Atticus Carver was practicing on a wet and windy New Orleans football field on December the 11th, 2025, unaware of the ramifications that would change his life forever.

He was one of two exceptional sophomores (his best friend, Tytus Cormier, being the other) on the Edna Karr Cougars varsity team, and the Cougars were going to the D1 finals in Louisiana against the Holy Cross Tigers in two days.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

That was his mantra, easy breathing as he stayed still, lined up at the split end position (commonly known as wide receiver, the X receiver, to be specific). He could line up anywhere, really, even linebacker or safety, but the offensive skill position fit him best; as a sixteen-year-old, he was already 6’3”, 205 lbs. He was big for a receiver, and likely to grow two more inches and gain a good thirty pounds without losing his speed.

Atticus remembered his first practice trying out for the team. The top senior corner, Broussard, trash talked him, said he was just “some shit white trash who missed the baseball field”. The other top senior corner, Theriot, said he was “just a honky riding off his friend’s coattails”.

Both obviously put much more positive thoughts on Tytus, his lifelong Black friend who was the same height and a good fifty pounds heavier, playing defensive end, defensive tackle, and occasionally tight end for the team, but preferring defense period.

It felt pretty damned good to roast both Broussard and Theriot on multiple routes and make the team. To their credit, they actually were cool cats after the fact, letting him pick their brains about football life and helping him deal with the attention that came with being a talented young kid like they had been. Both of the corners had shared advice with him and Tytus about the recruiting process and how they were going to get a whole fuck of a lot of attention. In return, he backed them (and Tytus, of course) up when he was playing safety on defense, made sure not to hold their trash talk against them, and be humble with their light hazing.

Currently, he was matched up against Broussard, who had committed to the Temple Owls. Theriot - currently matched up at rover on the same side as Broussard to shadow Atticus; the offense was doing a trips left bunch formation (three receivers stacked one-to-three yards apart from each other on the left side, and the running back and another bigger receiver/tight end hybrid split out wide on the other) - was going to be a Toledo Rocket. Both defensive backs said to expect a lot of attention, that Atticus was going to get way more offers from way bigger schools.

Atticus was aware of the formation on the defense: showing Cover-Five zone coverage before leaking out into a Cover-2, man coverage with a two high safety shell. He was on the outermost part in the bunch formation. His route was a sail - a more complex route angled towards the sidelines - as he stood shock still, waiting for the ball to be snapped.

He asked Coach Hamilton to really challenge him with football knowledge and technique, and the coach, being a calm, respected leader without ever having to raise his voice too much, responded in kind in the best way: to make it absolutely hard on the sophomore; he designed the absolute most difficult coverage for each of his routes when everyone and their grandmother knew it was going to him.

“Red-80!” the Black quarterback, Hutchinson, shouted in his heavy New Orleans brogue; the cadence for the snap.

The receiver snapped off the line as soon as he saw the ball snapped, his feet selling the go route to Broussard, his head and shoulders making the corner’s hips flip to keep up with him; he wasn’t sure of his speed, but Broussard’s time was an easy 4.38, and Atticus was eating up the grass ahead of him, forcing the corner to run with him. Theriot immediately went to shade him, the smart defensive back knowing the play and where it was going.

Atticus used his head and shoulders to try to fake Broussard more, making the corner respect a potential post…before he broke toward the sidelines with a rounded corner cut, which - whether it was instinct or experience - Broussard trailed almost instantly with his hand at the wide receiver’s hip to potentially undercut a short pass. At the same time, Atticus was peripherally aware of Theriot, a bigger and stronger defensive back, closing in on him to knock him into the sidelines and disrupt the pass; in Louisiana high school rules, both feet were required to come down in bounds for a catch to be completed, so the sideline was a defensive back’s best friend.

He immediately turned his head to face Hutchinson’s pass coming towards him…and it was obviously pressured and overthrown, thanks to Tytus. Atticus breathed, trusting his footwork (thank you, Sis, for training him on footwork!), timing a leap at the same time as Broussard subtly (and legally) putting a hand on his left arm while timing a leap to knock the ball away, with Theriot aiming to jar him from the pass while knocking him out of bounds.

Atticus snagged the errant ball - just above Broussard’s reach - with just his right hand as easily as breathing, gathering it into the crook of his arm at the same time Theriot hit him, dragging both toes on the sideline as he kept possession of the ball.

He heard the entire sideline erupt into cacophony (with shouts of “HOLY SHIT!” and other variations being the most common) and immediately getting mobbed by the team and pulled to his feet, while Broussard and Theriot could only shake their heads and give him a pat on his ass as a response.

“Dude, you do this shit in the next game, we gonna run away with this shit!” Tytus shouted with a helmet tap that Atticus reciprocated.

“Damn straight!” Atticus shouted back.

“Well, that was certainly something you don’t see every day,” a deep voice drawled.

