Bigger Than The Program

[djp73]

Slangin that thang

[Captain Canada]

Sheesh

[The JZA]

Cooler Than Coach K
(SZN 1 , EPI 9) [RAW]

Following the win over the New Dorp Central Cougars, the buzz surrounding the name, Cortez Terrano, began to generate more recognition. Highlights made their way online, attaching to his profile. His ranking on 24/7sports.com slid up the ladder quite the bit and more college programs starting to put out feelers. Teams out of the ACC such as, Boston College, Duke and Louisville had tapped in. In the Big XII, Arizona State, Baylor, Houston and Kansas State had also reached out. Phone calls and e-mails, they weren't much effort, just an introductory, putting a finger on the pulse. Nevertheless, Cortez respected it all the same. He hadn't thought his name was reach that far out west, making the initial interest from Purdue, Rutgers, Tulane and so on, feel more real, more authentic, like there was a chance that one of these schools were for Cortez. The transformation was getting noticed, the work was paying off and the hype was real.

It wasn't long after Cortez shared the news of more college interests. This time, Lauri caught wind of it first. While she wasn't overly excited for the colleges, she was happy for her big brother nonetheless. For the first time in over a year, neither Cortez or Lauri had gotten ready to spend the weekend at their mother's. After what took place and the fact that Evelyn didn't care to resolve the issue, their relationship with their mother had seemingly became estranged. It didn't bothered Cortez as much as it did Lauri. The hurt still stung, but she needed time to get over it.

When Cortez called Kareem, Kareem told him he was sliding downtown to visit Shane at NYU and offered Cortez to roll with him. Cortez agreed. After getting his hygiene in order and getting dressed, he checked on Lauri one last time before making his way to the train station where he met up with Kareem, and the two made their journey downtown.

The boys had kicked at Shane's dorm for a couple hours, rapping about multiple topics as they watched Shane worked his camera magic. Since his roommate was gone for the weekend, Shane had accepted a few favors, taking some headshots for other students for whatever portfolio they were shaping up. So far there had been about ten people that had their pictures taken, more than he had expected, assuming word got out further than it needed to.

The conversation had gotten around to Cortez's future with schools taking notice and reaching out. Cortez gave the rundown of each school that had touched base thus far.

"So yeah, that's where I'm at right now. None has yet to offer a scholarship. I'm taking a trip out to Jersey next weekend for that campus tour. They play Indiana that Saturday as well, so, maybe they'll surprise me, maybe they won't."

Kareem leaned back in the worn-out desk chair he'd claimed in the corner of Shane's dorm room. "That's a solid list, my guy," he said, nodding slowly. "A lot of those programs got some real history behind 'em. Baylor and Houston though, That's a lot of heat, you'd be right in the thick of Texas rivalries. I can see you out west"

He paused for a moment, watching Shane snap photos. "You been grinding since freshman year when they threw you to the wolves and got back on your feet every time you busted your ass. I'm sure one of those schools will turn up with something, my man."

Shane adjusted the camera settings without looking up, his focus fixed on the LCD screen as he reviewed the last batch of shots he'd taken. "Or he could stay close to home," he said, finally glancing over.

"Rutgers could do that for you, if that's one of your priorities. Is that a plus or minus for you?"

Cortez thought about Shane's question before answering. Being close to home would mean staying close to Lauri, which wasn't the issue, but given how much of a wildcard she could be, being a state over or ten wouldn't make that much of a difference in terms of being there for her. It wasn't like he could drop everything and come home.

"Initially, Rutgers sounded good for that particular reason, and it still does," Cortez paused. "but now seeing my options grow, I'm starting to wonder if Rutgers is the right team in terms football: playing time and winning."

"I hear that." Shane lowered the camera slightly, looking directly at Cortez.

"No point going somewhere you'll ride the bench for two years when you could start somewhere else."

Kareem picked up a stray pen from Shane's desk, twirling it absently between his fingers as he listened to Cortez weigh his options.

"It's like when I was getting looks from some mid-major programs. The playing time was guaranteed, but the competition level wasn't gonna push me the way I needed. Sometimes you gotta bet on yourself and go where the fire's hotter."

He glanced at Cortez, a knowing look in his eyes. "But whatever school lands you is getting a dog, period."

Cortez took the opportunity to shift the topic from him for a breather. "Speaking of school landings, what's up with you? You got a shortlist yet? I know you got like 80 schools clamoring for your commitment."

A grin spread across Kareem's face as he leaned back further in the chair, the front legs lifting slightly off the floor.

"Man, you know how it is. My phone stays blowing up. But I narrowed it down some. Duke, Kentucky, Kansas, UCLA, and... UConn."

He let the last one hang in the air for a second, knowing both Cortez and Shane would catch the significance of a local school making his top list. The chair legs thumped back down against the floor.

"Coach Hurley been showing mad love. And my moms... she ain't say it outright, but I know she'd sleep better if I wasn't halfway across the country."

"Coach Hurley, yo that dude is intense. I still catch that viral vid of him squaring up in the ref's face floating around." Cortez grinned softly at the thought of it. "I can't imagine what practice is like under his tutelage."

He leaned back against the wall near the window, taking a brief view out to the city traffic below. "Yeah bro, stay home, UConn ain't a bad look at all."

