Modern Family: New Life Chapter 185: Live interview

Novel: Modern Family: New Life Author: Nathe07 Updated: Jun 06, 2026

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Now reading: Chapter 185: Live interview from Modern Family: New Life, a Fantasy novel by Nathe07.

Andrew, still holding his helt and with his sweat-soaked uniform, had barely managed to slip away from the euphoria of his teammates. The cheerleaders were still celebrating, pom-poms high in the air, the band kept playing non-stop, the cara flashes wouldn’t stop, and the stadium roared with the last chants from the Mater Dei crowd.

As for Bosco’s side, they were already leaving the stadium in silence as quickly as possible.

An ESPNU caraman positioned himself in front of Andrew, pointing a white light at him that blinded him for an instant. Next to him stood Bruce, serious as always, though with that stiffness that betrayed a hint of satisfaction. His presence commanded respect: no player dared interrupt, not even the most ecstatic.

The reporter, a middle-aged man with black hair and a gray blazer, raised the microphone with the ESPNU logo.

"Congratulations, Andrew, Coach Rollinson. The whole nation just witnessed a true showcase of high school football tonight," he began with a smile. "I’m getting word from production: this ga already posted ratings well above average for a national high school broadcast. We don’t have the final numbers yet, but they’re huge."

Andrew, his throat dry since he hadn’t had a chance to hydrate, nodded slightly with a polite smile.

"Andrew, how do you feel? Seven touchdowns, probably a record for this league and almost any elite league. And most talked about: you delivered on your words."

Andrew rested the helt against his hip and answered firmly, "Happy, of course. For the records, for what it ans... but even more because we keep moving forward. Winning is what matters. The league title is what we’re after. If I’m left only with nice stats and no championship, then it ant nothing."

The reporter nodded, "The blowout beca reality, and it’s already trending on Twitter. I’ve just been handed the stats: six passing touchdowns, one rushing, zero interceptions, 415 passing yards and 55 rushing. That’s 470 total yards. Nearly five hundred. What goes through your mind hearing that?"

Andrew raised his eyebrows slightly, surprised at the accuracy of the numbers so quickly. Then he nodded calmly, "It always feels good to perform and see it reflected in your stats, but I’m focused on the next ga, which is key for the league title."

Mater Dei now stood at 4-0. Andrew didn’t know Servite’s result, they should be playing right now. Still, whether they lost or won, the league title would be decided next Friday.

In the hypothetical case Servite lost and dropped to 3-1, if they beat Mater Dei, both teams would finish 4-1. That would an co-champions. But Andrew didn’t want a shared title, and no one at Mater Dei did either.

If Servite won and went to 4-0, everything would be decided the following Friday.

At Andrew’s side, Bruce lifted a brow, satisfied. It was exactly the answer he wanted to hear, no drowning in ego over stats.

The reporter smiled and turned slightly to the coach. "Coach Rollinson, what does it an to have a junior quarterback that many are already calling the best in the nation, capable of delivering spectacles like this?"

Bruce leaned toward the mic, his voice deep and asured. "It ans we’re lucky. Andrew is talented, but what makes proudest is his discipline. He doesn’t just win on Friday nights; he wins at practice, in study hours, in the way he carries himself. Tonight was just a glimpse of what he can beco."

Andrew couldn’t help but smile faintly. Bruce rarely gave such praise, especially on cara.

The reporter nodded and turned back to Andrew. "Last question, Andrew. The only touchdown you celebrated in a special way was the rushing one. You looked at the cara and made a gesture. Does it an sothing? A new celebration?"

"It’s not a new celebration," Andrew replied, shaking his head. "It’s the letter J in sign language. I promised a child subscriber to my channel, who is mute, that if I scored rushing, I’d celebrate like that. John, buddy, if you’re watching this, I send you my regards, thanks for the support."

He signed the last part in sign language. He knew John could hear, but communicating that way carried a different weight.

