In one of the sections occupied by USC fans, there was a group of students watching the halftime show.
They were: Tori, Cat, Andre, Beck, and Robbie. They had started their freshman year at USC only a few months earlier. Each of them had eventually gravitated toward their own thing: acting, music, production, and performing arts.
Trina, Tori's older sister, had already been at the university for an extra year and, unlike the rest of them, had actually ended up absorbing quite a bit of USC's sports culture.
On top of that, all of them had a connection, however small, to two of the players who had just made their afternoon so difficult.
Andrew had dated Jade for a short time, a friend of the group and also a USC student.
Jade was not even sitting with them.
Although she attended USC, her father worked at UCLA in recruiting and had been precisely the man who managed to bring Andrew to Westwood. Thanks to that major contribution, he had risen through the ranks as a recruiter, his family had access to better seating, and Jade had chosen to sit with her parents in a much more comfortable section, far from the constant noise and crowding of the student section.
Cat had dated Steve.
Their relationship had lasted longer than Jade's with Andrew, although not by much. And now that same Steve Rice had just scored one of the most spectacular touchdowns of the game, catching the pass Andrew had thrown from his own end zone before running for more than thirty additional yards into the opposite one.
Tori, Andre, Trina, and Robbie had even crossed paths with Andrew and Steve once at a party, although after that night they had practically never seen them again.
They had also gone to UCLA's debut months earlier.
Quietly, of course.
Being a USC student and showing up at the Rose Bowl too visibly supporting UCLA was not exactly the best way to make friends if their new USC circles found out.
Either way, none of them, except Trina, lived football intensely enough to worry too much about it. For the rest, it was more of a spectacle than a matter of identity.
That left them in a rather strange position that afternoon.
They were USC students.
They wanted USC to win.
But they had followed so many UCLA games because of Andrew and Steve that they could not exactly pretend the two were complete strangers, and now they were watching them help tear their own university apart.
Andre remained seated with his arms crossed, wearing a cardinal number 7 Barkley jersey. He looked at the scoreboard once more and slowly shook his head, "Twenty-four points... I guess it's over."
Robbie nodded while holding Rex on his lap, "Yeah. Although it was a nice experience. There are people who would pay a fortune just to have gotten in today."
Trina turned toward them so quickly it looked as though they had personally insulted her entire family, "Shut up, idiots! This isn't over until the clock hits zero!"
Andre raised his eyebrows at the intensity.
Trina continued, pointing toward the field, "UCLA came back from thirty-seven points down against Oregon! What's twenty-four? Matt has never lost to UCLA and he's not starting today!"
Tori watched her for a few seconds. There was something almost like compassion in her expression, "If it were another team, maybe I'd tell you there's still a chance..." she began.
Trina narrowed her eyes.
Tori gestured vaguely toward the tunnel where the UCLA players had disappeared, "But, sis, they're the ones who came back from thirty-seven points down. Do you really think their offense is suddenly going to forget how to play?"
Trina opened her mouth. She couldn't find an immediate response.
Tori wasn't saying it cruelly either. She simply wasn't emotionally invested in the rivalry in the same way.
To her, UCLA-USC was still mostly entertainment. She hadn't grown up hating the Bruins, nor did she feel that a loss was going to ruin her week.
Besides, there was another problem. They had watched UCLA too much that season. So for a good part of the group, it was much easier to imagine UCLA continuing to score than to believe that all of this was suddenly going to stop.
Andre watched her for a few seconds and then turned toward Beck, who was calmly drinking from a cup of soda, "Must be weird," he commented with a smile, "Watching your girlfriend's ex-boyfriend destroy your university live."
Beck lowered the cup and looked at him. He didn't seem particularly affected, "A little," he admitted.
Andre raised an eyebrow, "Only a little?"
Beck nodded with that calm confidence that seemed to accompany him almost all the time, "Yeah, I know there are more than seventy thousand people cheering for him, celebrities in the suites, but I guess I can handle it."
"How mature," Andre said with a laugh.
"I'm an actor, I can fake confidence," Beck said with a slight smile.
Tori, who had been listening from beside them, slowly turned toward Beck with an expression that was difficult to interpret.
She had been there.
She had seen how things between Andrew and Jade had ended.
That same party where Tori had met Andrew for the first time had ended up turning into an abrupt breakup. Jade had gotten jealous over some pictures with another girl, Andrew had tried to explain that they meant nothing and, at some point, had even dragged Tori into the example in an attempt to make her understand how ridiculous it would be to get jealous just because someone took a picture with a fan.
It hadn't worked.
Jade broke up with him.
And Andrew, to Tori's surprise, had simply accepted the breakup with the same kind of cold composure he'd shown in the end zone while two defenders chased him down trying to tackle him.