Kareem chuckled at Cortez's comment about Hurley, the pen still twirling between his fingers. "Yeah, Coach Hurley is... a character, for real. But that's the kind of energy I need. Someone who's gonna hold me accountable, push me past what I think my limits are."

He let the pen drop onto the desk, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "UConn's got that championship pedigree now. Back-to-back 'chips in '23 and '24? That's a culture I want to be a part of. And they develop guards. Look at what they did with Kemba, Shabazz and Stephon... I could be next in that lineage."

He paused, glancing into the space between thoughts. "But then you got Duke. Coach Scheyer's young and hungry. Kentucky's got the factory, always sending dudes to the league."

Shane was quiet for a moment, letting Kareem ramble while he swapped out the memory card in his camera. He glanced up when Kareem mentioned his mother's preference for UConn. "Respect for keeping your moms in mind, man. That says a lot."

He slotted the new card in with a soft click. "Bethany was bugging when I first moved here. Calling me like three times a day."

He raised the camera briefly, snapping a candid of Kareem just as he leaned forward in the chair, then lowered it to check the shot. "But don't let that be the deciding factor if your gut's telling you Duke or Kentucky. Your moms wants you to be great, not just close."

Kareem nodded slowly at Shane's words, letting them sink in. There was truth there, and he couldn't deny it.

"Nah, you right, Shane. My moms been holding it down since day one. She ain't never clipped my wings. If I told her I was going to Duke tomorrow, she'd help me pack."

He exhaled, running a hand over his fade. "But that don't mean I gotta make it harder on her than it needs to be, you know? She already sacrificed enough."

He glanced between both of them, a small smirk forming. "Besides, UConn would mean I could still pull up on y'all without having to catch a long flight."

"Man, as much as you eat Kareem, you going anywhere would be a tax break in her kitchen" Cortez joked as he shot a smirk towards him.

Shane let out a short laugh at Cortez's joke, shaking his head as he snaps a candid photo of Cortez.

"Yo, he's not wrong though. Your moms probably spend half her paycheck just keeping the fridge stocked for you." He leaned back against his desk chuckling, setting the camera in his lap.

Kareem let sucks his teeth, shaking his head at both of them. "Man, y'all act like I'm out here clearing out whole supermarkets. I'm a growing athlete, bro."

He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. "But nah, real talk — UConn, Duke, Kentucky... it's all blessings. Two years ago, I was just hoping somebody would notice me at those summer circuits. Now I got coaches hitting my line one after another."

He paused, his expression shifting slightly, more serious now. "I just gotta make the right call. Not just for me, but for everybody who helped get me here."

"Yo man, whatever school you choose, I know you gonna ball out." Cortez nodded as he take a crumpled paper sitting idle nearby, balling it up even more. "We both got Duke on our radar, but I'm sure they already offered you a scholarship. If I get one, who knows, maybe I'll see you there. We can take over that spot and run it up."

Cortez aimed for the trash bin across the room, shooting the paper ball, clanking off the rim.

A slight smirk tugged on Kareem face as he watched the missed shot. "See, that's exactly why you play football. No touch, no finesse, just brute force down the field."

He settled back in the chair, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "But for real, Duke... that would be crazy. Two kids from the Bronx taking over Durham? They wouldn't know what hit 'em. You slinging touchdowns, me running the floor... we'd have our foot on the ACC's neck."

Just then, there was a soft knock at the door that drew everyone's attention. The cracked door slowly swung open, revealing Maria disrupting the conversation flow.

"Shane, do you still have my flash drive? I need it for when I go to the library lat—"

She paused in the doorway, suddenly aware that she'd walked into a group conversation in progress. Her gaze sweeps the room quickly—Kareem in the desk chair, a young man she has never met before, Shane by his equipment, and Cortez by the window. The energy shifts when she notices Cortez.

"Oh, hey Cortez! I didn't know you'd be here."

"Yeah, this is an impromptu visit for me. My mans, Kareem," He thumbs over to Kareem as Kareem gives a weak wave. "he invited me out and we'd pulled up here."

When Shane found the flash drive nearby on his nightstand, Cortez did the honors bringing it to Maria. He gave Maria a soft kiss on the cheek with the brief hug before handing her the flash drive she came for.

"Hey, you sure everything is cool between you and your mom that night? I know you said everything is fine, but I just want to double check that there's no shake ups or anything." Cortez spoke softly enough for her attention, but not rude enough to whisper in front of the guys.She says quietly, almost looking flustered to speak to him in front the others.

Maria's posture softened slightly at Cortez's gentle inquiry, her fingers closing around the flash drive. She glanced briefly toward Kareem and Shane before her eyes returned to Cortez, a small, reassuring smile forming.

"Everything's fine. Honestly. My mother was just... being my mother." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture almost absentminded."She's protective, but she came around. Thank you for checking, though. That's..." She paused, searching for the right word. "...really thoughtful of you."

Maria shifted her weight, suddenly aware she was still lingering in the doorway. "I didn't mean to interrupt. You all sounded like you were in the middle of something important."

Cortez looked back at Kareem and Shane. Kareem had given Cortez a knowing look of surprise after hearing about the college girl he was messing with, he didn't know she'd be that physically attractive. Cortez downplayed the notion before returning back to her.

