25 - Ethan
Ethan
The doors opened, and the sound slammed into me.
The bass was vibrating through the floor.
Blue-and-gold lights cut through the haze created by the overworked fog machines, and the bleachers were packed.
There were students, alumni, and even locals who had somehow heard that the Highlanders were worth showing up for.
“When did we start pulling in numbers like this?” Malik asked as he stepped in next to me.
I didn’t answer because I honestly didn’t know what to say.
There were banners hanging. A band was wedged into the corner, and they were blasting the fight song as if it were a championship run.
Students were standing on the bleachers instead of sitting.
It was chaotic, electric even, and for just a moment it felt like a good enough reason to believe.
Harris stood in front of us near the court. His hands were clasped behind his back while his eyes scanned the crowd. He wasn’t giving anything away, and it was making all of us nervous.
“Take it in,” Harris said calmly. “Even if it’s short-lived.”
A few of the guys laughed, but I didn’t because even if it was short-lived, it still counted.
Noise meant something. Support, even if it was tied to a spectacle, still left an impression.
Suddenly the music cut out, and the spotlight moved to the center of the court.
Dick Pine stepped out, wearing the perfect suit and the perfect smile to go along with it.
He had the kind of charisma that would play very well at a donor dinner.
He straightened his tie for a moment before his voice echoed through the speakers. “Let’s hear it for your Havenport Highlanders!”
The crowd roared. It rolled through my chest in a way that made my pulse flutter. So for a moment, just a fraction of a second, I let myself imagine what this would feel like if we were constantly winning. If it wasn’t just a novelty.
Malik leaned in. “They’re here for the show.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said in a hushed whisper. “It’s getting our name out there, and that’s exactly what we need.”
Every program started somewhere, and this might be exactly what we needed to get our foot in the game.
Mr. Pine said a few polite words and handed the floor over to the cheer squad.
The place instantly shifted to something sharper.
Elizabeth moved to the front of the formation.
She was confident and precise, her energy controlled in a way that made it impossible to draw your eyes away from her.
She was deliberate, and every single one of her movements counted.
Mid-routine, I caught her eye. She didn’t look for too long, but it was just long enough for a small, knowing smile to curve at the corner of her mouth. I felt it like a supportive hand on my back, very grounding.
After the girls finished, Mr. Pine announced the start of the games, and things quickly got out of hand after that.
For me, the rest of the rally just blurred into a series of contests and performances.
The alumni were bricking half-court shots while the freshmen fell over each other in relay races.
Mr. Pine laughed loudly into the mic as if he’d orchestrated the entire team himself.
Everyone was enjoying themselves at the loud, over-the-top, borderline absurd event that was designed to promote my team.
And I could feel it reverberate through my soul.
Whoever arranged this definitely knew how to get our blood pumping.
I just hoped it would last long enough for us to win a game because if it didn’t, all this would’ve been for nothing.
And this deserved more than that because it was definitely the best night I’d had since I arrived at Havenport.
It would’ve been a shame to watch it go to waste, especially because at that exact moment there were no scoreboards, and we didn’t have to do any replays.
It was all about the noise and lights. And for me, I looked forward to Elizabeth slipping in next to me when the lights dimmed for another introduction.
“You look overwhelmed,” she teased softly as she took her seat next to me.
“I was expecting folding chairs and lukewarm applause,” I said honestly.
She gave me an astonished smile. “You underestimate how badly people want something to rally about.”
My brows furrowed. “You think that’s what this is?”
Jenna ran past and threw a handful of glitter in our general direction. She had a massive smile on her face that wanted to prove that Elizabeth was right, but could it really be true? Had we misunderstood our fans all this time?
“People are tired of mediocrity,” she said with a shrug. “They want something to believe in. They want something to hope for. You’re supposed to be that thing, but they can’t put their faith in you if you can’t believe in yourselves.”
The word lingered in my mind. Hope… Was it really as simple as that? Could that really be why we’d been struggling since we started? Because we didn’t have hope in this team or in each other?
The introductions started soon after her statement. Spotlights cut through the arena as Mr. Pine called the players up one by one. His voice was booming with manufactured confidence, and somehow it had a revitalizing effect on us all.
“And in the position of quarterback, we have Ethan Rose!”
The spotlight locked on me, and suddenly the cheers were solid. They felt as real as the girl sitting next to me, and I was on cloud nine. I jogged up the steps and eagerly shook Mr. Pine’s hand.
“It’s a big night,” Mr. Pine said through his smile. His grip was firm, almost testing.
“Yeah,” I replied evenly while trying to figure out what was written between the lines.
“Make it count.”
It wasn’t encouragement. It was an instruction. That was the point he was trying to get across. He arranged all this to give us a chance, and what we did with it was entirely up to us. We could either make something out of this opportunity or toss it out the window.
The rally pushed on for another hour before the team filtered off the court and toward the locker room corridors.
The noise followed them, bleeding into the hallway in waves, but I lagged behind slightly.
My plan was to circle around the administrative office with the hope that I would miss the worst of the traffic and get a moment alone with Elizabeth.
But Jenna whisked her away from some other meet and greet that nobody was aware of, so it was just me and my dwindling energy.
I slowed my pace completely, not seeing any reason to rush to my dorm, but as I rounded the corner that led to the office door, I heard raised voices.
They weren’t screaming. They were hushed tones that weren’t exactly loud enough for public ears, but they were sharp, and it was clear that the two people who were talking weren’t exactly on the best of terms. I slowed instinctively, thinking I might be useful if things got physical.
“You stood up there tonight, in front of the alumni, and promised progress,” Mr. Pine said.
