cortez knew that. He also knew Jennessa had not sent it by accident. She had waited. Held the image and bide her time. She allowed Cortez to defend Lauri, allowed him to call her a liar.

His thumb remained against the screen while the image glowed beneath it.

At the table, Lauri sat only a wall away. Quiet. Still recovering from Evelyn’s wrath. Still trusting Cortez to believe her version of the party.

Jennessa had written that she had not wanted to show him. That meant there was more she wanted him to believe.

Cortez looked toward the kitchen entrance then back at the photograph.

The Knights had recovered from Randolph. His ranking had climbed and new programs were calling.

Boston College waited next week.

For several days, his future had felt as though it were opening in every direction. Now one picture threatened to turn him backward.

If it was not Evelyn, it was Jennessa. Cortez stared at Lauri’s face pressed into his ex-girlfriend’s neck. The one person he had never prepared himself to doubt. The one he promised to protect.

And just like that, the next problem had arrived...

National Rank: 768 | State Rank: 14 | Position Rank: 52
Interests: Arizona State, Baylor, Boston College, Duke, Houston, Kansas State, Louisville, Missouri, NC State, Pittsburgh, Purdue, Rutgers, SMU, South Carolina, Tulane, UCF, USF, Utah, Vanderbilt, Wake Forest

[The JZA]

I was surprised to see those mid passing stats, but I knew Cortez was bound to make an impact somewhere. Solid run.

rough game, but they happen. Gotta knock the rust off and run this shit all the way to the top

Defense wasn't giving up nada, and that was coming from both ends so it washed out. A hard nose win was needed, but still not enough to wash the taste of that 67-point loss

quite the defensive battle there but nice job scoring the game winner

I wish we could have gotten some TOs, but they played solid. Least we didn't have to deal with defending options all game long

[redsox907]

your homie moving in on your girl is diabolical enough. But yo sister!?! treachery

[djp73]

fought for ya'll lives in that one but big time players make big time plays in big time games

[Agent]

Boston College

[The JZA]

Gold, Maroon & Melancholy
(SZN 1 , EPI 12)

Monday morning came creeping into New York like an obligation nobody remembered agreeing to. Birds chirped from branches stripped thinner by the changing season. Cars idled along the curb, coughing exhaust into the brisk air while drivers waited for engines and heaters to wake. Buses and trucks groaned through intersections. The city was returning to work, returning to school, returning to the weekly grind that crushed weekends into distant memories before most people finished their first cup of coffee.

Inside Antonio Terrano’s house, a quieter shift was taking place. Not in the walls, not in the rooms, but inside Cortez.

He had barely slept. Every time his eyes closed, the photograph returned. Jennessa with a drink in her hand, smiling toward whoever held the camera. Lauri pressed against her. His sister’s face tucked into the crook of Jennessa’s neck. Jennessa’s hand near Lauri. Lauri too comfortable and too close. The photograph did not move, yet Cortez’s mind kept forcing it into motion. He imagined what happened seconds before the image had been captured. What happened afterward. What words had passed between them. How much Jennessa had drunk. Whether Lauri had been sober. Whether that intimacy had been invited, encouraged, or misunderstood.

Each possibility carried another form of betrayal.

Jennessa had already admitted going to the party looking for attention. She had admitted flirting, drinking, acting reckless, and placing herself inside situations that had no business existing while she was still attached to Cortez. That had been enough to end three years.

Now there was Lauri.

The one person Cortez had defended without hesitation. The one person whose version he had accepted before she finished telling it.

His sister. His responsibility. His little shadow.

The same girl he had protected from Evelyn’s anger, neighborhood predators, school drama, and every other sharp edge the world pointed in her direction. Jennessa had sent one image and turned that protection inside out. Two people Cortez loved had apparently attacked the same part of his heart from opposite directions like a pincer attack. Cortez lay awake until darkness began thinning against his window. He never confronted Lauri Sunday night. Dinner had already been too heavy. Evelyn had showed up asking for forgiveness, admitting she needed therapy, promising to put work behind the apology. Lauri sat barely holding herself together across the table.

Then Jennessa’s photograph arrived.

Cortez could have walked back into the kitchen and placed the phone in front of his sister. He could have demanded an explanation while Evelyn, Antonio, and every exposed family wound remained gathered around the same meal. But he didn't. Wasn't his style to blow up like that. Maybe part of him had been protecting Lauri again, or maybe he was protecting himself.