"Nah, nothing major. We're just kicking it mostly. Some randos got Shane working on portfolios."

His eyes flicked down to the flash drive momentarily. "What's up with you? They got you doing some crazy assignment?"

"No, not crazy exactly." Maria let out a soft, almost self-conscious laugh. "Just time-consuming. I'm working on a short script for my screenwriting workshop. Professor Duvall wants us to submit the first ten pages by Monday, and I had this idea I wanted to flesh out at the library, but..."

She held up the flash drive. "Left this here last week when Shane was helping me with some reference photos."

Maria glanced toward Shane, a brief look of gratitude passing between them before her attention returned to Cortez. "It's not much yet. Just fragments of dialogue and a few scene directions. But I'd rather have something mediocre on the page than nothing at all. The blank page is... unforgiving."

"True enough." Cortez nodded.

"Hey, if you'd like, I could swing by later. Bring some takeout and chill while you wrack your brain over that. You can use me as a canvas and bounce some ideas off me."

Maria's eyes widened slightly at Cortez's offer, a warmth spreading through her chest that she tried not to let show too plainly on her face. Her fingers tightened around the flash drive.

"I'd like that. It's easier to think when someone else is in the room. Makes the blank page feel less..." she vaguely gestured with the flash drive in hand, "imposing."

She leans in, laying a kiss on Cortez's cheek before stepping back through the door frame. "Bring something from Chipotle, across the street, please?"

Cortez gives a soft smile to Maria after receiving the gentle kiss. "Yeah, you got it. Chipotle. I'll check with you later."

Maria lingered for just a moment longer in the doorway, her fingers still resting lightly against the flash drive as she absorbed the warmth of Cortez's smile. Then, with a small nod, she stepped back into the hallway.

"I'll hold you to that. Good luck with the portfolios, Shane. Nice meeting you, Kareem."

She offered a polite, almost shy wave to the room before disappearing down the corridor, her footsteps fading into the ambient noise of the dorm. As she walked toward the elevator, she pressed her lips together, trying — and failing — to suppress the quiet smile that had settled there.

Cortez turned his attention back to the room that was filled with utter silence, darting his eyes between Shane and Kareem.

"... What?"

Kareem blinked, then shook his head. "Nah, nah. Don't 'what' us. You know exactly what." He gestured toward the doorway where Maria had just disappeared. "'You can use me as a canvas and bounce some ideas off me.' You gotta lay off those cheesy porn lines, bro!"

A wide grin spread across Kareem's face. "You said a college girl, not... that. I'm thinking a freshie, that's a whole woman."

Shane smirked from his spot by the desk, catching the tail end of the exchange between Cortez and Kareem. He stowed the memory card case away and folded his hands.

"Man, I've been telling you. Cortez stays low-key about it. Dude's got a whole separate playbook for off the field."

He glanced at Cortez, his expression amused but not teasing too hard. "Don't wait too long to hit up Chipotle, you'll be scratching up leftovers. It beats that sketchy halal cart Kareem swears by after two blocks down."

Cortez picked up the paper ball he had missed the trash can with, dotting it at Kareem's left shoulder. "First off, watch your mouth, you mongoose. You would know where those 'cheesy lines' came from."

Cortez then turned his attention to Shane. "And you, I don't know what they fed y'all out there in Bridgeport, but Halal be the wave. Chill out before we all be scrappin'"

[The JZA]

Slangin that thang

Sheesh

[Soapy]

Slangin that thang

[The JZA]

What Could Go Wrong?
(SZN 1 , EPI 10)

Fall had finally taken the throne of New York City. Summer had resisted until the end, dragging its heat across September like a wounded king refusing to surrender the crown. For weeks, humidity remained trapped between buildings. Subway platforms still felt like boiler rooms. The concrete continued breathing warmth long after sunset. But the final crack had formed. Cold mornings slipped between the humid afternoons. Leaves began gathering along curbs, spinning through intersections whenever buses rolled past. Hoodies appeared beneath varsity jackets. Box fans disappeared from windows one apartment at a time.

Fall had delivered the last blow. And Summer, thy enemy, has been shattered.

The days became tolerable, almost pleasant, though sunlight still grazed the city with the dying aftershock of heat. By noon, the sun could convince people to remove jackets they had needed at breakfast. By evening, the wind reminded them not to leave those jackets behind. The city existed between seasons as much as Cortez Terrano existed between lives.

The week passed before he had time to recognize it. School devoured the mornings and early afternoons. Football claimed everything after the final bell. Coach Lloyd continued installing new plays, testing formations and motions against the scout defense to see what might survive when placed beneath stadium lights. When practice ended, Cortez still had homework. When homework ended, there was film. When film ended, there were messages from recruiters, teammates and family. Whatever remained belonged to everyone else. He split it between Antonio and Lauri, extra training sessions with Kareem, and Maria.

Kareem’s basketball season had not begun just yet, but his preparation operated without calendars. He and Cortez continued to utilize Antonio’s gym. Kareem worked on balance, strength, and explosive movement while Cortez spotted him when needed, whatever strength could afford him after practice.

