Locker room
"Yo, is it true you told Coach you'd think about it?"
"What?" I blinked at him.
"Bro. You just walked off like it was nothing. That was cold."
I paused for a second, towel in hand.So… that's what this was about. I hadn't realized people even noticed. Guess word traveled faster than I thought.
I shook my head with a small grin. "Oh man, and here I thought everyone was just impressed by my good looks," I said, reaching for my water bottle. "Turns out it's just 'cause I told that old man to wait."
A few guys laughed. Others didn't.
As I walked past a few of the newer football recruits, I caught some quiet mumbling—low voices, not quite loud enough to catch the words, but the tone said enough. Jealousy, maybe. Annoyance. Whatever. I kept walking.
Then I felt an arm sling over my shoulders. "Well, I'm starving after that run," Dylan said with a dramatic sigh. "Let's hit the cafeteria."
"Yeah, you almost made it to the fourth lap," I said, deadpan. "You must be exhausted."
Dylan puffed up proudly. "Exactly. I figured I'd quit when all the pretty girls stopped. Not mentioning the puking."
I raised an eyebrow. "A true athlete's spirit."
We headed out of the locker room, still joking around, but as we walked down the hall, I noticed the shift. People were glancing in our direction—some subtle, some not even trying to hide it. A few whispered behind their hands. Some just straight-up stared as we passed.
I glanced at his shirt. "No, but that color really screams 'help me, I ran one lap and cried.'"
Cafeteria
The cafeteria was already buzzing when Samuel walked in, but it felt like the volume shifted the second he crossed the threshold.
At the window-side table, Haley, Maddy, Cassie, and a few others had already grabbed lunch—having dipped out early after gym. They'd seen the whole thing. The sprinting. The way he didn't slow down. The moment he told Coach Thompson, "I'll think about it," and walked off like he owned the field.
They were mid-lunch, but conversation stalled the moment Cassie spotted him again.
"There he is," she said, nudging Maddy. "That's him."
"No way," Maddy leaned in. "That's the same guy? He looks even taller up close."
Cassie didn't blink. "He's even cuter up close."
Haley didn't say anything right away. She watched him walk through the cafeteria like he hadn't just become the most talked-about person in the school. Like none of this even mattered to him. And somehow, that only made it worse.Next to him was some awkward kid who looked like he didn't have full control of his limbs—like his body had grown faster than his brain could keep up. He was clearly dying from all the attention, even though none of it was aimed at him. Eyes flicked past him without a second thought, and he kept tugging at his shirt like he was hoping it would make him invisible.
Cassie kept going on about his jawline or something, but Haley wasn't really listening anymore. She watched as he scanned the cafeteria like he was just looking for food, not realizing every eye was already locked onto him.
"He's probably full of himself," Haley muttered.
Cassie snorted. "Jealous?"
Haley rolled her eyes and reached for her drink. "Please. He probably doesn't even know what hallway his locker's in yet."
Cassie leaned in. "Bet he's one of those mysterious types."
"Or just lost," Haley said dryly, but her gaze flicked back to him anyway. Just for a second. Just to see where he'd sit.
Samuel Pov
Samuel was in his own world, like he was most of the time.
He didn't notice the stares. Didn't notice the whispers. His eyes were on the lunch line, but his mind was somewhere else entirely—locked in quiet dread. Specifically, the dread of school food.
He was already mentally bracing himself. Yesterday's lunch had been... traumatic. He'd decided to give it a shot, thinking maybe nostalgia had made it seem worse than it really was. It hadn't. One bite of that overcooked, mystery-colored mush, and his Gordon Ramsay-enhanced taste buds almost betrayed him right there at the table. He'd barely held it together.
Today, he was seriously considering asking the people behind the counter if he could cook his own food. Not even anything fancy—just something edible. Something that didn't make his soul scream.
He slid his tray along the metal rail, barely registering that Dylan was unusually quiet beside him. But he didn't mind. The silence was nice. Peaceful, even.
Especially before the battle ahead—cafeteria lasagna day.
When he and Dylan sat down, most of the cafeteria had already gone back to their usual noise—laughing, trading snacks, complaining about homework. But a few tables still watched. Some of the jocks, a couple kids from other teams, and one or two tables with girls hadn't taken their eyes off him.
He didn't look up.
Instead, he stared down at the tray in front of him. The lasagna sat there like a threat. A steaming square of sadness.
He leaned in and sniffed it once.
His face twisted in quiet betrayal. "I... I cannot do this," he muttered, then pushed the tray aside like it had personally offended him.
