Nashville, Tennessee.
Music Row was one of the best-known neighborhoods in the city.
For decades, it had become the heart of Nashville's music industry: record labels, recording studios, music publishing companies, radio stations, and management offices lined its streets, mixing with restaurants, small businesses, and much quieter residential areas.
For anyone who wanted to make their way into country music, that place was practically sacred ground.
On one of those residential streets stood the duplex that belonged to Taylor Swift.
Nashville had been her home since she was a teenager.
Her family had moved to Tennessee specifically because of her. Back then, Taylor wasn't a global star or an artist capable of selling millions of albums in her first week. She was simply a girl obsessed with writing songs who wanted to break into the country music industry.
And for someone like that, Nashville was the place to be.
That was where the major record labels specializing in the genre were.
A great many things had changed since then.
Taylor no longer needed to walk around Music Row hoping someone would be willing to listen to one of her songs.
Now, it could be difficult to walk through practically any city in the United States without someone recognizing her face.
Especially after Red.
The album had come out just twelve days earlier and, even with the enormous expectations surrounding its release, the initial numbers had ended up exceeding them.
Red no longer seemed like simply another success in her career.
It was something much bigger.
One of those occasions when even Taylor, who had spent years watching each new album outperform the previous one, had needed to look at the numbers a couple of times to make sure they were real.
Two nights earlier, on Thursday, November 1, she had attended the CMA Awards.
Probably the most important awards ceremony in the American country music industry.
That time, she had gone home empty-handed.
Taylor had been nominated in several of the major categories, but she had lost every one of them.
Did she like losing?
Of course not.
She was still competitive, but she hadn't turned it into a tragedy either.
Not with the way her career was going at the moment.
She had already won at the CMAs before, including some of the biggest awards of the night in 2009 and 2011. Besides, the ceremony had been fun, she had been able to catch up with friends and acquaintances from the industry, and her performance had gone exactly the way she wanted.
Frankly, with everything happening around Red, it was fairly difficult to go home thinking things were going badly.
That week, on top of that, had been practically endless: interviews, meetings, events, promotions...
So when they finally returned to the duplex on Saturday afternoon, Taylor felt as if she had spent entire days moving from one place to another without ever really stopping.
Her mother, Andrea, walked in behind her.
Her younger brother, Austin, was the last one inside. Although he seemed to have considerably more energy than the other two. He looked like he was in a hurry.
"Finally," Taylor murmured as she set her purse down on one of the chairs in the living room.
She hadn't even finished taking off her coat when she heard the television come on.
Taylor looked up.
Austin already had the remote in his hand.
She didn't need to ask what he was looking for. She had heard him talk about the game several times throughout the day.
ABC appeared on the screen: College Football.
Oregon Ducks vs. UCLA Bruins.
Taylor watched the television with some curiosity as Austin took a couple of steps toward the couch.
Then he froze, "No way... It's true."
Taylor raised an eyebrow slightly.
Austin dropped onto the couch.
The score occupied one corner of the screen.
Taylor saw it too, and for a second she thought she might have read it wrong.
No.
Oregon was destroying UCLA.
The Ducks had run all over them throughout the entire first half, and the score made that perfectly clear.
On-screen, the cameras showed the players returning from the tunnels to begin the third quarter. Autzen Stadium was still roaring around them, a sea of green and yellow that seemed completely convinced it was watching the number six team in the country get humiliated on national television.
Taylor couldn't help stepping closer to the television, "Wow..."
Austin didn't even look at her, "The Twitter comments were right..." he murmured to himself.
That made Taylor remember something. She slipped a hand into the pocket of her pants and pulled out her phone.
She hadn't checked it much over the last few hours. For once, she had actually managed to ignore it for quite a while.
She opened Twitter.
As expected, a good portion of the first things that appeared had to do with her.
The album numbers.
Photos from the CMAs.
Comments about her performance on Thursday.
Fans discussing songs, lyrics, and theories about who each one was about.
The usual.
But as soon as she scrolled a little further down, things about the Oregon-UCLA game started appearing, along with Andrew Pritchett-Tucker.
Taylor frowned slightly.
The game was everywhere.
It wasn't too strange. It was one of the biggest college matchups of the weekend, and UCLA was getting crushed.
"Hey Taylor, is Andrew still looking calm?"