Maria had begun occupying more of the remaining spaces. Texts before school, messages during lunch. Calls after practice as Cortez walked home. She asked about his day, she listened when he described football concepts she had no reason to understand and interrupted only when something genuinely confused her. But she was a fan of sports. She understood the game, but not the true depth of it, the x's and o's. The consistency formed quickly, but Cortez did not mistake it for love. He was not immediately smitten, no matter how aggressively Lauri suggested otherwise. But the attraction had become impossible to deny.

Maria was different from Jennessa. Not better in every measurable way, just different.

Jennessa entered conversations like she was kicking open a door. Bold. Confrontational. Unfiltered. The same traits that had once attracted Cortez had eventually made every disagreement feel like a fight neither person was allowed to leave without winning.

Maria had a softer way of reaching the same truth. She asked instead of accused, observed instead of assumed and her calmness did not mean weakness. Cortez had learned that during dinner when she questioned his confidence without raising her voice. Maria could strip an excuse down to its frame while sounding almost gentle.

That quality pulled at him differently.

The more they connected, the farther Jennessa seemed to drift into the past. She remained physically close, by proxy of high school. Still appearing in hallways and shared classes. Yet Maria’s presence made Jennessa feel like a distant memory standing directly in front of him.

Thursday afternoon arrived with the final bell. Students escaped the JFK Campus building beneath the soft autumn sun. Lauri and Kareem waited long enough for Cortez to chat a bit before beginning the walk toward Kingsbridge Terrace without him.

Cortez would see them outside before pivoting and headed toward Coach Lloyd’s classroom. Like clockwork, Cortez was the first player inside. The classroom had already been converted from academic space into football headquarters. Desks rested against the walls. A projector stood near the center aisle. The whiteboard beside Coach Lloyd’s desk was crowded with formations, arrows, protection calls, and defensive fronts drawn in several colors. The upcoming opponent was Randolph Campus, a non-league game against a 3A division team. On paper, the matchup offered Kennedy an opportunity to test new material without carrying the pressure of divisional consequences.

Coach Lloyd looked up when Cortez entered. There was no dramatic acknowledgment. No compliment for arriving early. Only a slight nod, that was enough. Coach Lloyd did not mind the boys being boys. He allowed the players to joke, recover from classes, and spend several minutes behaving like teenagers before football took possession of them. But he ran a tight ship. Players who arrived utterly late completed extra work. Players who carelessly attended film without notebooks were expected to remember everything perfectly or suffer through being publicly corrected.

Academics mattered. Football mattered too. Effort in one could not excuse neglect in the other.

The rest of the Knights eventually filed in. The projector came alive, spreading Randolph footage across the whiteboard. Coach Lloyd stopped plays, rewound them, and demanded explanations. Randolph’s defense lacked the size Kennedy had seen against Tottenville and New Dorp. Its secondary played aggressively. Its linebackers attacked downhill quickly but sometimes lost discipline when motion moved across the formation. The new package Coach Lloyd wanted to install was designed to exploit that reaction.

Triple options, delayed routes, wildcat formation.

The plays were ambitious enough to interest Cortez and untested enough to concern him. Two hours passed inside fluorescent light and repeated footage. When the meeting ended, players packed notebooks and left in clusters, already discussing Friday night. Cortez remained long enough to gather the remote and return it to Coach Lloyd’s desk. Coach Lloyd looked toward him and asked Cortez to stay.

The classroom door closed as Coach Lloyd secured enough privacy before moving toward his desk. He did not sit behind it. Instead, he rested along the edge, placing himself closer to Cortez’s level. The whiteboard beside him remained covered in tomorrow’s plans.

“Cortez, how we today, son?” Coach Lloyd folded his hands loosely.

Cortez reached for his backpack and lifted it onto the desk. His phone came out. His playbook went inside. “I'm good, Coach. Ready for tomorrow's game. Should be an easy one.”

He zipped the bag halfway and looked toward Lloyd. “What's up, you got something on your mind?”

“I'm just checking in with you for the most part. The school is still talking about that big win over Tottenville as if that's the only game that mattered on the schedule.” Coach Lloyd picked up a pen and rolled it between both hands. The victory had followed everyone as if the students treated the season opener like Kennedy had already secured a championship.

Coach Lloyd understood the danger of allowing one achievement to become an identity. “I see your name is starting gain some tractions with some schools. How're you taking that all in?”

Cortez settled back into the chair. For several seconds, he studied his coach, trying to determine whether this was a conversation about football, recruiting, or something Coach Lloyd had not yet revealed.

“It's still surreal to me, to be honest. I was just talking about it with my friends over the weekend, about meeting Coach Schiano, going to Rutgers this weekend, all the other possibilities.”

The emails continued arriving. Some meant genuine interest, others were recruiting departments throwing wide nets, hoping to maintain contact with any player who might become valuable later.

Cortez had begun learning the difference. An official campus invitation meant something. A mass-produced graphic with his name edited over a university logo meant considerably less.

“And what did your friends say about your future in college?”

“They're pretty supportive about it.” Cortez tilted his head. “My guy, Kareem, he got Duke on his shortlist among others, Duke has reached out to me as well, nothing serious though. But we tossed around the idea of going there together, being a familiar face on campus and support.”

The fantasy sounded appealing. Two boys from Kennedy arriving at the same university.

Kareem inside Cameron Indoor Stadium, Cortez beneath the lights at Wallace Wade. Different sports, same campus, both carrying pieces of home with them.

