A hot Californian sun beat down on Sierra Canyon's large, windowless training facility. One half of the building was mostly empty, housing only a football field, goalposts and all, with little space beyond the sidelines and end-zones.
Inside, it was cool. The gentle hum of the of the powerful AC units above was indistinguishable even in silence. The only hum the few occupants heard was the mechanical whirring of the ball launcher underneath the melodic tunes of the R&B music emanating from a phone connected to a portable speaker on the edge of the field.
A heavy KA-CHUNK sounded as a football was fed between the spinning twin tyres of the launcher, then promptly shot across the field in a low arc. Lennox Freeman whirled around and caught the ball out in front of his chest.
He tossed it back to Spike Weedon, the spikey-haired RB who stood behind the launcher with a rack of footballs at his side. Mason Eubanks, Kieran Valentine, and Barry Bundy sat near the sidelines, still stretching. They were the only people in the facility so early.
As they stretched, they chatted, some looking at their phones. None of the talk was about their game the day before, all about what they had got up to afterwards. It was a much more interesting topic, seeing as the game had been another blow-out, a result they all expected.
Throughout, the launcher's whir continued, occasionally spitting out a ball. Lennox caught them all, no matter how the ball's flight altered from the previous.
The Trailblazers had had a comfortable few weeks. Their play had intensified—now the back-ups only came in for the last quarter—and as such, their margins of victory had widened. 62–7 was the most recent result.
They assumed the championship game would go down a similar route. It'd most likely be the first challenge they faced all year, but one they'd still overcome handily, just like every State championship game they'd participated in.
'Hey Lennox! Come check this out,' Barry said. He smirked at Kieran and Mason. Mason shook his head disapprovingly, but said nothing. Kieran returned the slight smirk, though it looked strained, as small as it was.
'What is it?' Lennox asked; he could make the most pedantic response sound aggressive with the snarl he added to his voice.
'Just come here. It's important. You're gonna want to see this,' Barry said, still grinning.
'Yeah, hurry,' Kieran said, his reluctance fading.
Lennox caught another pass, but didn't throw it back. He tucked the ball under his arm as he approached Barry and leaned over his shoulder. He didn't notice Mason's frown.
Barry held up his phone. The screen was blurry, but Lennox saw a railroad crossing, then a car coming to a stop in the middle of it. He noticed the Live Leak logo in the corner of the screen and slapped the phone from Barry's massive hand.
'The fuck are you showing me?!' Lennox snapped.
'What the shit?! Don't hit my phone, freak!' Barry shouted.
He kicked at Lennox's shin. Lennox pivoted aside, his leg rearing back in the same motion.
'Enough!' Mason's voice froze Lennox on the spot.
Barry scrambled after his phone and checked it for damage as he stood.
Lennox lowered his foot back down and turned to Mason. Mason tossed his phone at Lennox, who caught it in one hand. 'That's ACTUALLY important,' Mason said. 'A sneak peek at who you're facing.'
Lennox looked at the phone. This time the screen was paused on a video showing a football game, a wide, high-angled shot from the side. He tilted his head back, relaxing as he looked down his nose at the screen. He tapped play.
The footage begun, and soon the camera zoomed in on the nearest Receiver and CB pairing. The CB caught Lennox's eye. A red jersey with "21" in the middle of both sides. The defender within was of slight build, with toned, lengthy arms that almost touched the ground as he hunched over in his stance. Cold, black eyes stared at the Receiver opposite him, an almost lifeless gaze.
Lennox recognised him. Coach Heenan had shown him a clip of the same defender immediately after the Trailblazers' Regional championship victory—Tyrese Samuels of the Dominguez Dons.
He didn't recognise the Receiver, nor the jersey he wore.
The ball was snapped, and both players moved almost in unison, like Ty was mirroring the Receiver, without even looking at him—he was staring at the QB.
The play ended in an interception. Lennox paused the video the moment the ball reached Ty's hands. This one wasn't like the other clip. It was ordinary. The ball didn't diverge from the path it should've taken; Lennox saw it was an interception the moment it left the Barry's hands.
'Why are you showing me this?' he asked Mason.
