On Saturday, around two in the afternoon, Monica, Ross, Chandler, Carol, and Rachel were at Pearl Park.
A completely different atmosphere from yesterday at the stadium. People walked calmly, others were sitting on the grass, and others looked out at the river.
The park opened into well-kept green spaces, with tall trees that provided natural shade and stone paths that crossed between them. The sky was completely clear, without a single cloud, and the sun ca down clean, making the cold not feel so harsh, although it was still there.
They were under one of those trees, where the shade mixed with the sunlight filtering through the leaves. Chandler wore a cap backwards and a sports outfit that looked quite new, too new.
He had bought it recently. He hadn't brought clothes for sothing like this, and he wasn't going to show up to throw passes, even if it was just a few, dressed as if he were going to dinner or taking a walk. Even less so if on the other side there would be Jesus Christ and his Apostle.
"Uf, we made it on ti," Ross said, looking at the watch on his wrist with a certain satisfaction and nervousness in his tone.
Rachel turned her head toward him, with an expression sowhere between incredulous and amused. She wore a long black coat, elegant but casual, with tallic buttons and a clean fall that gave her presence effortlessly. Underneath, a darker, more fitted outfit and a green scarf that broke with the rest, adding color. Her hair loose, perfectly arranged as if she hadn't done anything for it to look that way.
"On ti?" she repeated, "There are still thirty minutes left before the agreed ti."
As she spoke, she brought a hand to her neck, feeling the cool air that moved from side to side through the park. January in San Antonio wasn't extre, but it wasn't warm either. Temperatures could be around highs of 64°F and lows of 41°F, and that particular day sat sowhere in between.
The sun helped, yes, raising the thermal sensation to sothing more comfortable, but the wind, especially with the river so close, kept that constant edge that forced you to bundle up.
"It's good to arrive early," Monica said, taking out her phone.
Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't have done it. She was punctual, yes. Ross too. But not to the point of showing up half an hour early. Not without a reason. But this ti was different. They had left with plenty of ti, with no margin for error.
"At least we'll get more sun," Carol murmured, looking up at the sky with a calm expression.
She wasn't as excited as Monica or Ross. She wasn't a fan of Andrew or football. But she was curious. She had been at the stadium the day before. She had seen people's reaction, the way they talked about him, and the energy he generated.
"Why are you texting?" Chandler asked suddenly, in a faster tone than usual, noticing that Monica was already typing.
Monica stopped and lifted her head to look at him. "I'm going to let Andrew know we arrived," she replied. "He told to let him know."
"No, no, no!" Chandler blurted out imdiately, reacting almost by reflex as he quickly took the phone from her hands.
"Hey!" Monica exclaid. "Give it back."
Chandler locked the phone and looked at her seriously, as if he had just prevented a critical mistake. "What will Andrew think if you tell him we arrived thirty minutes early?" he said. "We don't want to seem desperate."
Monica opened her mouth to respond, but stayed silent for a second.
She thought about it and, reluctantly, nodded slightly.
"…you're right."
Chandler handed the phone back with a satisfied expression. "Send it five minutes before the agreed ti," he added. "That's perfect."
"Fine," Monica said, taking the phone.
Rachel, from beside them, looked at him with a half-smile. "Yeah, sure, because Andrew definitely doesn't already know how much of a fan Monica is."
Chandler tilted his head. "Well… yeah," he admitted, "he already knows that, but not about us."
Ross nodded slowly, as if that logic made sense.
Monica huffed, with little patience to keep that discussion going, and crouched down to open her backpack. She took out a football and held it firmly. "Let's warm up!"
Ross reacted instantly, moving closer, Chandler the sa.
Rachel watched them briefly, then simply shook her head. 'They're really taking this seriously just to not look bad in a few simple passes,' she thought.
She carefully settled onto the grass, crossing her legs naturally, while Carol did the sa beside her. The tree gave them just the right amount of shade, and from there they had a perfect view of the rest of the park.
At least she had soone to talk to for now.
Finally, two or three minutes before 2:30, Andrew and company appeared in the distance.
Rachel and Carol stood up almost at the sa ti.