Coach Lloyd nodded slowly. “Duke? That's basketball country. You think you can hang around and make as much noise as Kareem could there?”

Cortez’s expression showed no interest in measuring his future against Kareem’s. The world would compare them enough, so he refused to contribute.

“The only time we're competitive is when we're training together. That's motiv, keeping up and never lacking. In terms of sports, we can't control that narrative, we just got to keep our head low and push through.”

Pleasant surprise passed across Coach Lloyd’s face. “So you did listen to what I had to say during summer camps.” A quiet smile appeared.

“You've definitely come a long way, son. Though, it's not my place to say, I don't think Duke would be the right fit for a player such as yourself.” He allowed the opinion to settle before continuing. “What about your list? Have you settled on schools that actually screamed, "Cortez Terrano", when you mulled over the prospects? I know we've last talked about it during your sophomore year.”

Cortez lowered his gaze. The sophomore version of his list had looked more like a television schedule than an actual plan.

Every national program, every famous stadium, every helmet he had seen beneath Saturday sunlight while sitting in Antonio’s living room.

“Yeah, I have. I'm done dreaming big though.” A quiet laugh followed. Not self-pitying, almost practical.

“Ahhh, don't be so modest. We're all entitled to dream big once in a while, as long as it make sense.” Coach Lloyd waved him off dismissively before nodding toward the rear of the classroom.

“You see those three plaques back there?”

Cortez turned. The plaques occupied the same section of wall they had for years. He had looked at them nearly every week since joining the team without ever asking why they were there.

A Purdue jersey rested on the right, North Carolina on the left and Maryland in the center. No autographs or framed photographs beside them. Only jerseys secured behind glass like evidence from three separate lives.

“Yeah, college jerseys.” Cortez faced Coach Lloyd again. “They mean something?”

“Oh yeah... Those three jerseys are the first three offers I ever gotten during my time.” Coach Lloyd looked past Cortez toward the plaque. The distance in his expression suggested the classroom had disappeared.

“What school you ended up going to?”

Coach Lloyd adjusted his position along the desk. “None of them actually. I was the only child in my family. Me, my mother and grandmother all lived together in Mount Vernon. My mom, she fell ill, and needed care. My grandmother... She was just too weak at the stage of life she was in, but we didn't want her in hospice, so she stayed with us.”

The pen stopped moving between his hands.

Cortez sat straighter. He had never heard Coach Lloyd speak about his family beyond occasional references to relatives during speeches about responsibility.

“Wow, didn't know that about you...”

“Yeah... Once my grandmother passed, my mom followed about ten months later to pneumonia.” Coach Lloyd’s eyes remained on the jerseys. No dramatic break entered his voice, as time had rounded the sharpest edges of the pain, but it had not removed the weight.

“I'm sorry, Coach.” Cortez hesitated before adding more. “That had to be a tough situation to get out of.”

“It was, it was... But I was grateful of what they both provided in my life, giving me the space to grow and become the man I am today. Those jerseys represented to me of a path of life that was opened to me, that I could've taken. Before I even stepped on their campuses, they believed I could be something of value to them... So I keep those three jerseys up there, for everyone to see that possibilities are endless and filled with opportunities. It's a reminder that no door is closed unless you close it yourself.”

The classroom became still. Beyond the walls, a cart rattled through the hallway. A custodian’s keys jingled. Somewhere farther away, a basketball struck the gym floor in a steady rhythm.

Cortez looked back toward the plaques. Until that moment, they had been decoration, but now they resembled alternate timelines. A younger Coach Lloyd in black and gold, another in Carolina blue, another beneath Maryland red. Three versions of a life that had existed long enough for someone to offer them.

None had happened.

Yet the man sitting before Cortez had not been destroyed by the closed path. He became a coach. A teacher. A person responsible for placing possibilities in front of players who might otherwise never see them. The jerseys were not trophies, they were proof. The offer mattered even when the destination changed.

“So, that shortlist of yours. What's it looking like?”

Cortez retrieved his phone. He opened the notes application where he stored anything too important to trust to memory. The original list had been enormous. West Coast programs, southern giants, schools whose coaches had never heard his name. Over time, fantasy had been replaced by geography, opportunity, and fit.

The current list appeared on the screen.

Boston College, Buffalo, Ohio, Miami University, Rutgers and Temple.

Six programs thus far had spread mostly across the East and Midwest. Close enough for family to attend games, large enough to provide real opportunities and different enough that each represented a separate direction.

“I've looked at this list a few times the past few months and something is always coming off and returning. But then...” Cortez released a short breath. “Then there's others schools that actually touched base with me. Nothing solid, but Rutgers extended a visit so, I'm going to see what's up, catch their game against Indiana.”

Coach Lloyd listened carefully. He knew the programs, more importantly, he knew Cortez. He had watched the quarterback arrive before he possessed the arm strength, patience, or body required by the position. He had watched every interception, every forced throw, and every moment when the game moved too quickly. He had also watched Cortez become something recruiting websites could not measure correctly.

A leader and a survivor. A player capable of making broken situations functional.

“That's a decent list. But what about bigger programs? What happens if they offer you something?”

Cortez considered the question. The younger version of himself would have accepted before the coach finished speaking. A logo would have been enough. A nationally televised program would have been enough. Now he understood the danger of becoming depth-chart furniture.