"@taylorswift13 you should tweet about how relaxed he looks now lol."
"Where's Taylor now? 😂"
"Still impressed?"
There were dozens of them. Probably hundreds if she kept scrolling.
All because of that damn tweet from the previous week.
Taylor grimaced.
She had simply watched the game against Arizona, been impressed by how ridiculously calm Andrew looked while tearing apart a college defense, and written something about it.
That was all.
She hadn't declared her undying love for UCLA.
Apparently, however, Twitter had decided that she now had to personally answer for it if UCLA lost, as if she were a fan.
Some of the comments even had an almost challenging tone to them.
Taylor pressed her lips together.
"What's wrong?" Andrea asked. She had just sat down on the couch and immediately noticed her expression.
Taylor raised her phone, "Remember the tweet I made about UCLA's quarterback?" she said, nodding toward the television.
Andrea fell silent as she searched her memory and finally sighed, "I told you it wasn't a good idea."
"It's just a tweet, Mom. I'll survive," Taylor said, locking her phone and turning her attention back to the television.
"A tweet about an eighteen-year-old college football player. You know how the internet works. First they say you're interested in him, then they make up that you're dating, and now that his team is losing, they come bother you. Doesn't sound like a very good deal to me," Andrea said with a shrug.
Taylor's grimace deepened.
Mainly because she didn't have much of an argument against that.
Stupid rumors had already started appearing after that tweet.
She wasn't even a fan or regular follower of Andrew and UCLA's games.
The person responsible for all of that was her idiot younger brother.
An idiot she loved very much, of course.
Austin hadn't followed Andrew since his high school years.
He had heard about him, obviously. It was difficult not to.
There was the kind of hype surrounding his name that normally made Austin skeptical.
Because it was always the same.
Every year, some kid appeared who was being called the next Tom Brady, Peyton Manning, or something along those lines.
Most of them simply ended up being good players.
Some didn't even manage that.
That was why Austin hadn't bothered following him much during high school.
Until his college debut.
Austin had always been much more of a college football and NFL fan.
It was one of those interests he had shared with his father since he was little. Scott Swift had played college football, and a large part of Austin's childhood had included watching games, arguing about players, and debating who would be the next national champion or Super Bowl winner.
So when UCLA's debut came around, Austin decided to watch mostly out of curiosity.
He wanted to see how much truth there was behind all that hype.
It didn't take long.
Even after UCLA lost its second game, Austin was already convinced of one thing.
Andrew wasn't all hype.
In fact, the problem was starting to look like the exact opposite.
Maybe all that hype hadn't been enough.
Every Saturday, he found something new: the arm, the accuracy, the ease with which he threw on the move, or the speed that made absolutely no sense for someone his size.
He was around six-foot-four, had the kind of build scouts dreamed of finding in a professional quarterback, and yet, when he decided to run, he could leave linebackers and safeties behind.
But Austin insisted that none of those things were the strangest part.
It was the way he played. The calmness.
Then Austin discovered that Andrew had a YouTube channel.
That had sealed his fate.
He had started by watching a few videos about diets, workout routines, and his documentaries/games/highlights.
By the time Taylor realized it, her brother had found footage from practically Andrew's entire high school career and was working his way through it as if he were watching a TV series.
More than once, Taylor had been forced to listen to unsolicited explanations about Andrew's plays and high school accomplishments, like finishing undefeated with more than 250 touchdowns over four years.
For Austin, it was no longer simply about following UCLA.
It was the feeling of watching one of those athletes who might only come along once every many years.
The kind of player people might talk about fifteen years later, if everything went right, and say:
I watched him when he was still in college.
Although even the comparisons that came to mind felt strange.
LeBron James, for example.
Before he had even reached the NBA, he was probably already the most famous high school player who had ever existed. During his final years at St. Vincent–St. Mary, he packed gyms, his games were shown on national television, and reporters followed practically every move he made.
But that had happened during the final stage of his teenage years.
Then he finished high school and jumped straight to the NBA at eighteen.
He never had a college career.
With Peyton Manning, it had been different.
He had arrived at Tennessee as an extremely promising quarterback, although he wasn't even the starter at first. He began the season behind other players, and injuries were what eventually gave him his opportunity.
He took advantage of it.
From that point on, he practically never gave up the job.
He was recognized as one of the best freshmen in the SEC and, from there, took another step forward each season.