Afterward, Jade had tried to get back together.
That didn't surprise Tori much either.
Jade was like that.
She could explode, end a relationship convinced that she was completely right and, several days later, show up regretting it as if the earlier decision had belonged to someone else.
She had done it with Beck before.
More than once.
They had dated, broken up, gotten back together, and broken up again before Andrew had even entered the picture.
The difference was that Beck always ended up opening the door again.
Andrew didn't.
He had been much more decisive.
Once Jade broke up with him, that was it.
No second chances, no strange cycle like the one she and Beck seemed to get trapped in over and over again.
Tori looked at Beck again. She wasn't entirely sure how to interpret his relationship with Jade.
Maybe they really did care about each other too much to stay apart. Or maybe they were simply one of those couples destined to break up and get back together until one of them finally got tired of it.
"The problem is her father," Beck commented.
"Yeah?" Andre said, raising an eyebrow.
He had heard a few things about him. UCLA recruiter, deeply involved with the program and, from what he knew, pretty enthusiastic about anything related to the Bruins.
Beck shook his head, "Not in the way you're thinking. He's not one of those dads who hates anyone who dates his daughter. Quite the opposite. He's pretty cool."
"Then what's the problem?" Andre asked.
"Andrew... he idolizes him," Beck replied.
Beck continued, "Think about it. He went to UCLA. He's been working there as a recruiter for years. He practically lives for the program, and then the most sought-after prospect in the country shows up and he's the one who manages to convince him to choose UCLA. That alone would've been enough for him to talk about Andrew for years."
Andre understood the point and slowly nodded, "And now they're number three. Winning the rivalry after years of failing to do it."
"Exactly. How do you compete with that?" Beck said.
Andre started laughing, "He definitely has more things to talk about with Andrew than with you."
Beck was an actor, he didn't know much about football. He couldn't exactly sit around talking about football.
Andrew could.
"Thanks for reminding me," Beck said, somewhere between resigned and amused.
Robbie raised one hand slightly, "Well, but he's known you for years. Since high school. That has to be an advantage."
Tori cut in from the side, "I don't know... He knows you as the guy who broke up with his daughter ten times and keeps coming back."
Beck slowly turned toward her, "Thanks for the support, Tori."
"I'm just trying to be realistic about what Jade's father probably thinks..." Tori said, trying to keep a neutral expression.
They kept talking and watching the show until the teams finally returned to the field.
The third quarter was beginning, and USC would have the first possession.
The drive was difficult. Nothing came easily.
Barkley had to convert several uncomfortable third downs while UCLA kept bringing pressure and closing down space. Each new set of downs seemed a little harder than the last, but the Trojans managed to stay alive.
Almost four minutes later, already inside the red zone, they reached about eight yards from the end zone.
Everything was much more compressed.
UCLA's defense was closing almost every window.
Barkley took the snap, dropped back, and waited just long enough.
Then he threw.
The ball came out quickly toward number 2.
Robert Woods. He appeared in just the right space, caught the pass, and secured the ball inside the end zone.
Touchdown, "YES! THAT'S IT!" Trina shouted, jumping out of her seat.
The entire USC section exploded with her.
The fans rose to their feet, the band responded immediately, and for the first time in quite a while, a different kind of energy could be felt among the Trojans.
Tori stood up too, "Wow! Come on, team!" she exclaimed as she clapped.
Trina turned toward the others with a huge smile, "We're back!"
Then she shot a triumphant look toward Andre and Robbie. Neither of them noticed. They were simply still clapping with smiles on their faces while watching the field.
From the booth, Brent raised his voice, [Touchdown, Trojans! Barkley to Woods! An important answer from USC.]
Kirk nodded while watching the replay, [That was exactly what they needed to start this second half. It wasn't a clean drive, they had to survive several third downs, but they came away with six points. Now comes the difficult part.]
[If they really want to get back into this game, they cannot allow UCLA to answer with another touchdown. They need a stop,] he added in a serious tone.
The extra point went through without any trouble.
The scoreboard changed.
UCLA BRUINS 34 — USC TROJANS 17
After the return, UCLA's offense came back onto the field for its first drive of the third quarter.
"Interception, interception, interception..." Trina murmured with her fingers crossed and her eyes locked on Andrew.
Her wish didn't last very long.
UCLA moved quickly. Within just a few plays, they were already around USC's 45-yard line after covering roughly thirty yards with almost no resistance.
Andrew lined up behind the center again, "Set... hut!"
The ball reached his hands, and this time he didn't look downfield.
He immediately took off to the right.
Brent reacted at once, [Looks like he's going to run!]
Andrew crossed the line of scrimmage before the defense could fully close in. He was no longer extending the play.
