[Two days later] [School field]
Practice started 30 minutes ago.
The team was already spread across the field, helmets on and pads strapped tight. The air smelled of grass and sweat. Whistles cut through the noise every few seconds as Coach Lance barked instructions from midfield.
Jack jogged into position and rolled his shoulders once to loosen up. His legs still felt good, sore from the last two days of conditioning but responsive. That difference mattered.
Coach Lance waved him over.
"Alright, Preston," he said, pointing toward a cluster of bright orange cones set in a zigzag pattern. "I do not want you trying to reinvent yourself this week."
Jack nodded. "Wasn't planning to."
"Good," the coach said. "You are not built to bulldoze through players, and that is perfectly fine. We already have players who enjoy doing exactly that." A couple of linemen grinned nearby. "Your strength is speed, balance, and decision making. You run, dodge, and make defenders look foolish."
Jack nodded.
Coach Lance clapped his hands once. "Focus on sharp cuts and quick feet. Read space instead of locking onto bodies."
He pointed again at the cones. "Run the pattern. Treat every cone like a defender trying to shut you down."
Jack stepped up to the start line and crouched slightly.
"Go."
Jack exploded forward.
He cut right around the first cone, planted his foot, and snapped left around the second. His movement stayed smooth and controlled, built on rhythm rather than urgency. Each step carried him forward without wasted motion.
"Faster," Coach Lance called.
Jack pushed harder, weaving through the cones as his hips turned sharply and his cleats dug into the turf. He dropped his center of gravity and imagined hands reaching for him, fingers closing on empty air.
At the last cone, Coach Lance tossed a football without warning.
Jack caught it clean and kept his stride intact.
"Finish," Coach said.
Jack sprinted another ten yards before easing down, his breathing steady.
Coach nodded. "Again."
They ran the drill again. Then again.
On the third run, Coach added two defenders in pads. Their role was to disrupt his path and force quick decisions rather than bring him down.
Jack adjusted instinctively. He sold one direction, cut back hard, slipped between them, and accelerated through the opening.
"Good," Coach said. "That is your game."
The drills shifted after that. Route variations, short passes, quick turns under pressure, and one-on-one coverage that demanded timing and positioning instead of raw strength.
Between reps, Jackson jogged over with his hands on his hips. "How the hell are you running like that?"
Jack took a sip from his water bottle. "I don't want to get tackled down and break my bones. So, I run and dodge, that's all there is to it."
"Keep doing that and we might just win the game," Jackson said.
"We'll win."
"That's what the coach says every year. So far, zero wins. But I got a good feeling about this year," Jackson replied.
Coach's whistle cut through their exchange.
"Preston," he called. "Back in."
"So do I," Jack said before jogging to his spot, heart rate high and focus locked in.
As practice continued, Coach watched him closely. Jack chose patience instead of forcing big plays. He trusted spacing instead of chasing contact. When a lane opened, he took it. When it closed, he reset and waited for the next look.
After the final whistle, the team gathered near the sideline, breathing hard with helmets off.
Coach Lance looked at them, arms crossed. "That is enough for today. Ice, stretch, hydrate. Especially you," he added, glancing at Jack. "You will be running a lot on Friday."
Jack nodded. "Got it."
...
[Night] [9 PM]
Jack stood in front of the mirror, script in one hand, pacing slowly as he ran lines under his breath. He stopped, rewound, and tried again. He adjusted the tone.
Softer here... Faster there.
He focused less on memorizing and more on how the words were supposed to feel coming out of his mouth.
After twenty minutes, he closed the script and dropped it onto his desk.
"That's enough for tonight," he muttered.
His body finally caught up with him. Football practice, classes, homework, lines. All of it settled into his muscles at once.
Jack grabbed a soda from the fridge downstairs, took the stairs up to the roof, and flicked on the outdoor lights. The air was slightly cool outside. He dropped onto the swing and leaned back, pushing off lightly with one foot. He popped the bottle open and took a long sip and sighed.
Finally. Nothing to do.
He scrolled through YouTube without really watching anything. Highlights, random clips, half-finished videos he would never come back to.
Then his phone buzzed.
A message notification.
Dakota Fanning.
Jack blinked once.
"…This late?" he murmured.
He opened it.
Dakota: What're you doing?
Jack smiled faintly and typed back.
Jack: Nothing exciting. Just finished practicing lines and now, lazing on the roof. You?
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Dakota: I just finished Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone ✨
Jack sat up a little on the swing.
Jack: And? 👀
Dakota: I couldn't stop. I kept telling myself "one more chapter" and then suddenly it was over 😭📖
He smiled without meaning to.
Jack: That makes me really happy to hear. 😊
Dakota: You should be happy. It's an awesome book I've read in a long time. I loved it. Like, actually loved it. The pacing, the magic, the way the characters feel real. It's just... A breath of fresh air. It felt… comfortable. Like I wanted to live in it for a while.
Jack let the swing rock gently as he typed.
Jack: Thank you. That means a lot.
There was a short pause. Longer this time.
Then the dots appeared again.
Dakota: So… random question 🙈
Jack raised an eyebrow at his screen.
Jack: Uh oh. Those are dangerous 😅
Dakota: Relax. Nothing illegal 😇 Are you free tomorrow? Around 4 or 5 PM?
Jack thought about it. Practice ended early tomorrow, so he's free.
Jack: Yeah. I'm free. Why?
The reply came a beat later.
Dakota: There's a new Baskin-Robbins that opened yesterday near Fairfax and I was thinking maybe we could go together?
Just ice cream 🍦 Catch up.
'Wow! Okay. She's asking me out,' Jack thought.
Dakota: Just a friendly meet-up 🙂
Jack: Ice cream sounds hard to say no to 😄
Dakota: Is that a yes? 👀
Jack: Yeah. It's a yes.