By his second year, he was already one of the major names in the country and finished sixth in the Heisman voting.
He had another great season in his third year.
Until, as a senior, he led Tennessee to the SEC championship and finished second in the Heisman voting.
Four years.
A steady progression until he became one of the best quarterbacks in college football.
And that had only been the beginning.
Now, in 2012, Peyton Manning was playing his fifteenth season in the NFL and had already far surpassed any expectations he might have created while at Tennessee. He was a multiple-time MVP, a Super Bowl champion, and one of those names that automatically came up whenever someone discussed the greatest quarterbacks in history.
Tom Brady was almost the opposite example.
His story hadn't begun with everyone declaring that he was destined to dominate the NFL.
The Patriots selected him in the sixth round: Pick 199, and then...
Well.
Everyone knew what had happened after that.
The strange thing about Andrew was that none of those stories quite fit.
Because his trajectory had started much earlier.
In high school, he went four seasons without losing.
By the time he reached his senior year, there wasn't even much debate anymore about who the greatest high school player in history was.
The five-star quarterback.
The player some analysts half-jokingly described as someone they should invent a sixth star for.
That was usually the point when the problems began.
The jump to college destroyed prospects every year.
And yet, he had watched Andrew, at eighteen years old, already become one of the best players in the country.
Not just one of the best freshmen.
One of the best players.
Right now, plenty of people had him as the favorite for the Heisman. Others had him second. Others third.
But he was already a top-three player in the country in his very first season.
"Hopefully UCLA does something, at least..." Taylor said as she settled onto the couch and crossed her legs.
She didn't sound particularly convinced.
It wasn't exactly a sudden declaration of support for UCLA either. It sounded more like the kind of comment someone made while watching a blowout, hoping that, at the very least, the victim could recover a little dignity before it was over.
Austin didn't answer.
The second half began.
Not even thirty seconds had passed before Taylor started paying attention again.
First down.
Andrew took the snap, dropped back, and completed a quick pass.
Second down.
Another snap.
This time Andrew threw deep.
The camera followed the ball as it traveled across a large portion of the field.
A UCLA receiver appeared several yards farther downfield, caught it in stride, and ran straight into the end zone.
Touchdown.
It had all happened so quickly that Taylor needed a moment to process it.
"Looks like they heard you," Andrea commented.
Taylor gave a faint smile.
Austin said nothing. He didn't celebrate. He simply kept watching.
The deficit was still too large.
One spectacular touchdown didn't change that enormous gap on the scoreboard.
Andrea, who clearly had even less emotional investment in the result than either of her children, started talking to Taylor.
For the next few minutes, that was exactly what they did.
The CMAs.
Some of the things Taylor had scheduled over the next few days.
Taylor was comfortably reclined on the couch, answering her mother while occasionally glancing distractedly toward the television.
Oregon got the ball.
Then UCLA got it back. Andrew drove down the field again.
Touchdown.
Austin still didn't say anything, while Andrea and Taylor kept talking. But the television was becoming a little harder to ignore each time.
Because UCLA wasn't stopping.
Neither was Andrew.
Some plays looked like they made absolutely no sense until Andrew somehow found a way to make them work.
Oregon kept getting to him.
The problem was actually finishing the tackle.
On one of those plays, Andrew escaped pressure to the right, stopped dead when another defender appeared, and changed direction again.
Two Oregon players tried to close him down.
Neither managed to do it.
Andrew found space, threw while still on the move, and completed another pass.
One of the commentators described how Oregon's defenders seemed to end up empty-handed over and over again, grabbing nothing but air.
Taylor thought it was a surprisingly accurate description.
Little by little, the conversation between Taylor and Andrea faded almost completely.
There wasn't one specific moment when either of them decided to start seriously watching the game.
It simply happened.
The deficit kept shrinking, and with every possession it became harder to treat the game as simple background noise.
Austin was already completely focused.
Andrea was watching far more closely than she would have imagined when they first walked into the house. She knew football, of course; it was impossible not to know at least the basics in that family. But out of all of them, she was probably the one least likely to watch games on her own.
Taylor, who at the start of the third quarter had only hoped UCLA would do something to salvage a little dignity, ended up following the final minutes without taking her eyes off the screen.
Then the quarter ended.
Fifteen minutes of play.