Morning found him dressed before anyone needed to wake him. He moved through the house with little sound, pulled on his jacket, and waited near the front while Lauri finished getting ready. When she appeared, her usual energy followed several steps behind. She adjusted her backpack, checked her phone, and glanced at Cortez’s face. The exhaustion was obvious, and so was the silence.

Lauri noticed both but said nothing.

She assumed he had stayed up studying film, answering recruiters, or talking to Maria. Cortez had been balancing more than usual. Sleep had become another thing he scheduled only after everything else was finished.

The walk toward JFK Campus normally developed its own rhythm. Lauri filled whatever silence existed. She talked about teachers, outfits, content ideas, people online, and random thoughts that entered her head without warning. Cortez responded when necessary, teased her when opportunities appeared, and pretended not to listen closely enough to remember everything later. That morning, Lauri attempted no performance. She watched him from the side. His strides were longer, more deliberate. He kept his eyes ahead. Usually, they meet Kareem along the route. Cortez would slow near the familiar corner, and within minutes, the six-foot-five basketball star would appear wearing headphones or carrying breakfast in one hand.

Cortez did not slow. He walked as if waiting for anyone would place him behind schedule.

Lauri noticed. Again, she kept quiet.

The photograph traveled with him all the way to school. It existed inside his pocket even while the phone screen remained dark. Cortez could feel it there, its weight heavier than the device itself. At the campus entrance, students moved through security and scattered toward the cafeteria, lockers, and classrooms. Cortez passed through without offering Lauri more than a faint acknowledgment.

Then he started hunting.

Jennessa’s schedule lived inside him through old habit. Three years of meeting between classes had taught him where she usually went in the morning, which staircases she preferred, and which friends she sat with before homeroom. He checked the cafeteria first and found Jennessa sitting near the middle of her usual crew. The room carried the restless buzz of a school day not yet fully alive. Plastic trays slid across tables. Someone’s phone played a new track low enough to avoid confiscation. Students shouted greetings across the room while cafeteria workers prepared for the breakfast crowd.

Trina was telling a story. The girls around the table laughed along with it. Jennessa sat with one leg crossed over the other, phone resting in her hand. Her pink hair had been freshly pressed, falling around her face in the clean center part she had perfected over the summer.

Cortez saw only her. He crossed the cafeteria with an almost casual pace. Nothing about his movement invited attention, but his intent did.

Jennessa felt the change before she saw him. The noise around her seemed to lower by half a degree. Her eyes rose from the phone as Cortez approached. Her stomach dropped. She had expected anger after sending the picture. What she saw was worse. No heat, no visible rage. Only something hollow behind his eyes.

Trina stopped speaking. The rest of the table followed the attention drawing to Jennessa and Cortez.

“Cortez,” Jennessa kept her voice steady while her pulse hammered beneath her ribs.

“I need to talk to you...” Cortez looked across the table. Every friend had become fully invested.

“Alone and right now...” He turned and walked away.

Conversation slowly resumed behind him, but the volume never recovered. Jennessa stood with controlled grace, refusing to reveal the nervous energy running through her body. Trina mouthed a silent question. Jennessa shook her head, indicating her to not follow. She caught Cortez beyond the cafeteria doors. Her boots clicked against the hallway as she matched his pace. Morning breakfast had emptied that section of the building, leaving the corridor outside the gymnasium temporarily abandoned.

Cortez stopped near the double doors while Jennessa remained several feet behind him.

“Cortez, wait. Where are you going?" Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. “You came to me this time. So talk. What's going on?”

Cortez turned. “You know exactly what's going on.”

His phone came from his pocket. A few movements brought the image onto the screen.

“What the fuck is this?” The photograph glowed between them.

Lauri’s face pressed into Jennessa’s neck. A hand at Jennessa’s waist. Two bodies arranged close enough that the camera required no explanation to suggest intimacy.

Jennessa looked down then back toward Cortez.

Her composure held by a thread. “It's exactly what it looks like, ” Her voice was quiet.

“That's your sister. At that party. Before everything went left.” She forced herself to hold his gaze.

“I sent it because you needed to see it. Because you've been calling me a liar for weeks, and I'm tired of carrying that shit alone.”

Cortez stood still. The cafeteria noise existed down the hall behind them. Somewhere down the hall, a locker slammed. He processed her answer before speaking.