Chandler, for his part, started murmuring to himself, in a low voice, almost like a mantra, "Act casual… I'm relaxed."
It was curious. He was two years older than him, and still felt a certain unavoidable nervousness. He wasn't facing just any stranger. It was soone he had watched for years, followed gas, and seen plays. And now he was about to et him in person.
Even so, he was calr than he would have been under other circumstances. He knew Andrew had gotten along well with Ross at Comic-Con. If he clicked with Ross, he could probably do it with him too.
"Rember you already t him once, don't act like a crazy person," Rachel whispered in Monica's ear.
Monica barely heard her. She took a deep breath and raised her hand, pointing toward them with a small gesture so they would see them.
Andrew and the others slightly changed direction and began walking toward them, stopping a few steps away.
"Hey, long ti," Andrew said, greeting them with a slight smile as he raised his arm.
Ross was the first to react. He stepped forward without hesitation. "Hey, man, congratulations on the ga," he said, extending his hand.
Andrew shook it firmly. "Thanks."
His eyes naturally moved toward Monica.
"Hi, Monica, everything good?"
Monica didn't respond. She stayed still. As if the mont had reached her too quickly.
Rachel, beside her, gave her a firm pat on the back.
"Uh… y-yeah! Everything's good!" Monica replied, too quickly.
Even though they had already t before, for her too much ti had passed. And her fanaticism, far from decreasing, had grown. Being there, again in front of him, wasn't the sa.
Andrew smiled slightly and nodded, without pushing the situation further, as if understanding that the best thing was not to keep talking to her at that mont and let her settle on her own.
His eyes shifted naturally toward the other closest person.
Rachel.
'She ca,' Andrew thought.
"Hey, Rachel," he greeted.
Ross and Chandler exchanged a quick look. As if thinking: He rembers her na? It wasn't impossible. They had t before. Not for long, yes, but enough for sothing to stick.
Rachel, on the other hand, didn't react with surprise.
In fact, if Andrew hadn't rembered her, it probably would have affected her pride, at least a little. They had talked, even exchanged a few ssages afterward for a while. It hadn't been anything deep, but it hadn't been nothing either. Not being rembered would have been a small disappointnt.
"Hi, Andrew," Rachel replied, without a trace of nervousness, completely natural. "Great ga, by the way. That last-second pass… for a mont I thought they were finally going to sack you."
"Thanks," Andrew said.
Then he raised an eyebrow with slight curiosity and asked, "Did you want to get sacked?"
"No, of course not," Rachel replied, shaking her head. "But I expected at least one. After all, the defensive end who covered you on every drive was Noah Spence, right? He had 20 sacks in his last season, he looked pretty frustrated."
Monica, Chandler, Ross, and Carol turned their heads almost at the sa ti to look at her, confused.
'What?' they thought.
Since when did Rachel know those things? And how could she have noticed the "frustrated" part, if during the whole ga she had been complaining that they were far away and could barely distinguish the players' faces?
Andrew nodded slightly, with a smile that didn't hide a certain surprise.
"That's true, finally soone ntions it," he said. "It's a stat that a lot of people overlook. And it wasn't easy at all."
Noah Spence wasn't a minor na. Five stars, number one at his position in practically every major ranking: ESPN 150, Rivals, and 247Sports, top 10 nationally regardless of position. The best player in the state of Pennsylvania without question. He was also considered a natural pass rusher because of his explosiveness.
His 20 sacks in his senior year weren't just any number. An elite player usually fell between 12 and 18. Reaching 20 wasn't impossible… but it was extrely rare.
And even so, Andrew hadn't been sacked a single ti.
Steve, at the side, also looked at Rachel, surprised that a pretty girl would throw out that statistic. "This girl knows football," he said, nodding in approval.
Rachel smiled slightly, naturally, as if it were no big deal. She adjusted her hair with an almost automatic gesture.
'Weird…' Monica thought for a mont, frowning slightly. But she didn't get to dwell on that idea, as Ross spoke.
"She's my girlfriend, Carol," Ross said, stepping aside to introduce her.
Andrew nodded politely. "Nice to et you."
"Likewise," Carol replied, observing him for a second longer than necessary.