Nothing more.
When the scoreboard appeared again, all three of them understood just how much the game had changed.
OREGON DUCKS 55 — UCLA BRUINS 41
Taylor stared at the numbers for a few seconds.
Fourteen points.
'Seriously...?' Taylor thought.
At the start of the second half, the game had looked over.
Now they were only two touchdowns away.
By the time the final quarter began, all three of them were completely invested in the game.
Even the stadium felt different.
Autzen was still loud, but it was no longer the celebratory noise from the first half. The cameras were finding more and more serious faces among the Oregon fans. People who had been smiling, shouting, or mocking UCLA earlier were now following every possession with obvious tension.
Because UCLA didn't slow down.
Oregon, no matter how hard it tried to regain the control it had held throughout the first half, never quite managed to do it.
The deficit kept disappearing.
Until the final seconds arrived.
UCLA had one last chance.
They needed a touchdown. Nothing less would do.
Taylor was gripping her phone tightly in one hand. All of her attention was fixed on the television.
The play unfolded in front of them.
Andrew found the pass.
The receiver entered the end zone.
Taylor squeezed the phone without realizing it, "Touchdown!" she blurted out in disbelief.
Austin shot straight up from the couch.
On the broadcast, the commentator had practically abandoned any attempt to maintain his composure while Autzen Stadium seemed to go silent all at once.
"Overtime..." Austin murmured, still staring at the screen, "How many points were they down? This could be historic."
He didn't have to wait long for the answer. The commentators themselves went back to it.
UCLA had been down thirty-seven points and had just tied the game.
If they managed to win, it would become the greatest comeback in college football history.
Andrea was no longer pretending she was only watching the game because she happened to be there.
Taylor even less so.
Overtime began with an entirely different kind of tension.
In the first overtime, both teams ended up settling for field goals.
Tied again.
Second overtime. Oregon got the ball first and once again managed only three points. That meant UCLA had the win right in front of them. The possession reached third down.
Taylor was sitting on the edge of the couch.
Andrea had her arms crossed, completely focused.
Austin hadn't even properly sat back down for several minutes.
It was UCLA's final down to go for the touchdown. If they failed, they would have to attempt a field goal to tie it.
Andrew faced pressure almost immediately. He escaped to one side.
An Oregon defender managed to reach him and began wrapping him up.
For a fraction of a second, it looked over. Then something happened that looked strange even on television.
Andrew switched the ball from his right hand to his left as he lost his balance and threw.
A short pass.
Nothing spectacular in terms of distance. But enough. The receiver caught the ball and crossed the goal line.
[TOUCHDOWN UCLA! STEVE RICE INTO THE END ZONE!] Brent, the announcer, shouted.
For a moment, no one in the living room reacted.
As if all three of them needed to confirm that they had actually just seen that.
Then Austin exploded. He shot fully upright from the couch with both hands on his head, letting out an incredulous laugh as UCLA's sideline flooded onto the field on television.
Taylor's eyes widened, "No way..."
"Wow... with the left hand?" Andrea murmured, still watching the replay. While Brent completely lost it.
The ball switching hands.
The left-handed throw.
Touchdown.
Game over.
OREGON DUCKS 64 - UCLA BRUINS 67
Austin was still standing, pacing back and forth, unable to stay still as he listened to the commentators repeat over and over again the magnitude of what had just happened.
Taylor looked at her phone. She remembered the comments asking whether Andrew still looked so calm.
The ones challenging her to tweet something now.
A smile appeared on her face. Now she actually had something to tweet about.
In any other situation, Andrea would have recognized that expression instantly. It was exactly the kind of smile that usually meant her daughter was about to post something that, one way or another, would end up giving the internet material for the next few days.
But this time, she didn't even notice.
She was still too absorbed in watching the replays of the end of the game.
Taylor unlocked her phone and opened Twitter again.
The platform was already exploding.
Comments.
Clips.
Screenshots.
Statistics.
Photos taken directly from the broadcast.
Everything had appeared within minutes.
'They really are fast...' Taylor thought.
It didn't take her long to find exactly the image she wanted.
It was a screenshot of Andrew walking onto the field for UCLA's possession in the second overtime.
Taylor remembered it immediately because she had thought the same thing when she saw it live only a few minutes earlier.
He looked far too calm.
He showed practically no tension at all.