Being a mute boy of 7 or 8 years old, it must be very hard to communicate with kids his own age. Honestly, very few know sign language, and it’s not sothing taught. Most likely his family are the only ones who understand him, while with friends he can only listen.

The reporter smiled, visibly moved. "That’s a very nice gesture, Andrew."

Bruce, at his side, raised an eyebrow, he hadn’t known that story. He only gave a slight nod of respect.

Andrew seized the mont and added, looking at the cara, "And I also want to send a shoutout to all my subscribers watching the ga live. Thanks for the support. I’m sure we broke audience records largely thanks to you."

The reporter chuckled softly, nodding. It was no exaggeration: with more than two million YouTube followers and his na trending all week, there was no doubt that much of those historic audience numbers had to do with Andrew.

"With those words, we’ll wrap it up," the reporter said, turning to the cara. "Andrew Pritchett-Tucker, seven touchdowns tonight, and Coach Rollinson, congratulations on the victory. The whole nation will be talking about this tomorrow."

Andrew nodded with a faint smile. Bruce, steady as ever, placed a hand on his shoulder before guiding him out of the spotlight.

...

Miller House

[It’s not a new celebration,] Andrew’s voice ca from the television. [It’s the letter J in sign language. I promised a child subscriber to my channel, who is mute, that if I scored rushing, I’d celebrate like that. John, buddy, if you’re watching this, I send you my regards, thanks for the support.]

John instantly turned toward his mother, his hands flying in a whirlwind of signs. "He made the sign again and said my na!"

His mother smiled, brushing his hair back. "Yes, honey, he did."

The older brother, sitting with arms crossed, snorted with a half-smile. "You’ll have sothing to brag about on Monday with your classmates, squirt."

Although he was a little jealous of his younger brother. Andrew was very famous in California, and especially at high school. His followers weren’t just kids like his brother.

...

Geller House.

In the Geller living room there was a strange silence, broken only by the sound of the television. The ga had ended: Mater Dei crushed Bosco by more than twenty points.

Even Monica, who would normally be jumping with excitent and hyperventilating, was staring at the TV with a blank expression.

"Seven touchdowns..." Chandler said, breaking the silence.

"Four hundred seventy yards..." Ross added.

"Zero interceptions... again," Rachel said.

"Thirty touchdowns in just six gas..." Monica whispered.

"An average of five," Jack noted, less shocked than the younger ones, though clearly impressed.

"All the predictions fell short," Judy remarked.

Even Rachel’s prediction of six touchdowns ended up behind. Close, but still wrong. Rachel didn’t know whether to be upset or happy.

The television continued, showing the live interview, and everyone fell silent once more.

[Andrew, how do you feel? Seven touchdowns, probably a record for this league and for almost any elite league...]

[Happy, of course. For the records, for what it ans... but even more because we keep moving forward. The league title...]

"Whoa, the guy looks less shocked by his own stats than we are," Chandler said, an odd expression on his face.

"Shh!" Monica hushed him.

[Last question, Andrew. The only touchdown you celebrated in a special way was the rushing one. You looked at the cara and made a gesture. Does it an sothing? A new celebration?]

Andrew’s answer made Monica and Rachel let out an "awww" in unison, hugging each other, unable to contain the sweetness.

Chandler raised his arms as if he were at church. "That’s it. He’s not just the Jesus Christ of high school football... he’s also the patron saint and official protector of the mute."

Jack and Ross burst out laughing, almost spilling their beers.

[And I also want to send a shoutout to all my subscribers watching the ga live. Thanks for the support. I’m sure we broke audience records largely thanks to you.]

Monica nodded as if he were speaking directly to her.

Rachel just smiled, hugging a pillow.

"Well, Monica, you have his number. Better use it," Ross said, a mocking grin on his face.

Monica frowned slightly and looked at him. "What do you an?"

"You could ask him for a shoutout on national TV for the next ga, like that kid did. He’d surely say yes," Ross replied.