'That's who you'll be facing next week,' Mason answered. 'Watch more, study it, and learn how to beat him.'
Lennox only watched two more plays before he tossed the phone back. Mason was surprised, but still caught it, cradling the phone in his hands.
'I've seen enough,' Lennox said.
Mason tilted his head. 'This is serious, freshman. Don't think just because we've won for so many years means we'll carry kids like you who take it easy.'
'I am being serious.'
Lennox stepped up to Mason. There was still that arrogant glint in his eye, his face too smug and relaxed for Mason's liking, but underlying it all was a hint of seriousness, more than he'd seen from Lennox before.
'I've got him downloaded; I can beat him,' Lennox said.
Mason nodded.
Barry laughed. 'You're worrying too much, Mason. It'll be a cakewalk like every year.'
'It will be if we play to our best and don't sit out,' Kieran agreed. 'It was most likely a fluke that let these Dons beat Warren. Their luck can only get them so far, and it won't get them past us.'
'As long as we all play seriously, yes, we'll win,' Mason said, glad everyone was in agreement and promising to give it their all.
Lennox looked aside. Luck. Maybe that was it. The first play he'd seen, that play against the Bears, it was just luck. Luck could be a strange thing. That must've been all he saw, a lucky read, a lucky break. Everything else he'd seen of Ty was ordinary at best. How disappointing.
'They couldn't have beat the Bears with luck alone,' Spike said.
He stood off from the group, wearing the most doubt and annoyance. He was still pissed he hadn't got his match-up against the king of Running Backs.
'Denzel Kingston would've beat their luck if that's all they had.'
'The Dons' Linebacker, yes?' Mason said. 'That's who stopped Denzel. Something will have to be done about him. Coach will have a plan, don't worry.'
Speaking of, Coach Heenan and the rest of the team soon arrived, one after the other. They filed into the facility, and training would start soon.
Lennox had one last thing to test before it began. 'Hey, you,' he called, singling out one of the senior Cornerbacks, 'come here for a minute.'
The CB dropped his bag, frowning as he approached. He had a couple of inches on Lennox, and about twenty pounds to boot, not to mention years more experience. Still, the upstart freshman had leap-frogged him into being the number one CB on the team, even whilst dedicating half of his time to WR.
'Kieran, get your ass up and throw me a ball. And you'—Lennox's bony fingered jabbed the CB's chest—'you guard me close, and press me as best you can.'
The CB didn't need to be told twice. This kid needed to be humbled, especially before he cost them the big game.
Barry waved Lennox off, but the back-up QB took his place. The other players and even the coaches watched on, letting the little duel play out as the players stretched.
Lennox and the CB stood opposite one another, close enough their heads almost touched as they got into their stances.
'Fuck him up, Jarren!' Barry shouted.
Lennox sneered at Jarren's smirk. The senior was more than happy to oblige.
A cry of "hut!" set them both in motion. Jarren's hands shot out, but Lennox snatched one, shoving it aside. In the same motion, he burst forward, skirting around Jarren.
Jarren turned, giving chase. He ran right on Lennox's heels. Lennox ran like a gazelle, every stride smooth and graceful. His feral expression always appeared out of place on such a beautiful runner. Even while swatting aside Jarren's arm, as Jarren tried to keep a hand on his hip, he still looked graceful.
With Jarren's hand held away from his hip, Lennox cut inside. It was as sharp as could be. One stride he was racing forward, the next he'd shifted his angle a whole ninety degrees in a "blink and you'd miss it" moment.
Jarren did miss it. He scrambled forward another two steps, then skidded to a stop, almost toppling over as he leaned back. He steadied himself with a hand on the turf, looking to the sideline.
The crowd of onlookers erupted with whoops and hollers, screaming and jumping up and down, some clinging to others, wide grins plastered on their faces.
Lennox caught the pass one-handed, already laughing and pointing at the lost defender. 'Give that guy a MAP! WHERE are you going?'
Jarren walked it off, his face an expressionless mask. He'd been around long enough, training against many good Receivers, to know that such a result was simply bound to happen if you played the hardest position in the sport.