“Why? For what?” His tone remained low. Commanding an answer he knew he not needed. “What does this do for you, huh? You think this clears your name of what you did?”

Jennessa’s polish began breaking away. She tucked one strand of pink hair behind her ear, buying herself a second to hold the rest together.

“Because I'm tired of being the only villain in your story. ” Rawness had entered her voice in rebuttal.

“You walk around school like I'm the one who single-handedly destroyed us. Like you didn't have a part in it. Like your sister is some saint.”

She stepped closer. At five-foot-three, she still had to lift her chin to meet Cortez’s eyes, but she had never allowed the height difference to make her retreat.

“I'm not trying to drive a wedge between you two. I'm trying to make you see that it wasn't just me. I didn't wake up that morning and decide to wreck everything we had. But here I am, three months later, still carrying all of it while you get to be the betrayed quarterback everyone feels sorry for.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up, back up!” Confusion broke through Cortez’s numbness. His hands lifted along with his voice before both lowered again. “What the hell you mean I played a part in it???”

Jennessa’s control disappeared. Her eyes shined with frustrated tears that had not yet fallen. She pressed one manicured finger against Cortez’s chest.

“You checked out weeks before that party! Don't act like you don't remember!” Her voice cracked.

“You were so wrapped up in football camps and college scouts and your uncle's training that I became an afterthought. I'd text you and get left on read for hours. I'd wait for you after practice and you'd walk right past me with your boys like I wasn't even there!”

She withdrew the finger and folded both arms tightly across herself. “So yeah, Cortez. I went to that party looking for attention. I got drunk and I got stupid and I got reckless. That's on me—I own that shit. But don't stand there and pretend you were some perfect boyfriend who gave me everything I needed, because you weren't. You left me lonely long before I ever fucked up.”

Cortez could not deny all of it. Summer had narrowed his life to sessions at YMCA with Kareem, private workouts at Antonio’s gym, football camps, playbooks, extra training, recruiting forms, messages to coaches who rarely answered. He remembered Jennessa texting while he worked. Remembered opening messages and intending to respond after a set, after film, after cleaning the gym, after dinner or after a nap. Sometimes the response never came. There had been days she waited outside practice and Cortez left with teammates discussing more football and future workouts. He had kissed her quickly, promised to call later, then forgotten beneath exhaustion.

His neglect had been real. That did not make her choices his responsibility.

“So you're saying that you're bigger than my dreams? You're bigger than opportunity to strive better for myself? For what could've been ours?” Cortez paused without expecting an answer. “If that's the case, I'm sorry I was locked in. I'm sorry I was being productive, doing something with my time to try to put me and my family in a better space. I'm sorry I forgot to text you back because something else distracted me or I literally thought I did...”

His eyes traveled over her before returning to her face. “I thought you'd be happy and proud I was striving for something, but if attention was all you were sweating for, then I hope it was worth it... This shit don't change nothing between us. I don't want this anymore. I'm already talking to someone else, so you can lose my line, lose every bit of contact with me.”

The statement left no door open. Cortez turned. But before he could step out of her reach, Jennessa grabbed his arm. Her fingers closed around his sleeve with desperation strong enough to surprise them both.

“You're talking to someone else?” The polish that had returned disappeared from her voice. Her eyes searched his face for some indication that the statement had been designed only to hurt her.

“Already? It's been three months, Cortez. We were together for years and you just—what, replaced me like I was nothing?” The pain reached her before she could conceal it.

“Who is she?”

“Shit, you're lucky I gave it three months. At least I wasn't seeking attention from other mother fuckers while in a relationship. You couldn't even break it off first. ”

Cortez pulled his arm free. “Don't worry about who it is, just know I moved on.”

Jennessa remained near the gym doors while Cortez walked away. Students began entering the hallway as breakfast period moved closer to homeroom. A few looked toward her. Others followed Cortez’s retreating figure. Jennessa lowered her eyes. The picture had worked, just not the way she had hoped. She wanted Cortez to understand that the party had not been a simple story with one villain and one victim. She wanted some portion of the blame removed from her shoulders. Instead, she had given him another reason to leave...



———————————————



The days after Monday moved with mechanical precision. Cortez attended class, completed assignments, practiced, studied film and repeated the process until Friday night. He compartmentalized because football demanded it. The field had no interest in whether his former girlfriend had reopened an old wound or whether his sister had become part of it. Fort Hamilton waited at the end of the week. The Tigers received the version of Cortez who performed best when everything outside football became impossible.