Thad's POV
Thad sat three tables away, surrounded by his usual crew—varsity jackets, loud laughs, the sound of protein bar wrappers being torn open.
But he wasn't laughing.
He'd seen the kid walk in. Watched the way people stared. Watched the way he didn't care. That bugged him more than anything—the complete lack of effort, like the guy didn't even realize how big a deal he'd just become.
Thad chewed slowly, not even tasting the sandwich in his hand. His eyes were locked on the blonde freshman across the room. He'd heard all the talk—some new kid made the recruits look slow, Coach offered him a spot, he said he'd think about it.
And now the guy was sitting there like he belonged, pushing his food away like it was beneath him.
Thad clenched his jaw.
That was it. He shoved his tray forward, chair scraping behind him, and stood up. Without a word, the rest of his table stood up too—like a pack moving on instinct. Varsity jackets, smirks, protein crumbs still on their lips. The cafeteria didn't exactly go silent, but it shifted. Conversations dipped, heads turned. People noticed. Because when Thad Castle stood up, it meant something.
Even if he was dumber than the average farm animal, he was still one of the most popular guys in school—and everyone paid attention when the apex jock made a move.
They walked toward the far table, where the new kid sat alone. All eyes followed.
Thad led the charge, the same way he led a defensive line—shoulders squared, chest puffed, moving like the hallway was his home turf. The blonde freshman didn't even flinch. Just sat there, elbows on the table, poking at his lasagna like it might crawl off the tray.
That's what really messed with Thad's head.
The kid looked more concerned about the food's structural integrity than the fact that he'd turned down Coach without a second thought. No excitement. No follow-up questions. Just a "I'll think about it" like he'd been asked to join chess club, not the football team.
Who does that?
Who brushes off the coach, then sits there dissecting lasagna like it's a science project gone wrong?
Haley's table
Across the cafeteria, Haley Dunphy paused mid-sip from her smoothie, eyes narrowing just a bit.
"Oh no," she muttered.
Cassie followed her gaze. "Is Thad really doing this?"
Maddie leaned over her tray, already halfway invested. "He's totally doing this."
The three of them watched as Thad and his crew stood up and began marching across the cafeteria like a varsity battalion. All eyes were starting to follow them.
"He's heading for Samuel," Haley said under her breath, not needing to ask.
Cassie sighed. "Of course he is. Because heaven forbid someone exist without bowing to the football gods."
"I swear, if he messes up his face…" Maddy sighed again.
Haley gave her a teasing nudge. "Face or full package?"
Maddy laughed. "Face. Obviously. I mean, the rest is fine too, but—ugh, shut up."
Cassie twirled a strand of hair between her fingers, grinning. "He's kinda hot. In that mysterious, I-don't-care-if-you-notice-me way."
Haley raised a brow. "That's your type now?"
Cassie shrugged. "Beats guys who flex every time they open their locker."
They turned their eyes back to Samuel, who was still poking at his lasagna like it was something he might have to bury instead of eat.
"He's not even looking at Thad," Haley said. "Doesn't even blink."
Maddy leaned forward slightly, concerned. "He really might not know what's coming."
Cassie said, smiling a little, "he knows exactly what's coming… and just doesn't care."
Samuels Pov
Samuel was still locked in a quiet war with the lasagna.
He poked at the edge of it with his fork, gently peeling back the top layer like it might reveal a hidden truth beneath. The texture was off. The sauce looked like it had given up halfway through the job. Maybe—just maybe—if he'd had the right spices. A pinch of oregano. Fresh basil. Definitely not whatever this mystery meat layer was. He tilted his head.
Could it be saved?
It looked like it had been microwaved—violently. And if there was one kitchen device he couldn't stand, it was the microwave. The soulless machine that could take something edible and reduce it to soggy drool in under two minutes. The destroyer of texture. The enemy of crisp.
He sighed, poking the lasagna again with faint disdain.
If I brought it home, fixed the sauce, adjusted the layers… maybe next time. Just not with this one.
He was snapped out of the thought when the bench across from him shifted suddenly under weight. Then another beside him. Then another.
His table had filled in a second.
All giants.
Samuel looked up—
—and saw Reacher.
Jack Reacher. The guy from that show he'd binged back in his old life. Season one, right before everything went sideways. Towering, broad-shouldered, built like he could punch through a car door and then lift it for fun.
Wow, Samuel thought, almost impressed despite himself. He was even ripped in high school.
They weren't saying anything.
It was so weird.
Who sits at a table and doesn't say anything?