Lennox was still flying high off the feeling. Breaking ankles like that, leaving your opponent lost and confused after pulling off a perfect route, it was the best part of playing the game. And no one was better at it than him.
"Forget the NCAA, that move's ready for the NFL."
But what came up had to come down. Slowly, his grin dropped away, a scowl taking its place. He knew he was the best, so why wasn't he the highest ranked Receiver in the country? He wasn't even highest among freshman!
"It's bullshit. I'm the best there is. I should be the number one prospect for all colleges in 2026."
Despite his brilliant performance serving as a final warm-up, he started the day's practice session in the foulest of moods, and when it was over, little had changed; he was drenched in sweat. That was the only difference.
He was still thinking about his ranking. "How can't I be number one?" He'd seen other rankings, team-rankings. Sierra Canyon was number one in the state, and it wasn't even close. They had the number one offence—obviously, thanks to him—and the number two defence. He knew he was the best CB they had, but the others on the team weren't slouches, and none of them could contain him.
Dominguez had the number one ranked defence in the state. "That's bullshit too. I'm even a better defender." It was a good thing he had a chance to prove it and right those wrongs that weekend.
As he waited for his ride, he stood on the curb, scrolling through his phone. Everything was abuzz with news of State championship matches around the nation. The weekend would be massive. Everyone wanted to know who would be the champions making it into the National tournament.
One team stood out above all as a shoo-in for their state. And if you believed the internet, it was all thanks to one player.
Lennox glared at his phone like he was trying to melt it. On his timeline was a video of said player, a mixtape highlighting all his best plays from his freshman season, titled: Kentavious "Skywalker" Rice Jr. is a Legit Jedi.
Still glaring at the vile thumbnail displaying the back of Rice's #1 white and gold jersey, Lennox tapped play. The image moved, zooming in on the back of the jersey until all you could see was Rice Jr. and that big fat "1".
The footage transitioned, another image flickering in place before switching scenes. Skywalker soared through the air, head and shoulders above a helpless defender, catching a pass high over his own head.
The defender crashed to Earth, whilst Skywalker floated down. Like a ballerina, he tapped both feet to the ground, landing just within bounds in the corner of the end-zone.
Lennox paused the video, bile rising in the back of his throat. His eyes scanned the suggested videos that popped up. They were all mixtapes of Skywalker, all praising him and hailing him as the next big thing.
Some titles called him the next Megatron, the next Justin Jefferson, the next Jamarr Chase. Others proclaimed him as the best high-schooler on the planet.
Lennox scrolled through the videos. There were dozens for Skywalker, interspersed rarely with one for another Receiver or older highlight reels. Some for Quarterbacks, or heavy-hitting Linebackers. The odd mash-up of ankle-breakers and jukes from the best Running Backs … but nothing for Lennox.
He stopped, thumb hovering over something worse than the umpteenth Skywalker highlight package. It was a mixtape for Ty—Tyrese Samuels is a Black Hole. The thumbnail had him posing before a jeering crowd, with more text labelling him as "The Interception King".
Lennox yelled, throwing his phone to the pavement.
A silver SUV pulled to a stop in front of him, tyres screeching. The window rolled down, revealing a scowling woman.
'Boy, you better not have broken that shit,' she snapped, brown eyes sparkling with fury. 'You paying for it if ya did.'
Lennox met his mom's glare. Louise Freeman was a middle-aged woman, with a motherly face that was creased by angry wrinkles, her forehead like waves on a map. He knew even when she stopped frowning at him, those deep creases on her forehead wouldn't go away.
He retrieved his phone, dusting it off as he checked if it was cracked. The phone lived to see another day.
'It ain't broken,' he mumbled.
'That don't mean you can keep tossing that shit. Get in the car.'
He pulled open the passenger door, tossing his bag through to the backseat. He got in and slammed the door behind him, earning another warning—and a slap on the shoulder—from his mom.
Lennox sat in silence, still thinking about all those videos. He'd prove them all wrong. He was the best. He'd win State, go onto Nationals, beat Skywalker on both sides of the ball, and prove to EVERYONE he was the best in the nation.
To do that, he had to eliminate everyone standing in the way of his goal. First up, Tyrese Samuels and the Dons.