Football Hype

Blake pulled into the Resin Grove High parking lot, the rhythmic thud of his worn-out windshield wipers in sync with the mellow beat of the music drifting from his car speakers. The morning sky hung low and gray, clouds pressing over the school like a heavy lid. His Golf gave a tired sigh as he killed the engine.

He stepped out into the brisk autumn air, pulling his hoodie tighter around him. The smell of wet leaves, damp pavement, and cheap body spray hit him all at once. Around him, students buzzed like bees in a hive—clothes maroon and gold, foam fingers poking out of backpacks, and someone was already blasting the school fight song from a portable speaker in their locker.

It was football Friday. Resin Grove’s football team first game of the season.

And it was like the whole damn town had been reborn.

He passed two cheerleaders hanging a “Friday Night Fight” banner across the breezeway entrance. They barely noticed him. It was like he didn’t exist.

The basketball team had opened their season the previous Friday—played their hearts out, lost by one point, and Blake had scored twenty-two points. But nobody had worn their jerseys to school. Nobody had decorated the halls. Nobody even remembered.

He didn’t say much as he walked through the crowd and headed into the main building. He didn’t need to. The comparison was loud enough on its own.

First period was English & Literature, and Vivi was already at their table when he walked in. Her red curls were pulled into a high ponytail, and her face was concentrated on the notebook as she scribbled something quickly into it.

“Morning,” Blake said, sliding into his seat.

“Morning,” she replied without looking up, then paused and glanced at him. “You alright?”

He gave a half-smile. “Yeah. Just… feeling the school spirit, I guess.”

Vivi chuckled, clearly picking up on the sarcasm. “Right. Hard to miss it when it’s been shoved down every hallway.”

Blake pulled out their shared folder for their project. “So. Baroque themes in Romeo and Juliet. What’ve you got?”

“I was thinking about the emotional scale of the play,” she said, flipping her notebook toward him. “It’s all so heightened—love, ****, passion, tragedy. That’s so Baroque, right? Everything is excessive, intense.”

Blake nodded. “Yeah. Like how Romeo says Juliet is the sun. And then Juliet talks about cutting him into little stars if he dies. That kind of drama? It’s not subtle.”

Vivi grinned. “Exactly. Light and dark imagery everywhere—like chiaroscuro painting. Caravaggio-style emotional whiplash.”

He looked through the quotes she’d marked. “This is good. What about fate? ‘Star-crossed lovers’ feels super Baroque. Destiny, divine punishment, all that.”

“That’s perfect,” she said, jotting it down. “And the whole masked ball thing? Ornate, dramatic—like a stage. Everything is performative.”

Blake glanced around the room. Other students were chatting, passing notes. A few were watching a football hype video on someone’s phone. Even in class, the game loomed over everything.

The door opened, and Mr. Keane strode in.

“Good morning, everyone. I know tonight’s a big night for the Ravens, but remember: The assignment first, touchdowns later.”

Someone in the back hollered, “Go Ravens!” and laughter rippled through the room.

Vivi and Blake kept working until the bell rang. As they packed up, Vivi nudged his elbow. “Hey. Don’t let it get to you. I saw you play last week. You were great.”

He met her gaze. “Thanks. Means a lot.”

By the time lunch rolled around, the school had reached a fever pitch. Music blasted from the cafeteria speakers, and a group of students were painting slogans on their arms with metallic gold pens. Someone passed out little plastic megaphones. Football players strutted by in their jerseys, soaking up attention like sunflowers to light.

Blake found his usual crew in the far corner—Jordan, Levi, Mateo and Darren from the basketball team, plus Ethan and Nick , who weren’t players but might as well have been.

He sat down and immediately heard Jordan ranting.

“It’s like we don’t even exist,” he muttered. “We have a game tomorrow, and nobody gives a crap.”

“Did you see the poster?” Blake asked, stabbing a fork into his fries. “One. Just one. Taped crooked near the trash cans.”

Levi scoffed. “Meanwhile, football’s got full-blown merchandise. They’re handing out flags.”

“I had someone ask me if we were still in preseason,” Jordan grumbled. “We literally played already. Lost by one.”

