Walking into the press room felt like stepping into a very boring, very shiny circus. It was the standard setup, the long table, the cluster of microphones, the university athletics logo backdrop angled perfectly for cameras. The local CBS crew had taken the front row seats, while the student journalists huddled on the left. The AD had spent three minutes talking on their winning stats, but Jake hadn't heard a word. He was too busy staring at the red light on the center camera.
"Jake." The CBS anchor leaned forward. "Seven weeks in, you're leading the conference in completion percentage and your QBR is up twenty-three points from this time last year. What's changed for you this season?"
Jake leaned into the microphone. "The offensive line has been incredible honestly, I could stand back there and read a newspaper and still have time to throw. But beyond that, I think what's changed is I'm trusting my instincts faster. Getting the ball out quick." He paused. "I've always had the arm, this year I've learned to use my head more."
A few reporters smiled.
The Ridgeline game," a guy from the back called out. "That fourth quarter. Walk us through it."
Jake leaned in again. "We were down four. They were sitting in a Cover-2 shell, daring us to run. But the safeties were getting greedy. They were cheating toward the line because we'd been punishing them on the ground." He tapped his knuckles against the table. "I saw the window. I didn't even have to tell Riley. We just... we knew. That's ten years of being in each other's pockets. You can't coach that."
"You've been vocal about the 'new Jake' lately," the student reporter said, eyes narrowed behind thick glasses. "But last year was... messy. Academic probation, the parties. People were calling you a bust. How do you respond to that?"
Jake held her gaze. "I was struggling. Academically, personally. I wasn't in a good place and it showed. I wasn't taking things as seriously as I should have and the people around me knew it and I let it go on longer than it should have." He paused. "I'm not going to sit here and tell you the rumors were exaggerated. Some of them weren't."
"So what changed?" So followed up.
Jake considered the question carefully.
"Someone who taught me how to think." He rubbed his thumb against the edge of the table. "I learned how to actually look at a problem instead of just trying to outrun it. And that changed everything. Once you learn that in one place, it seeps into everything."
"Who was it?"
He didn't look at Riley. He didn't need to. Riley already knew where this was going.
"Maya Alvarez."
Riley's hand came down on his shoulder. Keep going.
"She's the peer tutor Dr. Monroe assigned to me when I was a week away from being kicked off the team." Jake said looking directly at the camera. "She is the smartest person I've ever met. She took a guy who couldn't pass a basic elective and showed him he was capable of more than just throwing a ball. She was patient when I was a jerk." He swallowed hard. "And then I repaid that by being a coward."
The room went quiet.
Jake's jaw tightened as he recalled the Gala incident. "Maya was humiliated in front of big donors and people who control her future here. I was there, and said nothing. I was too afraid of the consequences." He shook his head, raw honesty in his voice. "That's the truth."
He didn't look away from the lens. "Maya, I know I'm blocked. I know I'm the last person you'd want to hear from. But if you're watching, and I really hope you are... what happened that night was wrong. You handled that room with more grace than anyone I've known and I couldn't stick up for you. I've thought about it ever since."
He took a shaky breath. "I miss you, I miss the way you'd laugh at your own jokes. I should have said this to your face. I'm sorry. But since you won't take my calls....meet me at the library, where we started — tonight at eight. That's all I'm asking. One chance to say this properly, in person."
The room exploded into a chaotic mess of questions. Jake held up a hand, and the sheer momentum of his silence killed the noise.
An older man in the second row cleared his throat. Jake knew him. Mr. Sterling. A guy who'd given enough money to the school to have his name on the chemistry wing. " It seems to me that you like this young lady or even love her. But let's be realistic. This girl... she's from a small town, right? A Scholarship student? Do you really think it's 'on-brand' for you a Thompson to be making this kind of public spectacle over a student of that... background? Given what it might imply about the program, your family's standing—"
"Let's call it what it is, Mr. Sterling." Jake didn't raise his voice. "You're asking if she's 'good enough' to be seen with me because her parents don't have a wing named after them." Jake tilted his head. "Like you do, Mr. Sterling."
Sterling turned a dull shade of red.
"The answer is that she's the only reason I'm here and still a part of this team. She earned her seat here."
A younger guy from a sports blog leaned forward. "Jake, people are going to talk about the—well, the optics. She's a bigger girl. Not the usual 'quarterback's girlfriend' type. You know the comments are coming. How will you handle that?"
The room went very still.
Jake looked at him for a long moment.
"You're asking if her body is an 'appropriate' one for me to care about."
The blogger stammered, "I'm just saying, the internet—"
"The internet is only as ugly as the people who feed it," Jake snapped. "Maya's body isn't a 'type'. She is brilliant, and she is kind. The fact that you think her size is a valid topic for a press conference says everything about your character."
The blogger looked down at his lap. No one else spoke.
Jake looked at the AD. "We're done here."
"One more!" a woman called out. "Jake a different angle. You're pre-med, your father's practice is well documented. How are you planning to balance medical school ambitions with the football timeline? Especially if you're looking at draft projections for next year?"
Jake almost laughed. In that moment, he thought about all his dreams and aspirations. What he was truly interested in.
"I'm not going to med school," Jake said.
The atmosphere shifted.
"My father and I had an agreement. Football was something I was allowed to do as long as medicine came after. That was always the plan. I followed it because I didn't have the courage to say no." He stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. "I love this game, but I love the story of it more. I want to be the one who tells these stories." His gaze swept across the room. "Sports broadcasting and journalism. That's what I want. That's where I'm going when the playing stops."
He walked off the stage before the camera flash could hit him.
-----
Maya was in the library, staring at a paragraph on cognitive dissonance until the words blurred into grey streaks.
Her phone buzzed. She ignored it, then it buzzed again.
She picked up. "I'm in the middle—"
"Turn on your laptop and go to YouTube. The Athletic department channel. Right now."
"Elena—"
"It's about you, Maya. Just watch it."
The line went dead.
She pulled her laptop toward her.
THUNDERHAWKS QB JAKE THOMPSON — EMOTIONAL PRESS CONFERENCE. Trending. Forty-three minutes ago. Already past fourteen thousand views.
She clicked play.
Jake was already mid-sentence when the clip started. He looked wrecked.
She watched Jake talk football, his love for the game coming through. That was the real him. She'd caught glimpses of it during their tutoring sessions.
She watched him acknowledge his past: I was struggling academically.
Someone who taught me how to think.
Her hand stilled on the touchpad.
Maya Alvarez.
She put her hand over her mouth.
He laid it all out. Her name, the incident at the gala, no sugarcoating it. She could feel the room's tension from her screen. Then a guy in a suit asked the question she'd heard before. She felt that familiar tiredness creep in that came from always having to prove herself. Then Jake called him out.
Let's call it what it is. You're asking if she's good enough because her parents don't have a wing named after them.
She exhaled slowly.
Then another question which spoke volumes. She felt the familiar sting. The same question, different mouth — how dare you exist in that body and expect love?
She closed her eyes for a second.
You're asking if her body is an appropriate one for me to care about.....Maya's body isn't a type. She is brilliant. She is kind.
Tears streamed down her face, no point holding back, she was alone, and she'd been fine for way too long. Weeks of faking it had left her drained. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to contain the sob.
She thought about the Hemingway book he'd lent her. Sometimes courage is just showing up when you want to run. He'd shown up. For both of them.
The video ended. 16,000 views now. The timestamp read 6:47 PM.
Her phone buzzed. Elena texted:So?
Followed by a text from Chloe: MAYAANSWER YOUR PHONE.
Maya looked at the time.
She had one hour and thirteen minutes.