Focused. Cold. Efficient.

Coach Lloyd made no attempt to sit him despite the upcoming Boston College visit. Randolph’s 67–0 execution had taught the entire team what experimentation looked like without the senior quarterback under center. Cortez played through three quarters. The scoreboard read Knights: 35, Tigers: 6. By then, the result had become a formality. Kennedy’s offense controlled the game. Cortez moved the ball through the air, checked into favorable situations, and punished the Tigers whenever they overloaded the box. The defense prevented Fort Hamilton from developing enough rhythm to threaten a comeback. The backup entered during garbage time. This time, the lead was large enough that nobody feared watching it disappear.

The Knights secured another victory. Cortez accepted congratulations, shook hands and left the field.

Short, sweet and simple.

At home, winning changed nothing. The house had become a tundra between him and Lauri. They passed each other in hallways, occupied the same kitchen without conversation, exchanged only the information required to function. Lauri watched the change develop without understanding where it came from. At first, she gave Cortez space. He had recruiting decisions to consider. Jennessa remained a constant irritation. The season placed new demands on him every week. By Wednesday, the silence felt personal. By Friday, Lauri knew it was.

Cortez did not tease her, he didn't check whether she had eaten, he didn't ask about her content or schoolwork. The small rituals connecting them had disappeared.

She hated it.

The coldness made her feel like she had been accused without being told the charge.

Cortez hated it too.

Every time Lauri entered the room, he saw the photograph. Every time she smiled at him, he wondered whether the sister who once pressed her face into Jennessa’s neck could look him in the eye without guilt. He did not want to confront her while angry. He also did not know how to stop being angry without confronting her.

So the distance remained.

Saturday gave him a temporary escape. Cortez traveled alone to Chestnut Hill. Antonio could not abandon his day job or the gym every time his nephew received an invitation. The businesses still required his presence. Paperwork still needed mulling over. Customers expected him to appear for personal lessons. Cortez understood, he was cool with that. Part of him preferred making the trip alone. The ride gave him space to decompose. To separate the pieces inside his head and attempt to rebuild them into something functional.

Boston College emerged in gold, maroon, stone, and autumn light. Chestnut Hill carried a different atmosphere from Rutgers. The campus had it's own funk of aging history. Gothic buildings rose behind lawns turning beneath the season. Some students moved between them wearing maroon sweatshirts and carrying the casual belonging of people who already understood where everything led.

Cortez joined the other recruits while some arrived with parents. The staff welcomed them into the program. Head coach Bill O’Brien met the group with the direct energy of someone accustomed to evaluating people quickly. Quarterbacks coach, Jonathan DiBiaso, spent more time near the signal-callers, asking about systems, responsibilities at the line, and how much freedom each recruit held within his high-school offense. Cortez answered without overselling. He explained Kennedy’s air-raid principles, option packages, and the way Coach Lloyd allowed him to change protections and attack leverage. DiBiaso listened closely when Cortez described broken-play decisions and how the wind at Eagle Academy forced him away from the usual passing volume.

A student ambassador guided them through campus. Academic buildings, dormitories, dining halls and other facilities. The recruits spoke with current players who offered the careful honesty permitted during official visits. Practices were demanding, winters were real, classes required attention and opportunities existed for anyone willing to survive the competition. Every answer carried both invitation and warning.

By game time, the recruits entered their reserved section. Boston College hosted Pittsburgh. Two programs Cortez had placed near the top of his attention.

The previous season had ended 48–7 in Pittsburgh’s favor. Pittsburgh arrived with an opportunity to prove they were the better then and still the better team for another year.

The Panthers failed as Boston College buried them before halftime: 38-0. The scoreboard became a public argument Pittsburgh had no way to answer.

Mason McKenzie controlled everything. 17 completions on 33 passes, 313 yards, 2 passing touchdowns. The numbers alone did not fully explain the damage. McKenzie attacked when Pittsburgh softened. He ran when protection cracked, kept the defense uncertain about whether the final threat would leave his hand or remain tucked beneath his arm. 14 Carries produced 61 yards and 3 rushing touchdowns. Mason McKenzie was a one-man wrecking crew.

Evan Dickens carried twenty-three times for ninety-one yards and a touchdown, handling the punishment between McKenzie’s explosive moments.

Pittsburgh’s defense found no solution.