“It's going to have to be enticing. I'm not selling myself short, but I know I'm not QB1 the moment I step foot on campus, unless it's like some G5 bottom-feeding school, that's not a route I want to take. But it gotta be enticing, something promising. I want to play just as much as I want to win and be a part of something, not just watch on the sideline for the next two years.”

Coach Lloyd nodded. The edge inside Cortez’s answer pleased him, but the impatience concerned him.

“I always liked that edge you got, Terrano. Never lose it.”

He placed the pen beside him. “But here's the thing, just make sure to add some patience in the mix. Sometimes, you can do more in three years than four. Had this been basketball, you'd be a one-and-done player. You got the potential to be great. You just got to apply the patience.”

Cortez leaned back in his seat with a look on his face as if he heard this lecture time and time again. Patience was easier to preach when the clock did not feel personal. He had already spent years waiting for people to believe he belonged.

Waiting for recruiters. Waiting for Kennedy to survive a quarterfinal. Waiting for his family to stop feeling temporary. Still, the lesson had come from someone who understood opened doors and the price of not walking through them.

“I hear you coach.”

The agreement arrived somewhat reluctantly. Coach Lloyd recognized it.

“Good... So, here's the deal.” He stood and pushed both hands into his pants pockets.

Cortez felt the conversation turn before the next sentence arrived. “I'ma rest you this weekend.”

“What? Why?” The response came instantly. Cortez sat forward. “You sitting me out?”

“Yeah. Don't trip, you've done nothing wrong. I want Terrance to get some rep in tomorrow.”

Cortez’s eyebrows pulled together at the decision. Terrance was the backup quarterback. He was capable. Smart enough to understand the offense and athletic enough to create plays with his legs. But the comparison between the two was like two-hand touch vs full contact. Cortez viewed the position the way every starting quarterback did: there was one seat, anyone else sitting in it felt like trespassing.

“Terrance is okay, he's good. But you sure about this?”

“Mhm.” Coach Lloyd did not decorate the answer. “Take the weekend off, kid. It's a non-league game against Randolph, they're a 3A division team. Last thing I want is to do is install some new plays and things awry and someone upload lowlights against you. Whatever happens, happens. You come back next week and we hit the pavement running with what works.”

Cortez sat in silence. The logic existed, that did not mean he liked it. He did not care about lowlights. Every quarterback had them. Interceptions survived online longer than victories because failure attracted strangers who enjoyed pretending they had never experienced it. But recruiting interest had changed the stakes. One badly executed experimental package could become a clipped video stripped of context. A miscommunication between receiver and quarterback could appear as a terrible read. A protection breakdown could become evidence that Cortez lacked pocket awareness.

Coach Lloyd was protecting him. Cortez bit the inside of his cheek.

“All I want you to do is go to Rutgers, see what they have to offer, enjoy the game and the college atmosphere, Cortez. I'm telling you, it's so much better than it looks on TV.” Coach Lloyd remained firm.

Cortez released a long breath through his nose. “... Alright. You know best.”

He lifted the backpack from the desk. “But don't think I won't be in attendance tomorrow night. I'll be sitting on the end of the bleachers, ready to dart to the locker room and suit up if anything pops off.”

Coach Lloyd laughed. The reaction contained no doubt that Cortez meant every word.

“I'm sure you will be...”

Cortez left the classroom carrying two lessons: no door closed unless he closed it himself. And Friday night, someone else would lead his offense through one.

What could go wrong?



———————————————



Everything...

Friday night did not unfold as expected, but it unfolded exactly as it should have. Friday night brought the Randolph Campus Cougars to Kennedy’s Coach Horowitz field.

A 3A team. A non-league opponent. A game everyone had treated as predetermined choreography wrestling: you believed you knew the outcome, but you wanted to see it anyway. The stands were less crowded than homecoming but still full enough for witnesses. Parents occupied the lower rows. Students gathered higher in the bleachers, continuing conversations that occasionally had something to do with football, or entirely not.

Cortez sat near the end exactly where he had promised. No uniform. No pads. A Kennedy hoodie pulled across his shoulders. His equipment remained inaccessible, but part of him continued believing that if the game turned ugly enough, Coach Lloyd might look toward the stands and abandon the plan.

Terrance took the first snap.

Randolph brought pressure, but he escaped and completed a short pass. Kennedy's sideline reacted with calm.

Maybe Coach Lloyd had been right. Maybe the game would allow the backup to gain confidence while the new package revealed which pieces deserved to survive.

Then Terrance threw his first interception.

The pass arrived late toward the boundary. Randolph’s corner stepped beneath it and returned the football deep into Kennedy territory.

The Cougars scored.

Kennedy received the kickoff and tried to reclaim some composure and grasp of the game. One turnover, it was no big deal. On the next possession, the running back, Zach Robert, fumbled.

Randolph recovered. And there it was, another touchdown.

The atmosphere shifted before the first quarter ended. Any conversation about the game among the students had switched entirely while parents sat disgruntled. Some were even on their phones, checking the weather, making sure it didn't rain.

Coach Lloyd moved along the sideline with the tight posture of a man watching plans ignite one sheet at a time.