He was walking onto the field as if he weren't one possession away from completing a historic comeback in front of tens of thousands of people in Eugene and millions more watching on television.
The entire stadium seemed more nervous than he did.
Hell.
Austin looked more nervous than he did.
She herself had looked more nervous than he did.
Taylor held the image on-screen for a moment, still wearing that faint smile.
Then she attached it to the tweet and wrote.
@taylorswift13:
Well... he still looks pretty calm to me.
Taylor continued scrolling through Twitter after posting her own message.
The platform was chaos.
Clips of the final touchdown, Andrew's statistics, historical records that had been broken, it seemed the comeback wasn't the only one, screenshots of completely shell-shocked Oregon fans and, of course, hundreds of people digging up tweets that had been posted during the first half.
One of them kept appearing over and over again.
@chandlerbing:
"Do not gloat over me, my enemy. Though I have fallen, I will rise. Micah 7:8."
Laugh now. There are still two quarters left."
Taylor couldn't help letting out a soft laugh. Then she looked at the time the tweet had been posted and realized it had gone up during halftime.
'Wow... he even looks like a prophet,' she thought.
The tweet already had thousands upon thousands of retweets.
Quoting the Bible over a college football game was, objectively speaking, pretty dramatic.
After what had just happened, however, it worked far too well.
Taylor read the last line again.
Laugh now.
Out of curiosity, she opened the profile of this Chandler Bing guy. She immediately realized something that made the whole thing even funnier.
During halftime, people had basically done the same thing to him that they had done to her.
Only much worse.
There were mentions digging up comments he had made about Andrew weeks earlier, mocking him, people asking where he was now, and others tagging him for no reason other than to remind him of the score.
Even with all of that flooding his mentions, he had decided to respond by posting a Bible verse and warning them that there were still two quarters left.
Taylor had to admit that required a certain amount of confidence.
She went back to the tweet.
The postgame replies were an entirely different story.
@hdrian39:
HE KNEW!
@sadanda7191:
THIS AGED SO WELL.
@gmaetube38:
PROPHET CHANDLER BING.
@jeanbernads:
Brother Chandler saw the promised land when the rest of us saw 45-8
@leonastors_s:
Pastor Bing, Sunday service starts at 10
@ancientwatchmanTV:
Never doubted Reverend Chandler for a second
@ilimitesjg:
The Book of Chandler, Chapter 55:41.
@WestCoastFB:
Somebody get this man on College GameDay immediately.
@anna_marie89:
I laughed at this tweet one hour ago. I would like to formally apologize
@DucksAreLife:
Delete this.
…
That only made Taylor smile even more. Then the amens started.
One.
Then another and another.
@brianscott77:
AMEN
@BruinBlue88:
Amen brother
@kellyxo13:
AMEN dad Chandler 🙏
@footballjesus99:
Can I get an AMEN.
@WestwoodNation:
AMEN
Taylor let out another laugh as she shook her head.
The whole thing had gone from a sports blowout to a religious congregation.
She scrolled back up to the original tweet and then tapped the little star.
Favorite.
He deserved it.
For a second, she considered leaving it at that. But then she looked over that army of replies again.
Taylor smiled. She tapped reply and added one more.
@taylorswift13:
Amen. ♥
…
Upper Manhattan, New York
At the bar where Chandler and Ross were watching the game, the atmosphere no longer resembled anything from the first two quarters.
At the beginning of the afternoon, the two of them had been practically the only ones who seemed genuinely interested in UCLA. The rest of the college students had followed the game casually, between conversations, drinks, and occasional glances toward the giant screen.
When Oregon started crushing UCLA and the game lost any appearance of competitiveness, many of them simply stopped paying attention altogether.
Now it was completely different.
UCLA had come back and forced overtime.
At that moment, during the second overtime, they were only six yards away from completing one of the most epic comebacks anyone inside that bar had ever seen.
No one was talking.
The entire place seemed suspended around the television.
The couch where Chandler, Ross, and Janice were sitting had stopped belonging to them a long time ago.
Other people had moved closer until every available space was occupied, while more students crowded behind them, standing and leaning between shoulders to get a better view.
Chandler and Ross didn't seem to care. They didn't even seem to notice they were surrounded.
Their eyes were completely fixed on the screen.
Snap.
The protection collapsed almost immediately.