Cortez watched from the recruiting section with genuine interest. There were no signs of a program selling hope through future rebuilding. The Eagles executed in the present. They entered conference play and handled business, improving to 2–1 against ACC opponents. Pittsburgh had been one of Cortez’s preferred options because of distance and familiarity. Watching it collapse made the list shift again.

He imagined himself inside Boston College’s quarterback room, competing, learning the system, developing beneath coaches who had just placed a quarterback in position to dominate through the air and on the ground.

The maroon and gold looked different after the victory. Less like school colors and more like possibility.

The cheers remained inside Alumni Stadium long after the outcome became obvious. Cortez let himself absorb them. For several hours, the family drama became distant. Jennessa belonged to another state, Lauri belonged to another problem, while football filled the entire frame.

That was what Cortez had always trusted it to do...



———————————————



He remained in Chestnut Hill for the second day of the visit. Dinner came after the game with recruiting staff gathering the prospects and their families. They answered questions and continued building the vision the football program wanted each athlete to carry home. Cortez shook more hands and spoke with coaches again, listened to academic advisers explain support systems designed for athletes carrying full schedules and national attention. By the time he reached the room provided for the night, exhaustion should have taken him quickly.

It did not.

Cortez showered, changed, and lay across the bed. The ceiling became the only thing in the room willing to hold his attention.

Day one replayed in fragments: the campus, talks with Bill O’Brien and Jonathan DiBiaso, talks with the current players, the roar after another Boston College touchdown, McKenzie running through a defense unable to decide how to contain him.

The gold. The maroon. The opportunity. But the Melancholy remained beneath it.

Jennessa had occupied too much of the week already. Their confrontation should have ended the issue. Cortez had told her to remove every form of contact. He had said he was talking to someone else. He had walked away without leaving room for interpretation. Still, the photograph survived.

Jennessa was only part one. Lauri had remained as part two, the unanswered half.

Cortez did not want to deal with it. He did not want to hear an explanation capable of making the image worse. He did not want Lauri to admit she had knowingly crossed a line with the person Cortez loved. He did not want the sister he had sworn to protect to become someone he needed protection from. Every version of the confrontation frightened him. If Lauri denied it, the photograph would remain. If she admitted it, their relationship might not.

Cortez rolled onto one side. His phone rested near his shoulder, plugged into the wall.

The screen lit. A message from Lauri.

They had not spoken normally all week. Lauri had reached the limit of trying to understand his silence without assistance.

Lauri [11:33 PM]: "Yo. You been weird all week. What's good? Did I do sumthin or am I supposed to guess?"

The message carried no emoji, no playful insult. Only direct frustration from somebody whose patience had expired.

Cortez stared at it. His thumb hovered over the screen. He could send the photograph. He could ask the question through text and avoid seeing her face when she answered. That felt cowardly, but ignoring her felt worse. He reached for the phone. The light forced him to squint before his eyes adjusted.

Cortez [11:36 PM]: "I just got a lot on my mind right now."

Miles away, Lauri stared at the response. Her jaw tightened at his response. "A lot on my mind", she knew the translation. Cortez was carrying something and refusing to let her touch it.

Lauri [11:38 PM]: "Aight. That's cool. But you been givin' me da cold shoulder all week and I'm not about to act like I ain't notice. If it's about me, just say that. If it's something else, you know I got your back. Either way, stop shutting me out."

Cortez read the message twice. The words you know I got your back struck the photograph inside his memory. Did she? Had she?

Cortez [11:40 PM]: "I don't know what to tell you. I'm really not in the mood for this."

The response was colder than he intended. Maybe that was a lie. Part of him wanted her to feel the distance without being forced to explain why.

The typing indicator appeared almost immediately.

Lauri [11:41 PM]: "Nah, see, you don't get to do that. You don't get to ice me out for a whole week and then hit me with "I'm not in the mood" like I'm sum rando bothering you. I'm your sista and yu been actin different since Ma came ova for dinner last weekend and I'm not about to sit here an pretend that's normal. So either tell me wat I did or tell me wat's going on big bro, but stop playin me like I'm the enemy.

Cortez read every word. The screen remained bright against the dark room. He did not answer.

Five minutes passed. Then another ten minutes. Then another fifteen minutes. The phone stayed in his hand until the silence on the other end began to feel physical. Before placing it down, he set the alarm for morning and silenced calls and notifications.