Dakota: Cool 😌 Meet you there then.
Jack: Ok 👍
Dakota: Ok. See you tomorrow. Good night, Jack 🌙
Jack: Good night.
...
[Meanwhile] [Dunphy House]
Luke's room looked like a discount magic shop had exploded.
A deck of cards lay fanned out on the floor. Scarves in bright colors hung off the lamp. A plastic wand was lying on the couch cushion.
Phil stood in front of Luke, holding a small notepad.
"Okay," Phil said seriously, "what we are doing here is not playing. This is training. Magic is about discipline, patience, and respect for the craft."
Luke nodded. "Got it."
Phil clapped his hands once. "Great. Now show me the coin vanish again."
Luke picked up a quarter, held it between his fingers, showed both hands clearly, then closed one fist.
"Watch closely," Luke said, lowering his voice dramatically.
Phil leaned in.
Luke snapped his fingers, opened his hand, and the coin was gone.
Phil blinked.
"Okay," Phil said slowly. He has no idea what just happened. "Good. Where is it?"
Luke shrugged and tapped Phil's shoulder.
The coin dropped out of Phil's shirt collar and bounced onto the floor.
Phil stared at it.
"…Huh."
Luke grinned. "I saw you do it once."
Phil nodded, clearly impressed but trying not to show it. "Beginner's luck. Coin work is all angles. Try this."
Phil pulled out a deck of cards, shuffled with exaggerated flair, and handed it over.
"Pick a card," he said.
Luke picked one.
"Do not show me," Phil said, turning away dramatically. He turned back, snapped his fingers, spread the deck across the table, and pulled out a single card.
Luke stared.
"That's it," he said. "That's my card."
Phil beamed. "Classic card tricks are best for entry-level magicians."
Luke tilted his head. "Can I try something?"
Phil hesitated. "Okay, but start small."
Luke walked toward the hallway.
Phil frowned. "Where are you going, buddy?"
"You said magic is about commitment," Luke said over his shoulder.
He returned, dragging something heavy.
Phil's eyes widened.
"No," Phil said quickly. "No, no, no. That is not a beginner trick."
Luke dropped a straightjacket onto the floor. A set of chains clinked beside it.
"I saw this trick on your laptop," Luke said. "The Butler's Escape."
Phil froze.
"Luke," he said carefully, "that is advanced escapology. That trick is historically significant."
Luke blinked. "It is?"
"Yes," Phil said, suddenly in lecture mode. "It is based on a manservant named Percy who escaped captivity using nothing but wit, flexibility, and what I assume was an unhealthy amount of elbow grease."
Luke stared at him. "Did that actually happen?"
"…Probably," Phil said. "The point is, this is one of the hardest feats in magic."
Luke picked up the straitjacket. "Cool. Can I try?"
Phil crossed his arms. "Alright."
He put Luke into the straitjacket and adjusted the straps, tightening them with professional concern. He added the chains, looping them carefully.
"There," Phil said, stepping back. "We're ready."
Luke nodded. "Time me."
Phil checked his watch. "Alright. Go."
Luke twisted once.
Then twice.
There was a pause.
A strap loosened.
Phil frowned. "Wait. How did you?!"
Luke shifted his shoulders, bent forward, and somehow slipped one arm free.
Phil's mouth opened.
Luke wriggled again and within seconds the straitjacket slid off completely. The chains clattered onto the floor.
Luke stood up, brushing off his shirt.
"Done," he said. "Two minutes."
Phil stared at him like he had just watched someone casually defy gravity.
"…No way," Phil said quietly.
He walked around him, inspecting the jacket, the straps, the chains.
"How did you do it?" He asked, turning back at Luke.
Luke shrugged. "I just moved where it felt loose."
Phil slowly looked up at him.
"You are a prodigy," he whispered.
"Well, I'm done," Luke ran downstairs to watch TV.
...
//Phil's Confession//
Phil sat on the edge of Luke's bed, the folded straightjacket resting neatly beside him like a quiet trophy. He still looked a little shaken, but there was pride in it too.
"Okay. So. The Butler escape." He nodded to himself. "That is not a beginner trick. That is a you-practice-for-years-and-still-fail-in-front-of-strangers trick."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice as if the room itself might be listening. "I did it once. One time."
There was a brief pause.
"And it was an accident. I rode that high for years."
Phil gave a small, helpless shrug. "I don't know how I got out. I don't remember what I did. I blacked out somewhere between panic and sweat."
He let out a slow breath.
"After that? I tried again. And again. And again." He lifted his hand and counted on his fingers. "Basement, garage, motel conference room in Bakersfield."
His head shook gently. "Nothing."
Phil glanced toward the doorway Luke had just run through.
"And Luke?" A soft, disbelieving laugh slipped out of him. "Two minutes." He nodded, clearly impressed. "Am I proud? Yes. Immensely. That's my son."
The smile lingered, then faded into something quieter.
"Am I threatened?" He tilted his head, considering it. "A little."
A small, crooked smile returned. "But that's parenting. You teach them everything you know..." He paused, then finished softly, "...and then they casually outperform you and go watch TV."
He gave one last shrug, light and fond.
"Magic."
//Phil's Confession End//
...
[After dinner]
Claire entered the bedroom and sighed.
Phil, face red, squirming on the bed, arms trapped in the straightjacket Luke had just conquered.
"Phil?" Claire asked slowly, crossing her arms.
Phil looked up at her, teeth bared in a grin, eyes wide with the kind of helpless charm that could almost get him out of anything. "Don't help me, honey. I can do it."
He kept squirming for a bit longer before stopping.
"I think I should..." Before Claire could finish...
...Phil said, "There's a key under the pillow."
--
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