“We’ve made a hell of a lot of progress since we started,” Harris replied, his voice as controlled as it always was. “We’re actually starting to compete instead of just being run over. That’s got to count for something.”
“You’re two and four,” Mr. Pine snapped. “That’s not good enough. We want wins, not near victories.”
“This is a complete rebuild. You can’t seriously expect us to knock the ball out of the park right off the bat.”
I heard the shuffle of footsteps and moved further into the darkness. This was not the type of discussion a person like me should be caught listening in on.
“It’s the first year,” Mr. Pine said, and it sounded like his patience was wearing thin. “And donors don’t fund slow growth.”
“The donors haven’t funded anything,” Harris said, finally losing his cool.
“The team doesn’t even have a uniform, and we’re praying our way to games on a bus that should’ve been retired twenty years ago.
And why? Not because the donors didn’t give us enough.
It’s because that’s all my guys could afford.
It comes out of their own pockets and measly fundraising. ”
“Let’s just cut to the chase and get it over with. I’ve had a meeting with the donors, and they’re starting to wonder whether you were the right hire,” Mr. Pine continued. “They’re expecting energy, discipline, and a shift in culture. But all they’ve been seeing up until now is inconsistency.”
“What they’re seeing,” Harris sneered. “Is a totally new team trying to find its feet.”
I stepped out of the darkness and peered into the window. In all the time we had been training under Harris, I had never seen him get upset. Not once. Not even when we walked out on him.
“They don’t care about that. They’re seeing losses and they aren’t pleased with it.”
“We’re busy building the groundwork. You need a foundation before you can build a house. Things don’t just happen because you said they should.”
Mr. Pine let out a sharp breath. “Groundwork doesn’t fill the seats, Ozzy.”
“Neither does cycling through head coaches every eighteen months,” Harris shot back.
The edge in his voice really surprised me, and I realized that there was a lot more to this conversation than I was aware of. It wasn’t the first time they spoke about this, but I’m wondering if it might be the last.
“Don’t think you’re going to pull that card on me. You knew exactly what you were walking into,” Mr. Pine said.
“No,” Harris said in a voice laced with steel.
“I knew I was inheriting a roster. I didn’t know that I’d also be inheriting expectations that were so detached from reality they could be in a movie.
That was a new thing you threw in my face after everything was said and done.
I was just expected to be okay with it.”
“That roster is your responsibility now, and you better do everything in your power to make sure it succeeds because failure has never been an option.”
“That roster,” Harris said, his voice lowering dangerously. “Was recruited for a completely different philosophy. Half don’t fit the scheme I was hired to implement.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but to a degree and extent, it made sense. That was the reason we could never gel. It was because we had a different goal when we were drafted, but if that was the case, why didn’t we stick to the initial plan?
“Then you adjust. For God’s sake, Ozzy, it’s not that difficult.”
“But that’s exactly the point I’m trying to make. All we’ve been doing is adjusting, and we’re finally starting to get the hang of our new system. We just need a bit more time to get it to stick.”
“We’ve given you more time than you needed, and we’ve come to the conclusion that it’s no longer good enough. You need to be faster.”
The words landed like the crack of a whip. They were sharp, harsh and definitely final. That wasn’t good for any of us.
“You asked me to fix the culture problem,” Harris said again, slower this time. “That doesn’t happen in six weeks.”
“No, I asked you to win,” Mr. Pine corrected. “That should’ve happened by the second game.”
“And I told you I’m working on it. I said it multiple times. It’s not my fault you refuse to listen.”
“You no longer have any time left. Is that clear?”
The hallway suddenly seemed to shrink, and I felt more exposed than ever before. My pulse thudded in my ears, and it took all my strength to stop my heart from shattering.
“You start seeing results,” Pine said, his voice dropping into something colder, more deliberate. “Or I start making calls. Alumni scrutiny isn’t going away. They want progress and accountability.”
“Come on, Dick. Do you really think firing another coach mid-rebuild shows stability?”
“It shows us taking action when things don’t work out. That’s something. At least it’s better than doing nothing at all.”
He was met with silence, and that caused me to worry. It didn’t seem like Mr. Pine was going to budge, and that was going to be a big problem for the team.
“You forced me to take a team I never would’ve recruited the way they are,” Harris finally said, his voice quieter but also sharper.
“That’s part of your job.”
“You didn’t give me a choice but to do what I’m doing right now.”
“No, I gave you a contract and a time frame. You’ve been failing.”
There was a long pause, and it was clear that Harris had nothing left to say. He had tried every trick in the book, and none of them worked.
“If this season finishes the way it’s been trending, we’re going to need to reassess,” Pine said, his voice clipped.
That’s it? They’re going to move straight into reassessing without trying to rebuild or adjust? Just like that? Tossing us away like a bunch of overused balls? That wasn’t fair at all.
My lungs constricted, and I struggled with each breath I took. Reassessments meant change, and changes meant instability. Instability meant that everything we had been working on and getting right could fracture before it even began to take shape.
Footsteps shifted, and I moved back into the shadows before I got caught. But Harris’s words lingered in my mind. Roster I didn’t recruit… Not enough time… Everything sounded thinner now, more fragile.
The best night I had since coming to Havenport now carried an unbearable weight.
I now knew what stayed hidden beneath the spectacle.
It was pressure from the alumni and impatience from administration.
And it all fell on the shoulders of a coach who might not even survive the season.
Then there was me, the pride and joy, the quarterback who stood at the center of it all.
I turned toward the locker room, my jaw tight and thoughts louder than the rally could dream of being.
Tomorrow, out there on the field, it wouldn’t be about having hope.
It would be about results. And for the first time since I started playing on this team, the cheers didn’t feel like encouragement.
They felt like a countdown.