Avoiding Lauri was not about punishment. It was about refusing to validate the friction working its way between them. As long as the confrontation did not happen, the damage remained theoretical.

A possibility. Not a fact. At least that's what he kept telling his-self.

Cortez closed his eyes. His mind continued operating. The photograph, Jennessa’s accusations, the rift with Lauri, Boston College being a possibility, how Maria will fit in the midst of the chaos. Each thought contaminated the next while sleep waited somewhere beyond them. Cortez could not reach it, as if it resided on the top shelf that required a tall step ladder.

Back in Kingsbridge Terrace, Lauri watched the time change. Midnight arrived and drove forward.

No response, no indication that the message had been seen Only silence. She lay on her back with the phone still in one hand. The anger that powered her earlier messages began changing shape. Frustration was beginning to harden into hurt.

Cortez had never treated her like this.

They argued, teased, occasionally needed space. But he had never made her feel disposable. He never allowed her to believe she had become some random problem interrupting his night.

The screen illuminated her face.

Lauri [12:17 AM]: "So we're doing this."

Lauri [12:18 AM]: "Know what's crazy? I've been sitting in my room all week thinking maybe I did something wrong. Replaying everything. Wondering if you were mad about the Ma situation, or if I said something stupid, or if you just needed space. So I gave you space. A whole week of it."

Lauri paused. Her eyes burned. She blinked until the feeling weakened.

Lauri [12:18 AM]: "Now I finally reach out and you can't even give me five minutes?"

Lauri [12:19 AM]: "I don't deserve that. You know I don't."

Her fingers stopped. For a moment, pride told her to erase everything. To shut off the phone, roll over, and let Cortez come to her whenever he decided she mattered again. Their relationship had never been built on pride. That was what made the silence hurt.

Lauri [12:20 AM]: "I'm not gonna beg you to talk to me, Cortez. That's not me. But just know whatever this is? It's not us. It's never been us."

The final message took longer. Lauri stared at the empty field where the words would appear. She hated how vulnerable the truth looked before sending it. She typed anyway.

Lauri [12:25 AM]: "I love you..."

The message traveled. Cortez’s phone remained silent beside him. He did not want see the barrage of texts. Not that night, not in that moment.

Lauri lowered the phone against her chest. The room around her was dark except for the fading screen. Anime posters disappeared into the walls. Fashion boards became shapes without detail. Wind moved lightly against the window, tapping one branch against the glass.

For years, Cortez had been the constant. Her shield, her ride or die. He was the person who always showed up. Now he had disappeared while still existing.

The absence hurt differently.

In Chestnut Hill, Cortez stared at the ceiling. Jennessa had accused him of checking out, Lauri accused him of shutting her out. Both were right in different ways. Cortez knew how to read a defense. He knew how to identify pressure, change protection, and escape before the pocket collapsed. But family offered no such structure. There were no markers showing where betrayal would come from, no audible capable of changing what had already happened, no play-action strong enough to make pain pursue the wrong person.

Maybe she had betrayed him. Maybe the photograph captured a drunken misunderstanding. Maybe Jennessa had selected the one frame capable of creating a lie without altering anything inside it.

Cortez did not know.

That was the problem. He had judged before asking. He'd punished before hearing. Protected himself from an answer by wounding the one person who had always trusted him to listen.

Outside the hotel window, Chestnut Hill rested beneath darkness.

Boston College’s towers stood somewhere beyond his view. The victory celebration had ended. The recruits were supposed to be dreaming about scholarships, depth charts, and Saturdays filled with possibility.

Cortez felt none of it. Only an ache that the void was yearning to be filled solid again.

He finally closed his eyes. Morning would come sooner than he wanted to, the tour would continue, coaches would shake his hand and ask what he thought of the program. Recruiters would describe opportunity. Cortez would smile, listen, and carry the information home.

Then he would have to face Lauri. Not as a protector, but as a brother who had already allowed doubt to become distance. And for the first time in his life, Cortez did not know whether showing up would be enough...

[The JZA]

your homie moving in on your girl is diabolical enough. But yo sister!?! treachery

Grab the nooses, douse the stakes, 'The Witch Trials' continues.

fought for ya'll lives in that one but big time players make big time plays in big time games

Yessirr! I knew it'd be Pick City in Brooklyn had we overplayed the passing. EA's love letter to shedding tackles this year fell in our favor to get that one off the list. Onwards the next game.

Boston College

Kansas State