He was running.
The first defender came in from the side. Andrew shifted direction slightly and left him behind.
[It's a brilliant run from Pritchett... can he go all the way?!] Brent called.
He had passed the first-down marker long ago and kept going.
Thirty yards.
Twenty-five.
The Rose Bowl began to rise.
The end zone, which only seconds earlier had still seemed far away, was getting closer fast.
"TACKLE HIM, DAMN IT!" Trina shouted, bringing both hands to her head.
[Away from Breslin... away from T.J.... away from Cody...]
Andrew kept escaping.
A sharp cut had left Breslin behind, and now practically every defender chasing him was several steps late.
Only one remained.
[Only Demetrius Wright stands between Pritchett and the end zone!] Brent exclaimed, already out of his seat.
The number 24 safety closed in from the inside.
Wright reached the angle just in front of the goal line, lowered his body, and prepared his shoulder. There wasn't much room left to avoid him.
Andrew saw him. It was impossible not to. He was directly in front of him. He didn't slow down, 'Fine. If you want to collide...' he thought.
Wright had a build similar to his. A big safety, but there was one difference.
Andrew was running at full speed.
Wright, on the other hand, was practically planted in place, waiting for the impact.
The inevitable happened.
They collided.
The sharp sound of the hit could be heard even over the stadium.
"OH!"
The reaction came from the stands almost at the same time.
Wright took the hit almost completely stationary, his feet immediately lost their base, and his body was thrown backward. The impact itself and Andrew's momentum carried both of them across the goal line.
Wright fell onto his back while Andrew rolled off to the side.
Andrew completed the roll across the turf and got back to his feet almost immediately.
Touchdown.
And then the stadium truly exploded.
[YOU ARE KIDDING ME!?] Brent exclaimed, practically shouting from the booth now, [He's a freight train! He had him directly in front of him and went straight through him!]
Kirk beside him let out an incredulous laugh as he watched the final collision, [Pritchett decided to go through the contact, not avoid it.]
Brent continued over the noise, [It's A-train! A touchdown of absolute genius from Andrew Pritchett-Tucker!]
Andrew was already on his feet.
That hit had been hard.
A smile began to form on his face as he raised the ball with one hand toward the UCLA student section.
The response was immediate.
"PRITCHETT! PRITCHETT! PRITCHETT!"
The noise rose even higher.
Not only because of the touchdown, but because of the entire run: more than forty yards, several defenders left behind, and a finish where it looked as though he had gone straight through the final safety before crossing into the end zone.
And above all, because Andrew was fine. He didn't celebrate much more than that.
He lowered his arm, dropped the ball, and turned around.
Wright was still on the ground, staring up at the sky while breathing heavily.
Andrew wasn't necessarily stronger than him. In fact, their weight was similar.
The difference had been the situation.
Andrew had arrived with momentum, more than two hundred pounds moving at full speed and enough time to brace his body before contact.
Wright had been forced to absorb him almost completely stationary, and the hardest part hadn't even been only the initial collision.
It had been the fall.
Andrew stopped smiling for a moment and jogged over to him, "You okay?"
Wright raised a hand.
Andrew grabbed it and pulled him up, helping him back to his feet.
The safety needed a second to fully regain his balance, but eventually nodded before stepping away.
From the booth, Kirk was still watching the replay, [Third touchdown of the night for Pritchett and his sixth rushing touchdown this season. Obviously, his numbers as a runner don't come close to the more than forty touchdowns he has through the air, but plays like this remind you why he's still so dangerous when he decides to run.]
The replay returned to the start of the play. Andrew escaping to the right. The first defender missing.
Breslin falling behind. T.J. losing the angle and then Wright.
[More than forty yards, several defenders beaten, and in the end he shows that he's not exactly the kind of quarterback you want to meet standing completely still when he's coming at you with that kind of speed,] Kirk added.
In the USC section, Tori stared at the giant screen with her eyes slightly widened, "That's ridiculous..." she murmured.
The run had already been spectacular on its own.
But that final collision had added something different.
Andrew had always looked athletic. Fast and agile. But he was strong too.
Watching him go straight through a safety that size made the image feel much stranger.
Trina wasn't marveling at the run. She seemed to have lost almost all the energy she had recovered a few minutes earlier, "No way..." she murmured.
She dropped back into her seat, shoulders slumped.
USC had needed almost four minutes to cut into the deficit. UCLA had answered in roughly half that time.
The gap was exactly the same again.
The emotional blow hadn't only affected Trina. The Trojans players felt it too.
The next return was poor, and Barkley had to start the drive dangerously close to his own end zone.
UCLA's pressure arrived almost immediately. On the first play, one of the Bruins pass rushers managed to bring him down and left them practically pinned against the goal line, with only two chances to get out of there.