Terrance attempted to settle. The offense moved beyond midfield, then came the second interception. This one traveled directly toward a linebacker who had dropped beneath the route. He caught it without needing to move more than two steps. Randolph ran through Kennedy’s defense as if divisional labels had been printed for decoration. The Cougars attacked the edges, the middle, then went over the top once Kennedy crowded the box. Their confidence grew with every possession. Players who had arrived expecting resistance began moving like the field belonged to them.

Kennedy fumbled again. Terrance threw another interception. Three picks, two lost fumbles. Five turnovers. That was all Randolph needed to turn an experiment into an execution.

By halftime, the scoreboard read 32–0.

The Knights disappeared into the locker room beneath boos, silence, and the low murmur of people deciding whether the second half deserved their time.

Cortez remained on the bleachers. He wanted to enter the locker room. Wanted to grab his jersey and demand a chance to repair what had happened. He wanted to go in the locker room and light a fire under them like everyone know he can. But he stayed seated. This time, he wasn't a member of the team, just a fan.

Coach Lloyd had made the decision. Cortez would respect it even while hating every second.

The Cougars knew the game was finished. The fans knew, the coaches knew, the players knew most of all. No miracle waited inside the second half.

The Knights returned with less energy than they had shown while falling behind. Shoulders sagged. Pursuit slowed. Blocks ended after first contact.

Randolph did not offer mercy as The Cougars kept scoring. Forty points turned into fifty. Fifty points turned into sixty. By the time the clock approached zero, most students had left. Empty sections spread across the bleachers. Those who remained watched from obligation, disbelief, or the morbid curiosity that made people slow down beside highway wreckage.

The final scoreboard read 67–0.

Kennedy had lost to Tottenville in previous seasons, those defeats hurt because of the history.

This was different.

A nearly seventy-point shutout by a 3A division team was not a rivalry loss, it was humiliation without tradition.

Cortez stood after the final whistle. Players crossed the field for handshakes with faces that spoke word they couldn't say. Terrance moved among them looking like he wanted the turf to open beneath his cleats.

Cortez felt anger. Not at Terrance alone, but at the offense, the defense, at every player who had decided the game was over before the clock did.

The victory over Tottenville had placed them on the map, yet Randolph found a way to drag them through the dirt.

Coach Lloyd saw Cortez near the railing. Their eyes met, Neither spoke. There was nothing available that would improve the moment and the losing did not stop in the Bronx...



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Saturday carried the Terranos across the Hudson.

Antonio drove, Cortez sat in the passenger seat, Lauri occupied the back, phone in hand and enough snacks surrounding her to survive a cross-country trip instead of a visit to Piscataway. The farther they traveled from the city, the more the landscape widened. Buildings lowered, trees gathered thicker along the roads, the constant pressure of New York loosened without fully disappearing. Cortez had attended a Rutgers game when he was younger. Antonio and one of his lady-friends had brought him, attempting to introduce him to college football beyond television.

He remembered fragments. The Rutgers clothing, the crowds, a stadium that had seemed massive only because Cortez had been knee high. He did not remember the details, but this visit was different.

He was not arriving as a fan. Rutgers had invited him. His name existed on a recruiting list and people inside the program expected him to be there. The campus carried an intimacy television never showed. Students crossed walkways wearing Rutgers gear. Tailgates covered parking areas in red, Smoke from grills drifted between vehicles while music competed from portable speakers. Families played cornhole while children threw footballs between parked cars. Former players embraced people they recognized only during home games.

The stadium rose beyond them, larger with every step. Cortez wore a recruiting credential around his neck. Several other prospects moved through the same spaces with families nearby. Some were larger than him. Taller. Broader. Bodies already resembling 5th year NFL players before they had graduated high school.

Cortez watched them watching one another before introducing himself. Recruiting visits carried politeness over competition. Every prospect smiled, every prospect quietly measured everyone else. Rutgers staff members welcomed them, explained the schedule, and led them through selected sections of the facility. Meeting rooms. Weight areas. Academic resources. Carefully prepared glimpses of a future designed to appear inevitable.

Antonio absorbed everything. Rutgers had been his school, but campus life lived differently in him. He pointed out changes from the campus he remembered, told stories Cortez had already heard, and grew quieter whenever they passed something that remained familiar. Lauri followed while photographing whatever interested her, which rarely included football.

The Indiana Hoosiers arrived undefeated. Four wins and no losses. Rutgers entered to host the game at 2–2. Both programs had faced Howard in a two-week span, and both had delivered the kind of beatdown major programs often handed smaller ones before conference play sharpened the schedule.

Saturday night, Rutgers received the belt to ass while Howard sat somewhere afar like Dillon Brooks watching for revenge.

The atmosphere before kickoff was electric. Scarlet towels moved through the stands. The band played it's number as the team rushed the field. Music shook the stadium. The student section bounced in unison. Cortez stood near the recruiting area and imagined what it might feel like to walk through the tunnel wearing those colors.

Then the game began and Indiana took control early.

The Hoosiers played with a speed Rutgers could not match. Their offense moved cleanly, each snap feeding the next. The quarterback, Josh Hoover, diagnosed and distributed the football before Rutgers could get a beat on him.

The Scarlet Knights managed points but failed to keep pace before the end of the first half. A touchdown had created hope, but the failed two-point conversion took some of it back.