Andrew dropped back and escaped to his left.
[Pritchett is cornered by Dion Jordan!] Brent called.
Chandler leaned forward. Ross did exactly the same.
Janice brought both fists up to her mouth.
On-screen, Jordan closed in on Andrew. For a moment, it looked over.
[Wait...! Is he switching the ball to his left!?]
Andrew changed hands and threw.
The ball arrived awkwardly, but it was catchable.
[RICE MAKES THE CATCH!]
For a fraction of a second, no one inside the bar knew what had happened.
Until the referee raised both arms.
Brent exploded, [TOUCHDOWN UCLA! STEVE RICE INTO THE END ZONE!]
The reaction inside the bar was immediate.
The moment everyone understood what had happened, they all erupted at once.
Chandler leaned forward, his eyes wide and his mouth completely open, screaming so loudly that his entire expression seemed distorted by emotion, "YEEEEES!"
Beside him, Ross was even worse.
He burst out laughing as he lunged at Chandler and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, practically hanging from his neck. He shook him from side to side while shouting along with him, wearing an enormous grin from the sheer euphoria.
Chandler barely had time to react.
For a moment, he kept staring straight ahead in disbelief before turning toward Ross and ending up screaming directly into his face.
"OH! MY! GOD!" Janice exclaimed, using her hand like a fan.
Behind them, the rest of the college students, dozens of them, men and even women, had also lost any trace of composure.
Fists in the air.
Arms waving above their heads.
People jumping, hugging, and shouting over one another.
For those few seconds, no one would have guessed they were in a bar full of New York students with no particular connection to UCLA.
They looked like lifelong Bruins fans. As if they had been waiting years for that moment.
They didn't need to have been born in Los Angeles to understand that they had just witnessed something that would go down in history.
In the middle of all that chaos, Chandler and Ross remained locked around each other's shoulders, swaying from side to side and screaming face-to-face like two complete idiots.
From a few tables farther back, a guy held his phone up and recorded a good portion of the bar's reaction.
'Alcohol and football do incredible things to people,' he thought, amused.
That was definitely ending up on the internet.
Little by little, however, the initial explosion began to die down.
The shouting turned into laughter.
The hugs between strangers came to an end.
Some people went back to looking for their drinks.
Chandler and Ross finally collapsed onto the couch as if they had personally played those last two quarters themselves.
"Oh, sweet heavens..." Chandler murmured.
He was still staring at the television. ABC was replaying the final play once again.
All of it accompanied, once more, by the commentators' call.
Ross let out a long breath.
It wasn't just the celebration.
Ever since the third quarter, he had spent nearly an hour completely tense, leaning forward on every possession and reacting to every drive as if he somehow had a personal stake in the outcome.
Then he thought about Monica.
She was there. She would be experiencing all that madness from the stands.
A smile appeared on Ross's face.
Although, barely a second later, a small pang of envy appeared as well.
His sister had just experienced in person one of those sports nights someone could talk about for years.
Several minutes later, someone approached from behind the couch.
Two pats landed on Chandler's shoulder, "Dude! Now you can make fun of all those guys who were laughing at you on Twitter."
Chandler turned his head. For a second, he simply stared at him. Then his eyes widened.
Ross, sitting beside him, had exactly the same reaction.
They looked at each other.
"The tweet!" they both blurted out at the same time.
Chandler shot upright and pulled his phone from his pocket.
Janice immediately leaned over his shoulder.
Ross did the same from the other side.
The guy who had just spoken to them watched with one eyebrow raised, "What happened?"
"Mark, you don't understand," Chandler said as he unlocked his phone without even looking at him, "I answered those idiots at halftime."
Mark blinked, "Seriously?"
He hadn't opened Twitter again since mentioning to Chandler that several people were tagging him. He had assumed Chandler would simply ignore it, "What did you post?"
"A Bible verse," Ross answered for him, "And then he told them to laugh now, because there were still two quarters left."
Mark was just raising his beer. He froze halfway through the motion, "What!?"
Chandler continued opening Twitter as if he hadn't heard him.
Mark slowly lowered the glass.
Now he understood the urgency. That hadn't simply been a confident tweet. Seen after the game, it was practically a prophecy.
Besides, Chandler already had enough of an internet presence that people recognized his account and shared his posts.