Samuel glanced at Dylan—who was staring straight ahead like he was being interrogated by the CIA—then back down at the tray of lasagna he'd already banished to the corner. He shifted slightly in his seat and resumed his examination of the tragedy on his plate.
Seriously, what was this made of? It looked like food in theory, but the smell alone made his stomach retreat into itself. Did they cook this in a microwave from 1987? Were they using fake cheese?
Then it happened—someone gasped. Loud. Sharp. A few more followed, like popcorn starting in a pan.
Samuel blinked but didn't look up.
Probably someone dropped their tray. Or got a test grade back. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with him. Right?
He side-eyed Dylan.
Dylan looked pale. Like paler than usual. His mouth opened slightly, but he didn't say a word. His eyes were bouncing between Samuel and whatever was happening behind him like he was watching the buildup to a natural disaster.
Samuel frowned. "What?"
Dylan didn't answer.
Then a voice cut through the cafeteria noise—flat, calm, but ending in a weird, almost questioning tone. Too high at the end. Off.
"You know who I am?" Thad asked, his voice carrying just enough to make nearby tables go quiet.
Samuel froze mid-shove of the tray. His hand hovered above the lasagna like he was about to perform surgery.
That voice… it was supposed to sound serious. Cold. Commanding. But something about the delivery made it sound like the guy was asking for directions, not making a statement.
He turned his head slowly, eyes locking onto the source.
Samuel was stunned.
Why is this guy talking to me? He looks like a senior. Broad, tall, carrying himself like he owned the zip code. Even if he was Reacher, it was still weird.
The resemblance was too strong to ignore. But Samuel wasn't completely sure. This could be a lookalike, or maybe his mind was just playing tricks on him after a long day.
He squinted slightly, tilting his head. If this was really Jack Reacher, that would explain the muscles—but not why he was in high school.
So Samuel decided to ask.
"Your name is Jack Reacher, right?"
Thad blinked. Once. Twice.
"What?"
Laughter started bubbling from nearby tables. A few trays clattered as people turned to stare, grinning like they couldn't believe what they'd just heard.
"Dude," someone whispered loud enough to carry. "Did he just call Thad Reacher?"
Thad straightened up like he'd just been challenged to a duel.
"No! I'm—what?! I'm not Jack Reacher, man! I'm THAD CASTLE. I'm going to be the world's best football player!"
That only made it worse.
A ripple of laughter rolled across the cafeteria like a wave. Even a couple of his own teammates were trying not to snort.
Thad looked around, face twitching like he couldn't figure out if he was being mocked or drafted into a sketch comedy show.
Samuel just blinked up at him, expression unreadable.
So… definitely not Reacher.
That much was clear now.
The posture was close. The build, sure. But the second he opened his mouth, the illusion shattered. Reacher wouldn't announce his name like a third grader introducing himself to a new class. And he definitely wouldn't declare himself the future of football in the middle of a lunchroom.
Different guy then, Samuel thought.Same model, wrong software.
He glanced back at the lasagna like it might've improved while he was distracted.
Nope. Still a crime against pasta.
Thad was enraged. His jaw tightened, fists flexing at his sides as the laughter echoed around him, his pride cracking like cheap glass.
But before he could explode, a guy beside him quickly stepped forward—Larry Summers. He moved fast, with the calm urgency of someone who'd done this before. He knew Thad well enough to see the storm coming, and more importantly, he knew what was at stake.
Larry wasn't about to let Thad blow his future by decking a freshman in the middle of the cafeteria.
"Hi," he said smoothly, flashing a practiced smile. "My name's Larry Summers, and this is Thad Castle—the captain of the football team."
Samuel looked between them for a moment, the silence stretching just long enough to make it slightly uncomfortable.
Then he nodded slowly. "Ahh... football. That's cool," he said, voice hesitant, like he wasn't quite sure if that was the right response or if he was supposed to cheer.
He glanced around at the towering presence of varsity guys flanking him on all sides.
"But, uh... what are you guys doing here?" he asked, genuinely confused. "Is this your table or something?"
His eyes settled back on Thad.
Did he really want my table? Samuel thought.There are like... ten empty ones. Is this some weird turf thing?
Thad couldn't hold it anymore.
His hands flung out as he yelled, loud and full of disbelief, "You disrespected our coach!"
It wasn't even anger in the usual sense—it was confusion wrapped in volume. Like he was trying to process how someone could possibly turn down the football team and then ask if this was his table.
He stared at Samuel, baffled. "Why would I care about your stupid table?!"
Around them, the cafeteria went quiet again, tension thick in the air.