Indiana entered halftime leading 21–6.

The score remained close enough for speeches about adjustments.

The game did not give two shits about speeches and adjustments. Simply because Josh Hoover controlled the second half.

He stood in the pocket and delivered with patience, rarely allowing Rutgers’ pass rush enough time to affect him. When the defense dropped deeper, he accepted the underneath completion. When safeties moved forward, he attacked behind them.

27 completions on 44 attempts, 312 passing yards, 2 passing touchdowns and another on the ground when he escaped for 29 yards and crossed the goal line himself.

Shazz Preston stretched out Rutgers’ coverage like road kill. 8 receptions, 186 yards and 1 touchdown.

While Hoover and Preston was lighting it up through the air, dancing around coverages, Turbo Richard delivered unadulterated violence.

15 rushes, 178 yards and 4 touchdowns.

He attacked every level of the defense. Through contact. Around the edge. Into open grass with defenders taking angles that disappeared beneath his acceleration. His footwork was crazy to see. On one play, it was an outside run. Hoover tossed the ball to the weak side and the O-Line carried just enough to make a linebacker fall. Between Turbo and the first down hash was a cornerback who seemed to had trapped Turbo as he ran lateral. Turbo cut right just before getting into arms reach of the defender and bolted up field.

Cortez understood the nickname, saw highlights on Instagram and the ESPN app, but it was even more accurate in person.

Rutgers occasionally reached the end zone. Seven points in the third and fourth quarters. Indiana had written the ending early and spent the remaining quarters adding punctuation.

Cortez watched from among the recruits. He studied Rutgers more critically than he had intended. Protection failures, missed tackles, receivers unable to create separation, a defense losing confidence each time Richard returned to the huddle.

The program had described rebuilding as opportunity. On the field, rebuilding looked like suffering while thousands of people watched.

The final score settled at 52–20.

Indiana remained undefeated while Rutgers walked away carrying another loss.

At some point during the fourth quarter, Cortez looked toward Antonio. His uncle sat with both hands folded near his mouth. The hope that had followed him onto campus had changed shape.

Antonio had imagined Cortez in scarlet. Perhaps not immediately, but somewhere inside him, the possibility had mattered.

The scoreboard damaged it for certain.

The season was not lost for Rutgers just yet as they sat 2-3. One loss to the reigning champions wasn't enough to bend their season out of shape, Cortez knew that from experience. Still, losing by thirty-two points during a recruiting visit did not make the future attractive. It made every promise sound theoretical.

The campus visit concluded after the game. Coaches thanked prospects and families. Staff members repeated that the program’s direction extended beyond one Saturday.

Cortez listened respectfully. He collected the information, accepted handshakes and smiled when photographs required it.

The door remained open, that did not mean he had to enter. Coach Lloyd’s jerseys returned to his mind. Purdue. North Carolina. Maryland. Opportunities could matter without becoming destinations.

Rutgers had been the first official invitation. And maybe that was what it would remain, the first.

Antonio avoided the George Washington Bridge on the way home.

The toll irritated him with how much money the city was collecting with no change to mitigate traffic congestion. He had no patience for paying an inflated price only to sit between brake lights while every driver behaved as if changing lanes aggressively might create another road. Instead, he chose the Palisades Interstate Parkway. The route was longer, but he preferred it. Night settled across the landscape as the car traveled north. Trees formed dark walls on both sides. Occasional openings offered glimpses of distant lights beyond the river.

The ride allowed Antonio to decompress from what he had witnessed. Lauri fell asleep in the back seat, curled beneath a jacket with her phone resting against her stomach. Her breathing became the quietest sound in the car while the sweet science of Frank Sinatra played through the speakers.

Antonio drove with a hand steady against the wheel. Cortez watched the dark highway ahead. The Randolph loss remained inside him, so did Rutgers. Two beatings in two days. Kennedy had been destroyed without him. And the Rutgers program inviting him to campus had took a bonafide ass whooping in front of him.

Cortez glanced toward Antonio. "Yo, Unc..."

His uncle kept his eyes on the road. “Yeah nephew...” Antonio’s response was quiet.

Cortez allowed several seconds to pass.

“I know you know...”

The implication filled the vehicle.

Rutgers. Scarlet uniforms. Antonio’s hopes. Cortez’s decision forming before either dared to name it.

Antonio released a sigh louder than intended. “I know, Champ... I know...”

Cortez tried to hold it, but the laughter built anyway. It escaped hard enough to nearly wake Lauri.

Antonio’s jaw tightened.

The sound was not cruel, but timing made it dangerous. Cortez laughed at the absurdity of the visit, at the scoreboard, and at the way Antonio’s dream of seeing him in Rutgers colors had been murdered in public before halftime.

Antonio did not join him.

He turned Sinatra slightly louder. The remainder of the ride disappeared beneath silence and the sweet science of a voice from another generation...

[redsox907]

we all knew Rutgers wasn't the spot.

Duke tho?

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

we all knew Rutgers wasn't the spot.

Duke tho?

I was really thinking about doing one year at Rutgers for some story content, but I scrapped those idea.

Duke on the other hand, that's a storyline that's still on the table. I still got other characters I wanna fit in, so we'll see which way the story flows.

[The JZA]