Chandler finally opened his notifications and his expression changed.
There were thousands.
He went straight to the tweet he had posted during halftime and refreshed the page.
27,481 RETWEETS — 7,219 FAVORITES
"Sweet mother of all that is good and pure..." Chandler murmured.
The tweet wasn't even four hours old and, realistically, most of that activity must have happened during the last twenty minutes. While UCLA was still losing, his biblical prophecy had been little more than the desperately confident declaration of a fan.
Chandler refreshed.
28,036 RETWEETS — 7,402 FAVORITES
He blinked and did it again.
28,711 RETWEETS — 7,681 FAVORITES
This was insane.
The numbers were increasing right in front of his eyes.
There was no doubt that it had just become the biggest tweet he had ever posted in his life.
"Why didn't your phone vibrate or something?" Ross asked, confused by the absurd number of notifications.
Chandler lifted his chin slightly, recovering his usual self-satisfied air for a moment, "Ross, when you're an important internet spokesman with almost fifty thousand followers, you quickly learn that leaving notifications on is an excellent way to drive yourself insane."
He said it as if managing his considerable digital empire were an utterly exhausting responsibility.
Then he stopped. Almost fifty thousand.
The last time he had checked his follower count, it had been somewhere around forty-seven thousand six hundred.
Chandler left the tweet and opened his profile.
His eyes widened.
68,404 FOLLOWERS
"Sixty-eight thousand four hundred followers, baby!" he exclaimed, raising his free fist.
In less than a few hours, he had gained more than twenty thousand.
Only then did he begin to understand just how far the whole thing had spread beyond his usual circle.
He went back to the tweet and scrolled through the replies.
There were a huge number of AMENs.
Until one made Chandler go completely still.
@taylorswift13 replied to you:
Amen. ♥
Chandler stared at the screen and leaned closer, "Taylor Swift replied to my tweet!" he finally exclaimed, pulling the phone away from his face and looking at the others.
Janice, Ross, and Mark immediately leaned in.
So did several people nearby who had been close enough to hear him.
One girl practically pushed her way through to look over their shoulders, "No way!"
Her voice came out almost higher-pitched than when UCLA had scored the game-winning touchdown.
Chandler looked at the phone again, "Yeah. It's real."
He tapped the name and the profile appeared immediately. There was no doubt. Taylor Swift's official account with more than twenty million followers.
Then Chandler discovered something else. Taylor had also Favorited his tweet.
Favoriting a tweet allowed you to save posts in a public section of your profile: links you wanted to keep, quotes you liked or, simply, tweets you wanted to have there.
Which meant his Micah quote about a football comeback was now saved among Taylor Swift's public Favorites.
Twitter had probably already sent him the notification.
Chandler simply hadn't seen it.
With several thousand interactions coming in, he had gone straight to the tweet without bothering to check them one by one.
Suddenly, those nearly twenty-nine thousand retweets started making a lot more sense.
He looked at Taylor's reply again. Chandler smiled.
Of course he was going to reply to her.
But he wasn't going to do it in a way that looked too obvious either.
If he replied only to Taylor Swift among thousands of people, it would be pretty clear that he had lost all dignity the moment a celebrity showed up.
So he did the logical thing.
He replied to several people.
@chandlerbing:
Amen, brother
Another one.
@chandlerbing:
Go in peace
And another.
@chandlerbing:
Your faith has been rewarded
Ross started laughing when he realized what Chandler was doing. Chandler remained completely serious. Finally, he went back to Taylor's reply.
@chandlerbing:
Amen, sister
Then he returned to his own profile and posted a new general tweet.
@chandlerbing:
Amen, kids
Mark burst out laughing. Someone behind them started clapping, "The prophet has spoken!"
Someone else slapped Chandler on the back.
Then another.
Within seconds, Chandler started receiving congratulations as if he had somehow personally taken part in the comeback.
One guy raised his beer, "One for the Reverend!"
Chandler accepted the glass offered to him with completely unjustified solemnity.
Chandler took a sip.
Then, taking advantage of the fact that several people were still watching him, he brought two fingers to his lips, kissed them, and pointed toward the ceiling with both hands.
The bar erupted into laughter again.
Ross shook his head.
Janice covered her mouth to keep from laughing too loudly.
Chandler finally sat back down with his free beer in hand, completely satisfied with himself.
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