They didn't.
On the next play, Barkley dropped back into his own end zone, looking for an option downfield. For a moment, it looked like he might be able to escape to the side.
He couldn't.
The pressure reached him again.
Another sack, and therefore, a safety.
Two points for UCLA.
The Rose Bowl celebrated as if they had just scored another touchdown.
UCLA BRUINS 43 — USC TROJANS 17
The comparison was unavoidable.
Andrew had been in almost the exact same situation minutes earlier and had turned a broken play inside his own end zone into a full-field touchdown.
Barkley had ended up on the ground.
When UCLA regained possession, Andrew didn't waste the opportunity either. The drive ended with another touchdown pass, this time to Amari.
Andrew's fourth touchdown of the game.
Third through the air.
The third quarter came to an end with the scoreboard completely lopsided.
UCLA BRUINS 50 — USC TROJANS 17
Any hope of an epic comeback had died in the Trojans stands. Trina was no longer trying to lift anyone's spirits, and there were no chants.
And there was still another storyline open.
Andrew was only forty-five yards away from becoming the quarterback with the most total yards in a single season in Pac-12 history.
When the fourth quarter began, that number was on practically everyone's mind inside the stadium.
The only question was whether he would return to the field.
With a thirty-three-point lead, Jim Mora had more than enough reason to sit him and protect him.
That was why, when UCLA gathered the starting offense again and number 19 jogged onto the field with the rest, the stands responded with a huge ovation.
Brent immediately understood what was happening, [Pritchett is coming back in! With this kind of lead, there's a good chance this is the last drive Jim Mora gives him tonight. Remember the number: forty-five yards.]
UCLA started from its own 28-yard line.
Seventy-two yards separated the Bruins from the end zone.
Andrew needed at least forty-five of them to come through his own passes or runs.
The drive began. There were short passes, a Franklin run, until Fauria got involved.
Andrew took the snap and found the tight end in the space between two defenders. Fauria secured the ball, gained a few more steps, and was brought down after a significant gain.
The stadium screen changed almost immediately.
PAC-12 RECORD — TOTAL YARDS IN A SEASON
ANDREW PRITCHETT-TUCKER — 4,275
CODY PICKETT — 4,273
Earlier in this very game, Andrew had entered the Pac-12's 4,000-total-yard quarterback club. He had been at the bottom of the list, but now he stood at the top for a single season.
For a fraction of a second, Andrew didn't even realize it.
The Rose Bowl did.
The ovation started in the stands and quickly spread around the entire stadium.
Brent let out an incredulous laugh, [How many records are being broken today, Kirk? I'm going to lose count.]
Kirk smiled, [A lot. It feels like Pritchett climbs one mountain and then moves on to the next at an almost ridiculous pace.]
On the sideline, Mora started clapping.
Norm Chow did the same.
Players, assistants, and members of the staff joined in while Andrew briefly looked up at the stadium screen.
Still, he couldn't give it much attention. They were in the middle of a drive. He returned to the huddle and the offense moved a few more yards until they were about twenty yards from the end zone.
Then Andrew handed the ball to Franklin.
Jonathan found the gap. Broke the first contact. Then the second, and when space opened in front of him, he accelerated straight toward the end zone.
Touchdown.
The stadium roared again. After the extra point, the score stood at:
UCLA BRUINS 57 — USC TROJANS 17
Andrew returned to the sideline through pats on the back, high-fives, and congratulations.
This time Mora was waiting for him, "Now you sit, kid. Well done, you've broken enough records for one day."
Andrew smiled, "Whatever you say, coach," he said, smiling and in a great mood.
It wasn't as if he had stayed in for that final drive just to break the record.
It was the rivalry game. They had to make sure, at least through one final drive, that USC had absolutely no chance of mounting any kind of response. Now, with that score, there was no way USC could do anything.
The game was theirs, and more importantly, so was the division.
With this victory, they would play in the championship game.
The final number stood at:
4,280 total yards on the season.
Seven yards more than Cody Pickett, and he still had three games left. The final regular-season game against Stanford.
The championship game against the winner of the North Division, which could be the Oregon Ducks or Stanford. And then the postseason bowl game, since their record had already guaranteed them a bowl appearance.
USC returned to the field with almost no energy.
The loss was already inevitable.
By that point, the Trojans offense was playing more to run down the clock and slightly improve the final score than to attempt a comeback nobody considered realistic anymore. The problem was that UCLA's defense had no intention of allowing even that.
Many of those players still remembered the 50-0 far too well.
USC had already scored seventeen that afternoon and, as far as they were concerned, that was enough. If they could keep them from scoring even once more, even better.