He wasn't what she expected. She had heard how people talked about him, the reaction of the stadium, the fa, and still, in front of her, there was none of that. There was no ego, none of that typical distance of soone in his position. Just soone calm and polite.
Chandler didn't want to wait any longer. He stepped forward and extended his hand.
"Chandler, nice to et you."
"Hey, " Andrew replied, shaking it. "Bing, right?"
Chandler's eyes widened instantly. "H-how do you know that?" he asked, stuttering slightly.
Andrew smiled, amused by the reaction. "I recognize the creator of my most famous nickna."
"W-what…?" Chandler blinked. "What do you an?"
Rachel was already smiling.
"Don't play dumb," Monica said, looking at him. "You have it in your Twitter bio. 'Creator of Andrew Pritchett-Tucker's most famous nickna: Jesus Christ of football.'"
Chandler looked at her and pressed his lips together, about to say sothing, but stopped himself at the last second.
'You're not helping,' he thought.
The nickna was good. Very good, actually. It worked, it was funny, catchy, that's why it had beco so popular. Everyone used it on the internet; it had gone more viral than he himself had expected.
But of course, one thing was to say it after a ga in a tweet and own it on a social network.
A very different thing was to own up to being the creator in front of the person it had been given to.
Because, no matter how clever it was, it was still a pretty biblical nickna.
And he wasn't entirely sure Andrew would love it.
Ross couldn't help but step in. "Now you act shy?" he said. "You always say it proudly."
"I found out through Rachel, not from your Twitter account," Andrew clarified, still with a half-smile.
Chandler imdiately turned and pointed at Rachel. "You!"
"Hey!" Rachel replied, putting her hands on her hips. "You weren't supposed to say that confidential information!"
She said it looking at Andrew, with a mix of complaint and amusent. It didn't really bother her, but she wasn't going to miss the chance to point it out. There was sothing curious about him rembering that conversation after so long.
To the side, Haley watched everything in silence, curious. 'Did those two talk before?' she thought, shifting her gaze between Rachel and Andrew.
She hadn't known.
"Wait a minute," Steve cut in. "If you created that biblical nickna, you probably also created mine that's been going around recently, right? The Apostle one."
Chandler raised his hands imdiately. "No, no, no, no…" he denied, almost instinctively.
But he realized it was useless to hide it, so he ended up sighing. "Well, yes."
Steve smiled. "It's a good nickna. I like it: The Apostle," he said in a solemn tone.
"Which one of the twelve was it?" he added in a normal tone.
"John," Chandler replied.
Steve nodded, thinking about it for a second.
"Steve John Rice…" he tested out loud. "Sounds good."
Before anyone could respond, he turned his head toward Andrew.
"Andrew Jesus Pritchett-Tucker."
There was a small silence, and then laughter.
"That one does sound weird," Haley said, laughing lightly, and the others nodded.
"Can you use Jesus as a na?" Monica asked, already more relaxed than a few minutes ago.
Andrew raised a finger. "According to my grandmother," he said, "yes. In Colombia it's quite common."
By grandmother, of course, he ant Gloria.
The atmosphere finally loosened there.
Andrew took advantage of that mont and, without making it formal or stiff, finished introducing his group. Haley and Steve had already exchanged a few words, so there was no need to repeat much. Besides, Haley already knew Monica and Rachel, which made everything flow even more naturally.
The only one who hadn't said anything until that mont was Luke.
And that, considering it was Luke Dunphy, was already an achievent in itself.
He had been listening and observing the whole ti without interrupting. Sothing almost impossible for him. He was never shy. His energy was constant, exaggerated, and practically at 120% twenty-four hours a day.
But now, at twelve years old, entering that strange stage between childhood and adolescence, there was sothing that had him completely out of his elent.
Girls.
And having Monica, Carol, and Rachel in front of him, older girls, eighteen years old or a little more for Carol, very attractive, was simply too much.
He stayed quiet, more timid than usual, avoiding getting involved more than necessary.
The introductions were completed, and little by little, side conversations began to erge.
Carol noticed it.