Mateo tried to smile. “Hey, we’ll go on a win streak. Once we start turning heads, people will come.”

“They should’ve already been watching,” Blake said.

Ethan leaned in. “It’s not about skill. It’s tradition. This town’s been worshiping football since the dinosaurs. You guys could win state, and it’d still be ‘What time’s kickoff?’”

A moment of silence fell over the table. The cafeteria roared behind them, oblivious.

“Doesn’t mean we stop showing up,” Nick finally said. “We play for each other. That’s what matters.”

Blake nodded, but the sting was still there.

Classes crawled by after lunch. Every period seemed to loop back to the football game. The biology teacher used football players to explain muscle groups. The economics teacher talked about concession stand profit margins. The Spanish teacher played a video of fútbol—and still somehow managed to link it to American football.

By seventh period, Blake was counting the seconds until he could lace up his shoes and get on the court.

When the final bell rang, he didn’t waste time.

The gym greeted him with the familiar squeak of sneakers, echoing bounces, and the dry scent of polished wood. It was quiet. Focused. Honest.

Coach Erwin was waiting at center court.

“Alright, gentlemen,” he said as the team gathered. “I know what today is. I know you’ve all heard about nothing but football since sunrise. But you have your own war to win tomorrow. You don’t need headlines. You need heart.”

They nodded, then got to work.

Drills were fast and sharp. Transition sprints, defensive rotations, shooting reps. Blake found himself falling into the rhythm—sweat beading, heart pounding. The noise of the school faded away. Here, it was about chemistry and trust.

They scrimmaged hard. Blake drove the lane, took a charge, dished an assist. Jordan hit a three from the wing and let out a roar. Levi blocked a layup so hard it nearly dented the floor.

When practice ended, the team clapped it out. Coach brought them in.

“You’re building something real here,” he said. “You might not have the school behind you yet. But you’ve got each other. And you’ve got the game. That’s more than most people ever get.”

Most of the team filed out. Darren waited by the door, but Blake waved him off.

“I’ll catch up. Gonna shoot around.”

Darren nodded and left.

The gym slowly emptied. Blake stayed.

He stood at the free-throw line, ball in hand, breathing hard. Shot. Swish. Another. Swish. Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty.

He wasn’t even counting anymore. It wasn’t about the score. It was about control.

The door creaked open.

Vivi stood there, holding her bag.

“Figured you’d still be here.”

He glanced at her, then passed her the ball.

“You shoot?”

She caught it awkwardly, laughing. “Not well.”

“Here.” He showed her the form. “Elbow in. Focus on the wrist.”

She shot. Airball.

Blake grinned. “Needs work.”

She rolled her eyes and tossed the ball back. “Hey, I’m the one with pom-poms, not jump shots.”

He chuckled and took another shot—clean swish.

Vivi sat down on the edge of the bleachers, watching him rebound and reset.

“You play like you’ve got something to prove,” she said, not unkindly.

Blake paused at the top of the key, the ball resting against his hip. “Maybe I do.”

The sound of the football crowd outside started to drift in—bass-heavy music, the rise and fall of voices echoing off the brick walls. It made the gym feel quieter somehow, more distant from the world outside.

Vivi pulled her jacket tighter. “I saw your game last week. You were sharp. Don’t let the fact that you’re less seen bring you down.”

Blake offered a half-smile. “Thanks.”

She shrugged. “You’ve got another shot tomorrow. I'll be cheering for you guys.”

He glanced over. “Aren’t you supposed to cheer for football?”

“I’m captain of the squad,” she said, like it was obvious. “We cover both seasons. I’ll be there—front row, side of the court.”

“Good,” he said. “We could use the noise.”

The gym lights flickered overhead, a gentle warning. Practice hours were over.

They stood, and he walked her to the side exit.

Vivi adjusted her bag. “Good luck tomorrow.”

“You too,” Blake said. “Tonight, I mean.”

She gave a small nod and started toward the stadium.

Blake turned the other way.

Tomorrow was their game.

And maybe no one else cared.

But they did.

And that was enough.