They didn't manage to intercept Barkley again, but they didn't need to. UCLA closed the passing lanes, won on third down, and forced USC to punt without even allowing them to get close enough to attempt a field goal.
Then Brett Hundley came in.
The redshirt freshman and backup quarterback led the rest of the second-team offense while Andrew and most of the starters remained on the sideline for good.
Mora's plan was obvious: burn clock, run the ball, and use safe passes.
UCLA began moving slowly, keeping the ball inbounds and allowing the seconds to disappear one after another. The drive ended up taking nearly five minutes off the clock.
With around three minutes remaining, Hundley took the snap near the ten-yard line, found a gap, and decided to keep the ball himself.
He ran.
Five yards.
Three.
He crossed into the end zone almost untouched.
Touchdown.
The Rose Bowl celebrated again, although no longer with the madness of the first three quarters.
Until the extra point went in.
The kick was good, and the scoreboard changed.
UCLA BRUINS 64 — USC TROJANS 17
For a few seconds, thousands of people simply celebrated another touchdown.
Then they started to realize it. First a few students. Then entire groups.
A strange kind of murmur began spreading through certain sections of the stadium.
64-17.
That morning, College GameDay had returned to UCLA after years away. A huge portion of the people now filling the Rose Bowl had watched the show, and many of them remembered perfectly well that strange, sarcastic kid who had ended up sitting for more than ten minutes with Corso, Kirk, and the rest of the panel.
Chandler. The internet guy.
The "Prophet," as many students had already started chanting. He had predicted with complete seriousness: UCLA 67 — USC 17.
A 50-point margin because he liked scores with meaning. At the time, it had seemed like an exaggeration.
Almost a joke.
Now they were three points away. The problem was the time. USC regained possession with only a few minutes left.
They tried to move the ball, but Barkley ended up forcing another pass under pressure.
His second interception.
The UCLA defender caught the ball and managed to return it a few yards before being brought down.
The Rose Bowl's reaction was different this time. They weren't just celebrating the turnover. Everyone started looking at the clock.
Hundley adjusted his helmet and came onto the field with the offense. There were about a minute and a half left.
"You've got to be kidding me..." Jay murmured, looking at the scoreboard and then at Chandler, who was already on his feet.
Leonard was too.
Monica, Paige, Sam, Howard, and practically the entire group had stood up with them.
"Just a field goal..." Chandler murmured, unable to believe that his prediction was one field goal away from coming true.
Even if it didn't happen, his status would already be legendary. He had been the only one to predict a UCLA blowout.
But obviously, everything changed if he predicted the exact score.
Leonard quickly looked at the ball's position and then at the scoreboard, "If they can get close to the twenty-two or twenty-five-yard line, even the twenty-eight depending on the kicker, it would already be a completely reasonable attempt."
Alex looked toward the clock, "Yeah, but there's a minute and a half left."
Howard leaned forward and cupped his hands around his mouth, "COME ON, HUNDLEY! COME ON! WE BELIEVE IN YOU!"
Leonard glanced at him, "Never thought I'd hear you shouting that."
"Neither did I," Howard said, turning back toward the field before shouting again, "WE NEED YOU TODAY, BRETT! YOU BECOME A HERO!"
Hundley couldn't even hear him. He settled in behind the center and the drive began.
"Faster, Brett!" Sam shouted.
Practically everyone around him reacted the same way with every gain and every second that disappeared from the clock.
Even Paige wanted UCLA to pick up the pace. It wasn't only because of Chandler's prediction anymore.
There was something too perfect about the possibility of finishing with exactly a fifty-point victory after the 50-0 from the year before. The kind of clean sports revenge that felt as if it had been written in advance.
But the clock kept running.
With less than a minute left, Hundley took the snap on third down and quickly looked toward the outside.
The pass fell incomplete.
The offense stopped at USC's 32-yard line.
"NOOOO!" Howard shouted, bringing both hands to the sides of his head.
Paige looked at him with a mixture of understanding and amusement.
UCLA was destroying USC.
They were winning by forty-seven points.
Even so, Howard looked like he was living through a personal tragedy.
He wasn't the only one. The same collective reaction came from several student sections when the pass hit the turf.
Then Luke leaned so far forward over the railing that Claire nearly grabbed him by the shirt.
"Wait! Look at the sideline!" Luke exclaimed.
Haley immediately turned, "What's happening?"
She wasn't the only one confused. There were too many players, assistants, and coaches standing around to tell what was going on.
Luke pointed and answered, "Mora's talking to Ka'imi Fairbairn! The kicker!"
Haley blinked, "They're going to try the field goal?" she asked in surprise.
She paused and added, "And what the hell kind of name is that?"