The eting, which before seed loaded with expectation, especially from Monica, Chandler, and Ross, turned into sothing much more normal. As if they weren't in front of soone who had dominated a national ga the day before and was the number one YouTuber in the world, but simply at a gathering between two groups of friends who had just t.
'It's strange… he's strange,' she thought, looking at Andrew.
Not for anything negative. Quite the opposite.
For the way he spoke naturally with them. Without distance, without any star-like attitude.
Everyone kept chatting, already completely relaxed, until, after several minutes of conversation without a clear direction, Steve leaned down, picked up the ball that was on the grass, the sa one Monica, Ross, and Chandler had been using, and held it.
"Let's play football!" he said. "Maybe a four-on-four. Who's in?"
"Yes, football!" Luke jumped in imdiately, getting up in one leap. Until that mont he had been crouched, more entertained watching so ants than in the conversation of people older than him.
"It'll be fun," Rachel added, with an enthusiasm she didn't even try to hide.
"I'll be able to show so skills," Haley said, crossing her arms confidently.
Steve looked at her, squinting. "You don't have skills."
"You don't know that," Haley replied, offended. "You've never seen play."
"Yes, I have," Steve shot back without hesitation. "And you're not bad for the ti you put into it. But don't say you have so hidden ability like you're a video ga boss."
Haley scoffed and hit him on the arm. "Shut up."
Rachel, laughing lightly, turned to the others. "Alright, what about you? Do you want to play football?"
Carol nodded, more so as not to be left out than out of real enthusiasm. But Ross and Monica didn't react the way anyone would expect at the chance to play football with Andrew.
They looked at each other in a strange silence until Ross finally spoke.
"Monica and I… we're not supposed to play football together."
Chandler let out an imdiate laugh, sowhere between incredulous and amused. "And who says that? Your mom?"
Steve laughed too at his side; he was already starting to really like this guy.
Ross and Monica didn't laugh. They looked at each other again and answered in unison, completely serious:
"Yes."
The group's laughter died instantly.
There was a brief silence. Andrew had his eyes slightly narrowed, recalculating, searching his mory for information.
'Is this…?' he thought.
Monica took a breath and started explaining, with a mix of resignation and pride. "In my family, on Thanksgiving, we used to play football… a tournant we called the Geller Bowl."
"No, no, no," Chandler interrupted, shaking his head. "You say that proudly!"
Monica ignored him, used to Chandler's comnts, and continued.
"Ross and I were the captains. And it got way too competitive. Until, one year… in the Geller Cup six… about eight years ago, I accidentally broke his nose," she said, emphasizing the word accident.
Rachel raised her eyebrows, and Haley did the sa, sharing that contained look of surprise.
"This was family history I didn't know…" Carol murmured, with a slight smile.
'Yeah, it's definitely that,' Andrew thought, amused.
Luke took a step forward, looking at Ross in disbelief. "A little girl broke your nose?"
"It was not an accident!" Ross burst out, instantly losing his patience, "And yes, she broke it! Because she weighed over a hundred and fifty pounds at ten years old! She had more than forty on ! She was a little tank!"
"Football is a contact sport, accept it," Monica replied, crossing her arms, firm.
"It wasn't!" Ross insisted. "You saw I was going to catch you and you threw your huge arm straight into my face! And you kept running like nothing happened!"
Monica looked at him for a second and then turned to the group to explain. "It was to score the winning touchdown, by the way."
"Wow, wow, wow," Ross interrupted, raising a hand. "You did not win the ga! That touchdown didn't count! It was a spectacularly illegal… and savage nose break!"
Monica leaned slightly toward the others, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. "I won the ga."
"Oh, really?" Ross shot back, not backing down. "Then why didn't they give you the Geller Cup?"
There was an imdiate reaction. Haley, Andrew, Steve, Rachel, Carol, and Chandler couldn't help but look at each other, surprised by the na, and smile.
Rachel cleared her throat lightly. "Ahem… there was a Geller Cup?"
Ross looked at her completely serious. "Yes. It was the trophy for winning the ga," he replied. "In that edition my dad got mad and said no one won."