Coach Wallace Hamilton had come into the picture, the massive 6’9” former Louisiana State (and brief Pittsburgh Steeler practice squad member in 2001) offensive lineman shaking his head, his head perspiring with sweat that went into his beard, as the older Black man broke down what happened on the play. That was the difference between the coach of their school and other coaches; he taught and educated his players on everything, knew their first names and treated them like adults, and it was why he was universally respected more than all of the coaches anyone had.

“Darnell, Braylon, your coverage and use of the sideline was perfect. Just can’t stop the perfect pass, and if it happens again, move on to the next play, short memory. Tytus, outstanding pressure on Damarcus; that’s an NFL level first step, and you nearly got home. Need to work on your bullrush and anchor; Holy Cross’s O-line will bully you otherwise. Jack, you noticed Thad and LaMichael struggling on the interior. You’re the center, you call protection slides. Holy Cross has a great interior D, so you need to communicate as a unit. Damarcus, this is practice, and you’re absolutely talented, but I need you to never throw that ball again; I’d rather a sack than a pick. And Atticus? Need to work on your fakes a little more - they’re good, but corners as good as Darnell and Braylon can read them - but otherwise, that was just an incredible play. I hope you’re gonna do it in the tournament?”

“Yes, Coach!” Atticus answered back.

“Then I’m expecting it, and I’ll end the practice on a good note. Stay on your studies, stay out of trouble, and keep grinding. Bring it here, bring it here!”

The team immediately brought in their hands to Coach Hamilton in the center of the huddle, and Atticus couldn’t help but notice the cheerleaders start to practice in their white shirts and gold skirts.

And Josi will be with them, he thought excitedly, thinking of his girlfriend, the captain of the cheerleading squad, and one of two very awesome friends around his age who didn’t play football.

“Listen, we’re two days away from what may be one of the biggest days of your lives. You’ve worked your asses off in practice. I want you to bring the way you practice into the way you play; you play like you practice and play like it’s the biggest game of your young lives, we’ll beat anyone. Holy Cross is a talented team, but we are as well, and if you play like this in the game, we will beat them, and we will secure the championship that you’ve worked for!

“Now, family on three! One, two, three!”

“FAMILY!” the team roared in response to the coach before the huddle broke and the players broke off, mostly towards the men’s locker room.

Atticus and Tytus instead went towards the cheerleaders and their other lifelong friend who was recording the football practice, a nerdy goth boy with shoulder length dyed-black hair and huge taped glasses that mostly hid his hazel eyes. They took off their helmets to reveal two different hairstyles for themselves: a very short strawberry-blond trim for Atticus and labyrinth locks with bleached blond tips for Tytus.

Damian Doucet barely reacted to them as he packed the video equipment for the next practice, for the coaches to look over. “Saw the catch,” he said nonchalantly.

“Bet your latest Baldur’s Gate 3 campaign has cooler things than that, Day,” Atticus said modestly, his blue eyes warm.

“Maybe?”

“C’mon, Day, ya gotta admit it was maybe a little impressive,” Tytus said sarcastically.

Damian merely smirked. “Yeah, it was…even if I don’t understand any of it. Grateful y’all got me this position, but I just record for the coaches; I don’t really watch.”

Most jocks like the two would’ve abandoned someone like Damian by middle school, Damian, who was incredibly intelligent, but definitely on the very-high functioning part of the autism spectrum somewhere, with a permanent limp on his left foot from what he said was from a fall, and a loner bullied by everyone, even the other nerds and goths. The thought had never struck their minds and would’ve disgusted them if it had; they had known him since elementary school in New Orleans…as well as their lone female friend who was now the cheerleading captain.

“Listen, ladies!” a soprano voice called out. Josiane Carter’s voice. Atticus always thought it had to be fate that their surnames were so similar. “Let’s hear some team spirit!”

Atticus didn’t really listen to or truly watch the cheerleading practice. He understood that it was one of the more dangerous sports out there, but the whole logistics and sport just didn’t interest him at all. But he was watching Josiane with her long curly black hair, her coffee skin, her kind green eyes as she performed, wanting to see every bit of her, as he felt the pull of his attraction move him…

“Atticus!” Damian had spoken to him, breaking the spell. “You know that a question deserves an answer.”

“Wait, what did you ask?” the wide receiver muttered, still distracted.

“Eh, ignore him, Day; he’s watching his girlfriend.”

“Whatever, Ty. What. Ever.”

Atticus continued to watch absentmindedly until the cheerleading practice was over, when Josiane saw him and held up a single hand, telling him to quietly “wait”.

“Come on, Ats, we gotta go to the locker room so you can drop us off at home with your car,” Tytus said with a sigh.

“Right, right,” he muttered, still watching Josiane as the big defensive lineman dragged him away towards the men’s locker room.

He had no idea of what would happen in two days to warp his whole life around.