Atticus woke up early from Tabby’s prodding. 4:00 AM on the 13th of December. The charter bus would leave at 9:00; the game itself would be a 2:00 PM kickoff. He showered and did his business in the restroom, ate a meal of eggs on toast and oatmeal with fruit, got his backpack and lunchbox ready (just in case, of course), and this time, their dad was driving his car to the spot, along with Atticus, Tabby and their mom, while picking up Damian (Tytus’s mom and Josiane’s parents were driving each of them and their families, respectively) to go with them.

The group of four got in the 2022 Hyundai Palisade, picked up Damian (his parents opted not to go to the game for whatever reason. Apparently, they just weren’t sports fans.) from his house, as he packed his things in the car to get ready to go.

Atticus and Damian were busy listening to music from their iPhones, while Tabby was talking to her parents in an excited tone. Soon enough, they had reached Edna Karr, where a large number of people were ready to go to the charter buses. Atticus quickly found Josiane amongst her large family: her parents, Mr. Carter and Mrs. Carter, and their four daughters other than his girlfriend (twenty-year-old Tiphanie, thirteen-year-old Jeannine, and ten-year-old twins Leonne and Lysiane) with her mother and even her father smiling at him (they had known that Josiane was amongst his best friends in childhood, so they were remarkably well-adjusted to her being his girlfriend) with friendly expressions.

“Hello, Atticus,” Mrs. Carter said with a smile, her dark coffee-colored skin gleaming in the sunlight peaking from the clouds. “Ready for the big game? I know Josi is.”

“You bet, Mrs. Carter, ma’am!” he said in excitement.

“Good, good,” Mr. Carter said with a smile, his pale face creased in a smile. “Bring home a championship, Atticus, okay?”

“Of course, Mr. Carter, sir!” Atticus said, as the younger girls in the family giggled at his eagerness; even Tiphanie, who was the most reluctant of the girls to accept his relationship with her younger sister at first, was smiling softly.

“Hello, Nico, Genevieve,” a booming feminine voice said.

Mrs. Cormier had come, along with Tytus and all of his older brothers: twenty-two-year-old twins Chazwick and Chazwell, twenty-one-year-old Jamarion, and twenty-year-old Zai’air, all of whom had Division 2 football scholarships at Morehouse (Chazwick and Chazwell as defensive ends, Jamarion and Zai’air as defensive tackles). Their school had missed their bowl game, so it was obvious that they were going to go see their younger brother play.

“Hello, Rhonda,” Genevieve said warmly, hugging the heavyset Black woman.

“Hello, Mrs. Rho!” Atticus and Josi exclaimed.

“Hello, to all of you,” Mrs. Cormier said. “Ready for the game, Atty?”

“Absolutely!”

“Hey, bring home a winner, okay, brotha?” Jamarion, his dreadlocks even longer than Tytus’s, said to Atticus and Tytus.

“Y’all two are gonna go far,” Jai’air said warmly, patting Tytus’s right shoulder, his large frizzy afro soaked in the rain.

“Y’all got this,” Chazwick and Chazwell, identical in every way except for their hairstyles (long cornrows for Chazwick and short frosted twists for Chazwell), chorused.

“Absolutely, bros,” Tytus replied.

“Of course!” Atticus responded.

“Good,” Mrs. Rho said. “Now, you’ll need to join your team; I think they lookin’ for y’all.”

“Yes, Mrs. Rho!” Atticus gave Josiane one last kiss before he and Tytus searched for the team.

Coach Hamilton was directing the team to their buses, his 6’9” frame taller than any man. His wife, Wisteria, was tiny next to him: a mere 5’2”, but no less of a fierce competitor, having been a gymnast long ago and still teaching gymnastics to many young girls in Louisiana.

The coach waved over Atticus, Tytus, and Damian.

“Atticus, Tytus, you’re on the second charter bus,” he said. “Damian, you’ll be with the coaches with me and my wife. Understood?”

“Yes, sir…” Damian said, his voice shy.

“Of course, Coach,” Atticus answered at the same time Tytus said, “Yes, Coach.”

“Good. Big day, lots of excitement. Keep yourselves in the moment and play like you know you can. Damian, you’ll be one of the video cameramen for our team on the field, and you’ll be directed where to go. Make sure to get the best shots-”

Coach Hamilton was still talking to Damian as the buses began to load the people at the school, Atticus and Tytus quickly getting in their designated charter bus, listening to their music as the bus went to the Superdome.

Atticus had the window with Tytus sitting next to him. The young receiver drummed his fingers gently on the glass as the scenery changed to the New Orleans landscape, a huge urban area with multiple high-rise hotels, office buildings, and parking garages as well as numerous bars and restaurants. It was beautiful, bustling, and full of life.

And then there was the Superdome, a place he had only been once before: a football game in 2016 when he was a seven-year-old kid, in awe of Drew Brees, Brandin Cooks, Michael Thomas, Cameron Jordan, and many other players, all of them larger than life to him. Brees had signed a football for him there, and it was still one of the best memories he had ever had.

Hopefully, this will be another positive memory, he thought as the buses stopped in front of the Superdome.

Atticus felt a charge go through him as he entered through one of the visitor’s locker rooms of the Superdome.

Maybe it won’t be the last time I go through that locker room or even go into the home locker room. If I make the NFL, I’ll be a Saint one of these days; I’ll make sure to go there whenever my contract with whichever team drafts me runs out. Maybe I’ll go there to win a Super Bowl, make a good career, inspire another kid like me, pay everything back.

His thoughts of grandeur were interrupted by Tytus who silently signaled him to get his headphones unplugged, to read the room.

Atticus unplugged his headphones, loud rap music echoing through the locker room, pumping up the team. Broussard and Theriot greeted them, already in their uniforms, getting taped up (to prevent their joints from getting any injuries, amongst other reasons).

“Keep doin’ what you’re doin’, you two,” Broussard said.

“Just focus on the grind,” Theriot advised.

“Will do,” Atticus said.

“Right,” Tytus echoed.

“Good. I wanna win this game bad; didn’t win my junior year,” Broussard said.

“Focus on your assignments, and we’ll focus on ours,” Theriot continued. “They’ll be matchin’ up #21 on you every play they can, Carver, I fuckin’ guarantee it.”

Atticus nodded; #21 on Holy Cross was Rogers, the elite cornerback/wide receiver. Of course, he figured, the other side would likely talk about #88: him.

That’s all football really is: a chess match, countering one piece with another, hoping to neutralize that piece, take it off the board.

“Ats?” Tytus had spoken. “Time to get in our uniforms.”

And so they did, while also getting taped, listening to the music end, waiting for the game to start. To his surprise, Atticus wasn’t nervous. It was just another game, just like playing a road game

Time was passing quickly and slowly simultaneously; they went on the field, stretching, doing warmups and drills, seeing Holy Cross’s team do the same, going back into the locker room for the start of the game, and listening to the final pep talk by Coach Hamilton.

Then the start of the game began, the crowd roaring at the introductions. Atticus stood on the sidelines, his hands draped on his uniform collar as the national anthem came from a local choir, watching Broussard, Theriot, Hutchinson the junior quarterback, Hendrickson the senior tight end, and Salmon the senior kicker - all of the captains of Edna Karr - go on the field to do the coin toss. Holy Cross won the toss and elected to receive. Edna Karr would defend left.

The adrenaline was pulsing through his veins, the roar of the crowd must’ve been what a drug high was like, and he wanted more.

And then the kickoff began, and unknown to Atticus, the clock of destiny was ticking down the last seconds of his normal life.