His voice started to lower. "He got tired of the fights and took the trophy…"
He paused, until he finally concluded, his eyes slightly glossy from the sad mory:
"And he threw it into the lake."
There was a silence.
Rachel brought her hand to her mouth, trying to hold back her laughter without making a sound. Haley outright leaned against Andrew's shoulder, hiding her face, while he tried to keep his composure with a poker expression.
"A sha…" Steve murmured, making a visible effort not to laugh.
"And… was the curse lifted?" Chandler threw in, with a strange expression, halfway between serious and completely absurd.
Ross looked at him without a hint of humor. "And that's why… Mom said we can't play football together."
"You know what?" Monica said suddenly, with a clear change in tone. "I think we should play."
"What?" Ross replied, as if he had just heard the worst idea possible.
The problem had never been football.
The problem was the two of them. They could play separately, sure. With others. In other contexts. But together, on opposing teams, was another story.
They were too competitive.
"Yes, let's play," Monica insisted, with determination. "It's been many years. We're adults now. I don't think we'll go to those extres."
She wasn't going to miss a possible ga with Andrew because of her stupid brother.
Ross looked at her for another second. "Can you co here for a mont?" he finally asked, gesturing with his head.
They stepped aside a few paces, enough to talk in private. Their voices turned into murmurs, barely audible, while Andrew and the rest of the group watched them from a distance.
They kept murmuring until Monica exclaid, "Wuss!"
Ross fell silent, then looked at everyone. "All right… let's play."
"We're uneven," Haley said, quickly counting the group. There were nine.
There was a brief silence while everyone made the sa ntal calculation.
"I vote Andrew doesn't play. He should be the referee," Steve said, completely naturally, not caring that he was suggesting leaving his best friend out of the ga.
Andrew turned his head toward him, raising an eyebrow. "What? Why can't I play?"
"Dude, you're too broken," Steve replied, as if it were obvious.
He knew him too well. He knew how he competed. It didn't matter if it was an official ga or an improvised one in a park. Andrew didn't have a half mode. He had no rcy. Not with strangers, not with friends, with no one. Except for one very specific exception.
Lily.
The only person he could let win without a problem.
It was true that in a more relaxed environnt, he wouldn't treat it like a final. But he still wouldn't lose. At the right mont, he did what was necessary to win. Always.
Haley and Luke nodded imdiately, completely agreeing. Having him on their team would be an absurd advantage, but if he ended up on the other side, their chances of winning disappeared.
"I can put so restrictions on myself, like in the beach ga, rember?" Andrew said, looking at Haley, Monica, and Rachel.
That day he had played with his left hand, his non-dominant one, and with one foot always hopping.
"Sorry, but no," Steve replied, shaking his head. "You used your left hand in the playoffs with hundreds of thousands of people watching you and it worked."
"I demand a vote," Andrew said, not intending to be left out.
He looked directly at Monica.
Monica hesitated for just a second, then shook her head with an apologetic expression. "Sorry, but it's true. That day at the beach you still beat us, and that was two years ago. Now you're much better. If you're not on my team… I'm going to lose."
It was clear she didn't like saying it. She would have loved to play with him. But this, now, was also personal with Ross, she had called him a coward. She couldn't take the risk.
Ross nodded, backing the decision. Haley and Luke had already given their vote before the discussion had even started.
Andrew turned his head toward Carol. "Seeing you play yesterday…" she said calmly, "if I go up against you, I know I'm not going to win. I'm sorry. And even though I'm not a fan of the sport, I like to win."
Andrew sighed softly and looked at Chandler.
"I'm a mortal," Chandler said, completely serious. "I can't face my God and pretend to defeat him, even if I know I'm going to lose."
Andrew smiled slightly, amused that he was already moving so naturally within the jokes.
Then he looked at Rachel. His last chance.
Rachel held his gaze for a second, not rushing, and then slightly looked away. "What I say won't change anything."
Andrew nodded, accepting the logic without insisting further. Even if she said yes, that he should play, the result wouldn't change. It would be one against seven.
"Fine, I'll be the referee," Andrew muttered, finally accepting the decision.
"We have to choose captains," Haley said, as everyone settled into a small circle. "How do we decide it?"