Chandler didn't even react to the second question. He grabbed Luke by both shoulders and turned him toward him, "Luke. Look at me," he said in a completely serious tone.
Luke looked at him, "How good is the kicker? Can he make it?"
Suddenly everyone was waiting for the answer.
Alex adjusted her glasses, "He's a true freshman. I don't think his odds are exactly great from there..."
She didn't want to be pessimistic.
She simply didn't know enough about the kicker to fake confidence either.
So, like the others, she looked toward Luke.
Over the past few months, Luke had developed an almost obsessive interest in kickers. Being coached by Andrew over the summer and playing that position at Palisades had eventually led him to study statistics, techniques, and names with a level of attention no one in the family had expected from him.
Monica didn't know much about Fairbairn.
Neither did Haley.
Not even Howard, despite being completely immersed in university life and living through every UCLA game as if it were the last.
Luke, on the other hand, looked as though he had been waiting his entire life for someone to ask him that question, "He's a freshman, just like Andrew, Steve, and several of the others," he began, "He won the starting job this year, but he started off pretty badly."
Fairbairn's season had been completely overshadowed by everything else that happened in UCLA's debut.
It made sense.
Andrew had shown up with five touchdowns and practically absorbed every headline.
That was why few people remembered that Fairbairn's first two extra-point attempts in that game against Rice had been blocked.
Not exactly the ideal start.
"He got a lot better after that," Luke continued, "From short range, he's already pretty reliable. The problem is when he gets farther out."
Chandler looked toward the field, then back at Luke and asked, "Does this count as far?"
Luke grimaced, "Yeah," he answered.
The ball was positioned at USC's 32-yard line.
But a field goal wasn't measured only from the line of scrimmage to the goal line. You had to add the full ten yards of the end zone to the goalposts and approximately another seven yards between the line of scrimmage and the point where the holder would place the ball.
That turned the kick into an attempt of approximately 49 yards.
A field goal from forty to forty-four yards already required good execution in college.
Forty-nine was another story.
Not impossible.
But definitely far from automatic.
"Almost fifty yards..." Leonard murmured.
Chandler slowly let his hands fall from Luke's shoulders, "We're screwed."
The field goal unit was already coming onto the field.
Fairbairn jogged out as the Rose Bowl began to understand what UCLA was trying to do.
Howard watched him with a completely different expression from the one he had worn a few seconds earlier, "I had no idea about any of this, and I know almost everyone on the team..."
"Because nobody respects kickers until they need one," Luke snorted.
"Need is an exaggeration," Alex cut in, "We're winning by more than forty points."
Chandler didn't answer anymore. He simply looked toward the field, took the small cross hanging around his neck and brought it to his lips, "Please, kicker with the weird name... if you make this, I'll kiss your boot," he murmured.
Ross glanced at him from the side. He didn't know whether to laugh or be concerned seeing him hold the cross so seriously.
The game was already won. That wasn't up for debate.
But if that field goal went in...
If the score ended exactly 67-17 after everything Chandler had said, the next few days could turn into madness.
The nickname Prophet Chandler would stop being just a joke.
On the field, Kaʻimi Fairbairn took a deep breath. Slowly let the air out.
This should have been just another kick.
Difficult, yes, and long. But with UCLA leading by forty-seven points, missing it wasn't going to change absolutely anything about the game.
And yet everything felt different. The stadium, the sideline, his own teammates...
Even USC seemed to be preparing to block the attempt with an intensity they hadn't shown in minutes.
Kaʻimi knew why. The problem was that long distances still weren't his specialty.
He had made everything UCLA had asked of him that afternoon, but Andrew and the offense usually made his life pretty easy. Even when a drive didn't end in a touchdown, they almost always managed to move far enough to leave him with manageable attempts.
He didn't have to kick from fifty yards because the offense had stalled around midfield. Not with this team, but now he did.
'I can do it...' he thought, with some doubt.
Kaʻimi had come all the way from Hawaii.
More than two thousand five hundred miles separated Los Angeles from his home.
His parents, his sister, and his younger brother couldn't travel to see him every weekend. But they had come for this one.
Kaʻimi turned his head slightly toward the UCLA sideline.
Everyone was standing: coaches, starters, backups, and assistants.
No one seemed to be treating this like an irrelevant play in a game that had already been decided.
Then his eyes found number 19.
Andrew was standing next to Steve. He was looking at him.
Kaʻimi wasn't sure whether he had actually managed to catch his attention through all those people, but Andrew lifted his chin slightly and nodded toward him.
Once. Nothing more.
Kaʻimi responded the same way. Then he looked back at the uprights, 'No. I have to make it,' he corrected himself in his own mind.
Kaʻimi took his steps backward. The Rose Bowl began to quiet down. Not completely.