Samuel blinked.
Okay. So not about the table.
Larry stepped in again, voice calmer than Thad's and clearly trying to bring things back to something resembling a conversation.
He turned to Samuel with a polite smile, like this was a student council meeting and not a showdown in the cafeteria.
"So," Larry said, "can I ask… why'd you decide to decline the football team?"
His tone wasn't accusing—more curious, maybe even genuinely interested. But Samuel could feel Thad's eyes still burning holes through him from across the table.
Samuel let out a quiet sigh, glancing down at his tray like the lasagna might offer him an escape route.
"I… didn't think I declined?" he said, brow slightly furrowed, voice low but honest.
He looked back up at Larry, then briefly at Thad, who still looked like he was one second away from flipping the table.
"I said I'd think about it."
His tone wasn't defensive—just tired. Like he hadn't expected this to come out of a maybe.
"Most people just say, 'cool, let us know.' Not… roll up to my table like it's an ambush."
Thad stared at him like he'd just grown a second head.
"Coach gave you a spot, and you hesitated? Bro, people would sell a kidney to wear that jersey."
Samuel let out a slight chuckle, more out of disbelief than humor. That was apparently enough.
"People would literally sell a kidney," the guy repeated, shaking his head.
Samuel's gaze drifted toward Cassie, who was quietly staring down at the table.
He mumbled, just loud enough for himself, "Yeah… I get why."
Larry instinctively reached out, placing a firm hand on Thad's chest to keep him from lunging across the table.
Samuel looked at Thad, calm as ever, eyebrows raised just a little.
"Definitely roid rage, he thought."
When I saw Thad actually come over the table, trying to get to me despite Larry holding him back, I looked at him for a moment—really looked. Red-faced, twitching with rage, veins working overtime like they were auditioning for a superhero movie. It was hilarious… in theory.
But yeah. Probably not the moment to keep poking fun.
I figured maybe I should just tell him part of the reason.
Not that I thought sports were useless or anything—I just found it weird how people lost their minds over grown men chasing balls while yelling from the sidelines like "Put me in, Coach," from their recliners.
Just... enough to maybe make him back off.
Thad was still trying to reach me, Larry's arm across his chest like a bungee cord barely holding him in place. His eyes locked on me like I'd insulted his entire family lineage.
So I raised my hands slightly, palms open, trying not to sound like I was mocking him—because I wasn't.
"I've never even watched football," I said calmly.
That made a few heads tilt. Even Larry blinked.
"How can I join when I don't even know most of the rules?"
Thad froze mid-lunge, confusion breaking through the fury like someone had unplugged his rage for a second.
"Never? One game?" he asked, like I'd just told him I'd never heard of water.
I shrugged. "Nope."
Thad just stared at me, still trying to process the idea of someone never watching a football game.
I figured I might as well clarify before his brain melted completely.
"This is actually the first time I've been in a school with people since I was eight," I said. "I was homeschooled until last year, so most of the team sports stuff is kind of... new to me."
That got a few surprised looks from the guys around the table.
"But," I added with a small smirk, "if this school had an archery team, I'd definitely join that ."
Thad narrowed his eyes, and for a moment, it looked like a lightbulb flickered on behind them.
"And what if I made sure we had some kind of archery club?" he asked, like he was negotiating a peace treaty.
I shrugged, playing along. "Sure," I said, voice just the right amount of sarcastic. "If you can make sure the school gets an archery team, I'll definitely join the football team."
The sarcasm hung in the air, but somehow, I had a feeling he didn't catch it
If I'd known just how much clout Thad Castle had in this school—the walking future NFL prospect himself—I probably would've kept that suggestion to myself. But in that moment, it just felt like harmless banter.
Alex Dunphy Pov
Across the cafeteria, Alex Dunphy blinked, watching the scene unfold from behind her book. She wasn't exactly the type to follow sports, but even she knew who Thad Castle was. The Thad Castle—who'd broken multiple arms and legs last season and carried more social weight than the student council combined.
"And now… Samuel, a freshman, had just laughed in his face.". Not nervously, not out of fear. Genuinely. Like he was watching a toddler throw a fit over the wrong juice box.
She glanced around. People had gone quiet, expecting violence. But instead, Thad looked… like he was considering the idea. He was actually willing to help.
Alex narrowed her eyes slightly.
"What a weird freshman. The mystery just continues," she thought—right before Samuel stood up, grabbed his untouched lasagna, and dropped it into the trash with all the ceremony of a man disposing of nuclear waste. She couldn't help it—she smirked. Just a little."