"Well…" Monica started, opening her arms, "…why don't we just bunny up?"
"What?" everyone asked at the sa ti, not understanding what she ant.
But Monica and Ross didn't give an explanation and spoke at the sa ti.
"Bunny!" they exclaid.
Both of them brought their hands to their heads, raising two fingers on each hand like bunny ears, right above.
There was silence as everyone looked at each other, as if thinking that's what they ant by bunny up. The Gellers really did have strange traditions.
No one questioned it much. They simply accepted that they were the captains.
Monica had said bunny just a fraction of a second earlier, enough to claim the first pick without discussion.
"Steve," she chose without hesitation.
"Monica… I'm your best friend," Rachel said, surprised she hadn't been the first pick.
"Sorry… next one," Monica murmured, lying a little, more than anyone, she knew how bad Rachel was at catching passes.
"Hey, Steve is too good as well, we need to adjust that," Ross said.
Monica didn't mock him for already starting to make excuses. Because he was right.
Steve was also an elite player. Four-star, coming off a great ga the day before. They couldn't leave him free without restrictions. So, together, they agreed on certain conditions to keep things fair.
Steve accepted, he didn't want to be left out like Andrew.
The rest of the picks took shape quickly.
Ross chose Luke first, which triggered an imdiate reaction from Chandler, who didn't hide his indignation. But Ross had his logic: Luke was the cousin of the best quarterback prospect in the country. Energy, instinct… he had to have sothing.
In the end, the teams were set.
Monica's team: Steve, Haley, and Rachel.
Ross's team: Luke, Chandler, and Carol.
Rachel ended up being the last pick, which made her a bit grumpy, sothing that amused Andrew, although he hid it so as not to annoy her more.
They decided to play in a sort of 7-on-7 format, adapted to their number and with so changes. No tackling, and no heavy contact. There was no real running ga.
You couldn't just hand the ball off to advance. That didn't count as a pass. The ball had to travel forward, no matter what.
The play was stopped by touching the opponent with a hand.
The ga began. They decided to play four quarters of ten minutes, with a seriousness that bordered on absurd for a ga in a park that was supposed to be casual, but completely logical considering Monica and Ross.
They marked the field as best they could. Using backpacks, jackets, and sweatshirts. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough. There were clear boundaries, end zones, and, above all, rules.
Andrew was the referee during the first two quarters. More for formality than necessity. It was entertaining at first, but it quickly beca clear that it didn't make much difference. Ross and Monica argued every play at the limit, as if they were in a real final, and they weren't exactly the type of players who listened much to a neutral authority.
Rachel, on the other hand, ended up in a completely different position.
Frustrated. Not truly angry, but close.
At first, both Steve and Monica, who rotated as quarterbacks, tried to include her. A couple of simple routes, short passes, nothing complicated.
She didn't catch any.
Not a single one. It was almost statistically an anomaly.
And each failure started to weigh more as the ga beca competitive. Little by little, without saying it directly, they stopped looking for her. The instruction Monica gave her was reduced to the basics:
Just run. But they never threw her the ball.
By the third quarter, after a brief tactical break, the ga was tied.
Andrew was now watching from a more distant spot, no longer needing to act as referee. The ga had taken on a life of its own. Ross and Monica were completely into it.
'If they were athletes, they'd have a higher level of competitiveness than many real players,' Andrew thought with a slight smile.
Then he noticed Rachel approaching him.
"Aren't you playing?" Andrew asked, arms crossed, while watching a play develop.
The most striking thing was that Rachel's team didn't even seem to notice her absence.
"My team doesn't pass to ," Rachel huffed, crossing her arms. "And the other team doesn't even cover . It's the sa thing. Besides, I'm a bit hungry."
Andrew looked at her for a second. "Do you want to go buy sothing to eat?"
Rachel raised an eyebrow. "And your referee job?"
Andrew briefly glanced toward the field, where no one seed to pay attention to anything that wasn't the ball.
"Do you think that if they don't care that one of their players is out… they care whether the referee is there or not?"
Rachel nodded. "Good point. Let's go."
Both of them started walking, moving away from the field, following the park's stone paths.
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