Ninety thousand people were never truly silent. But the noise dropped in a strange way until it became a tense murmur.
The signal came.
Snap.
The ball traveled backward. The holder caught it and set it down.
Kaʻimi started forward. One step, then another, and he struck the ball. The sharp sound of the kick could be heard clearly.
Kaʻimi immediately lifted his head. The ball rose. At first, it was traveling almost straight down the middle. Then it started drifting to the right.
Farther and farther to the right. Kaʻimi felt his stomach tighten.
The entire stadium followed its trajectory. For a moment, it looked like it was going wide. Then—
CLANG.
The ball hit the right upright.
A sharp metallic sound cut through the stadium and it bounced.
Inward.
The officials raised both arms.
Good.
The Rose Bowl exploded.
Kaʻimi threw both arms above his head before he could even stop himself. A huge smile appeared on his face.
"YESSSS!" Luke, Ross, Chandler, Howard, and Leonard shouted almost at the same time.
All five of them jumped.
Monica brought both hands to her mouth.
Haley started laughing as she hugged Rachel and jumped with her.
Sam hugged Paige, who accepted the embrace with a smile.
Jay let out a short laugh and shook his head.
Cam simply pointed toward Chandler as if he had just witnessed a miracle, "Mitchell!"
"I know..." Mitch said in disbelief as he watched the scoreboard change.
UCLA BRUINS 67 — USC TROJANS 17
On the field, Kaʻimi barely had time to lower his arms. His teammates were on top of him immediately.
Pats on the helmet, hits on the shoulder pads, high-fives, and shouts.
Kaʻimi kept laughing.
In theory, that field goal meant nothing. But emotionally, it was probably the best field goal he had ever made in his life.
When he returned to the sideline, the congratulations continued.
Shaq Evans was one of the first to reach him. He hugged him tightly and, taking advantage of the size difference, even briefly lifted him off the ground, "THAT'S MY KICKER!"
Kaʻimi burst out laughing as Shaq set him back down on the turf.
Shaq's reaction carried even more weight than it seemed.
He had been there the year before.
He had been a starter and part of that offense that failed to score a single point against USC.
Zero.
He had watched the Trojans celebrate a 50-0 victory while UCLA walked away humiliated.
Now he was looking at a scoreboard showing exactly a fifty-point difference in the other direction.
It hadn't been a close victory, and it wasn't simply the end of a bad streak.
They had returned the blow.
Jim Mora walked past Kaʻimi while quickly organizing the defense's next trip onto the field. He smiled and gave him a hard pat on the shoulder, "Well done."
"Thanks, coach."
Mora kept walking almost immediately. There were still a few seconds left, and USC would have one final possession, however short and irrelevant it might be.
Kaʻimi had barely finished processing all of that when another teammate appeared.
Andrew.
He approached with a smile and quickly hugged him before giving him a hard slap on the back, "What a kick!"
Kaʻimi felt his smile grow even wider, "Thanks."
Andrew gave him another pat on the shoulder and kept moving to make room for the rest of the players coming over to congratulate him.
Kaʻimi watched him for a second.
It was strange.
In moments like this, it was easy to forget that they were practically the same age.
Andrew had already become the leader of that team. When he spoke, everyone listened. When he nodded from the sideline before a nearly fifty-yard kick, he somehow made you feel like he truly believed you were going to make it.
Kaʻimi lowered his gaze for a moment and shook his head.
The game came to an end.
Once there was no longer any possibility of the score changing again, the Rose Bowl exploded one more time.
Most of the USC fans started getting up almost immediately. Some stayed for a few seconds staring at the field, while others simply gathered their things and began making their way out through rows that were becoming emptier and emptier in the visiting section.
In the rest of the stadium, the exact opposite was happening.
No one wanted to leave.
The giant screen still displayed the final score.
UCLA BRUINS 67 — USC TROJANS 17
[A crushing victory for the Bruins!] Brent exclaimed, raising his voice above the roar of the stadium. [Who could have imagined this a year ago? USC won by fifty. Today UCLA returns the exact same blow. Fifty points. Not one more, not one less.]
The cameras showed UCLA players pouring onto the field, hugging, jumping, and pointing toward the stands.
[The Bruins defeat the Trojans again after five years, eleven months, and fourteen days,] Brent continued. [The last time was that 13-9 game right here at the Rose Bowl in December 2006. But this looked nothing like that game.]
[No. That was a close battle. This was complete domination,] Kirk added.
[For years USC controlled this rivalry. UCLA came in trying to prove it could still compete. Today, it was completely the other way around. The Bruins didn't escape with a win. They didn't need a field goal in the final seconds. They didn't survive. They took Los Angeles,] Brent commented with a smile.
Kirk let out a small laugh, [There's no debate tonight. The number three team in the country remains undefeated in its rise, takes down number eight, and after what happened here, I think we can say this is the year of the Bruins.]
[And speaking of things that are hard to explain...] Brent began.
[Oh, no,] Kirk said, already knowing where this was going.
[We have a prophecy that's going to be quite a bit more famous tomorrow than it already was. Isn't that right, Kirk? Your friend the Prophet.]
Kirk slowly shook his head, [I'm going to have to admit it. This morning I thought he was crazy.]
[We all thought he was crazy, until now,] Brent said through laughter.
The broadcast switched cameras and, almost at the same time, the massive Rose Bowl screen did the same.
Chandler appeared on it.
He still hadn't realized it.
He was still standing in the middle of the group, both hands on top of his head, staring at the scoreboard as if he needed a few more seconds to accept that those numbers were real.
Then the chant began.
First from the student section.
"PRO-PHET CHAND-LER!"
Chandler slowly lowered his hands.
"PRO-PHET CHAND-LER!"
This time it was much louder than before the game.
Much louder.
It wasn't just a few students anymore who had watched College GameDay and found it funny that the guy had predicted an absurd blowout.
Now there were thousands of people pointing toward the giant screen, laughing, applauding, and repeating his name because that impossible prediction had just come true perfectly.
"PRO-PHET CHAND-LER! PRO-PHET CHAND-LER!"
Chandler finally looked up.
He saw his own face filling the stadium screen and smiled.
He brought one hand to the small cross hanging from his neck, held it between his fingers, and slowly kissed it, almost instinctively making sure it remained visible to the camera.
Then he crossed himself.
The fingers of his right hand touched his forehead first. They moved straight down to the center of his chest. Then to his left shoulder, and finally to his right.
An invisible cross drawn over his own body.
The entire gesture appeared magnified on the massive Rose Bowl screen.
The shouting grew louder.
Chandler then brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them before raising both arms parallel toward the sky.
He tilted his head back.
For several seconds, he remained like that, looking upward as if searching for some invisible point in the vast Pasadena sky.
The Rose Bowl went wild. There was more applause, laughter, shouting, and the chant became even louder.
Ross was doubled over laughing beside him.
Leonard kept looking back and forth between Chandler and the scoreboard as if he were still trying to find some rational explanation.
Howard and Luke, along with thousands of other people, were shouting the nickname Prophet Chandler.
Monica covered part of her face with one hand, already amused.
Haley and Rachel simply laughed.
Jay watched everything in silence. He remembered the conversation he had had with Chandler before the game.
He had told him that if UCLA won by more than ten points, he could keep using his biblical tweets about Andrew and continue making predictions.
At the time, it had seemed like a fairly simple way to put a limit on it.
Now, looking at the 67-17 behind Chandler, that conversation seemed completely stupid.
They hadn't won by ten, and the guy had predicted the exact score.
Jay slowly exhaled through his nose and shook his head.
He had lost that argument in a pretty definitive way.
In one of the suites, Selena Gomez was still watching the giant screen as Chandler finished crossing himself and raised both arms toward the sky.
"I can't believe what I'm watching," Selena commented.
Taylor, sitting beside her, wasn't even trying to hold it in anymore. She was completely doubled over laughing.
Scott Swift watched the same scene with a much less enthusiastic expression. He slowly shook his head, "You don't joke about religion."
Austin turned toward him, still smiling, "Come on, Dad. It's funny."
Scott looked at him.
Austin continued, "The guy earned the nickname. He said 67-17 in front of the entire country when nobody was even expecting a blowout, and it ended exactly 67-17."
"That doesn't make you a prophet, he just got lucky..." Scott murmured.
"That's a kind of luck I've never seen in my life... I think his prediction was pretty prophetic," Taylor said with a smile.
In the end, it hadn't depended on Andrew and the starters chasing that score. It had come down to a long field goal that hit the upright and went in.
Scott decided not to respond.
In another suite, Justin was watching the scene with several friends.
One of them pointed toward the screen, "The Prophet Chandler did it again! Oregon, and now USC."
"This is way better than Oregon," another replied.
Justin listened with a smile as he pulled out his phone.
"We have to meet him," one of his friends said, "I need a picture with that guy after today."
Another leaned toward Justin, "Is there going to be a party tonight?"
Justin looked up from his phone, "After this, definitely," he replied.
"Is the Prophet going?"
"He has to. He seems to be friends with Andrew if he got the tickets through him," Justin replied as he started typing on his phone.
"After a win like this, Andrew can't just disappear and go to sleep, and the Prophet absolutely has to be there," he added with a smile.
The rivalry game had come to an end with a result no one had seen coming, except one person.
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