"Oh, that’s true," Chandler jumped in, snapping his fingers. "It’ll be the league final, probably broadcast nationwide. They already said this ga got sky-high ratings. Seize the mont, girl."

"That’s a good idea," Rachel added, smiling conspiratorially at Monica. "Although I’m afraid that if he actually said your na on national television, you’d have a heart attack or sothing."

Monica looked at them all, indignant. "Shut up! I’m not that crazy. If Andrew says my na on TV, I won’t collapse. I already spent an entire day at the beach with him and nothing happened."

Ross chuckled. "Whoa, major achievent, spending the afternoon with your idol and not fainting. Well done, Mon."

"What worries more is that she didn’t deny the idea of asking him for a national shoutout..." Chandler muttered.

Monica huffed in annoyance and turned back to the television. There was no point arguing with her stupid brother and his friend.

The interview on screen had ended, though the TV stayed on, replaying highlights and ga recaps. The comntators’ chatter was now just background noise.

Jack and Judy stood up, gathering empty glasses and trays with leftovers, carrying them off to the kitchen. Ross and Chandler sank deeper into the couch, resuming so college talk that sounded less academic and more like a string of complaints and pointless anecdotes.

Rachel, anwhile, leaned back on the side, the bluish glow of her phone lighting up her face. Her thumbs flew quickly across the keyboard, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

Monica kept watching the TV a few seconds longer, though there wasn’t anything interesting left. Finally, she turned her head slightly, her attention caught by Rachel’s expression.

Curiosity won out. Monica leaned toward her. "What are you writing?" she asked quietly, trying not to sound nosy.

Rachel startled, instinctively turning the phone against her chest as if caught red-handed.

"Nothing!" she replied too quickly, stepping back.

But Monica had already caught a glimpse. "Was that a Facebook chat with Andrew?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Rachel let out a nervous, forced laugh, as if the very idea was ridiculous. "What? No, of course not."

Monica crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Rachel, I saw the na. Andrew Pritchett-Tucker. I didn’t imagine it. And it looked like you two chat often. And I was the fangirl?"

Monica already knew Andrew and Rachel were Facebook friends, she was too, actually. The difference was, she didn’t have Rachel’s courage to start a conversation.

Rachel looked at her for a second in silence, her smile slowly fading. She knew she was cornered. With a resigned sigh she said, "Okay... yeah. It was him. But it’s not what you think. We don’t talk often."

"Uh-huh..." Monica replied in a tone that didn’t sound very convinced.

"Seriously," Rachel defended herself. "Yesterday I only ssaged him about his interview, that I was seeing him everywhere and wished him luck for the ga. Today I’m just congratulating him for the ga he played. That’s it."

With nothing left to hide, Rachel went back to her phone.

Monica kept watching her in silence for a few more seconds. She felt a strange tingle, part jealousy, part frustration. Not because Rachel was taking sothing away from her, but because of how easily she dared to do what she herself couldn’t: talk to Andrew directly without the fear of sounding like an obsessed fangirl.

That was because Rachel wasn’t a fangirl like she was.

The silence stretched until Chandler cleared his throat theatrically. "Well, kids, ti for to go."

He stood up from the couch, brushing off his shirt as if he’d just left an important eting.

Ross also got to his feet, still wearing an amused smile. "Co on, I’ll walk you out."

Rachel, without looking up from her phone, waved a hand. "Bye, Chester."

"Goodbye, Richelle," Chandler replied, but Rachel didn’t take the bait, too focused on her phone screen.

"Bye. And please don’t tweet while you’re driving," Monica said, eyeing him.

"I appreciate the concern, but don’t worry. Now that I’m an official fan of the Jesus Christ of football, I’ve got divine protection. I’ll be fine," Chandler said with a faint smile as he finally left the living room.

That night after the ga, Twitter was buzzing with only one thing: the blowout was real. Chandler managed to craft witty tweets with plenty of interactions, helping drive the trend: