Page 68 of Campus Heat

“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.

26

Elizabeth

The homecoming game was supposed to feel electric, but there was something about this one that didn’t sit right. I could feel the energy long before the team took the field. The lights barely had a chance to switch on before the stands started filling. The rows of blue and gold were quickly stacking with students, alumni, and proud families who had come all the way to campus just for this weekend.

By the time we lined up near the tunnel entrance, the place was buzzing with a kind of restless anticipation that I had never felt at a Havenport game before. It wasn’t filled the way major college stadiums were on TV, but compared to the usual half-empty bleachers, it was huge.

The students crowded together in clusters, shouting across the rows. The alumni were dressed in old Highlander jackets. They leaned against the railings and pointed down at the field in a way that made me think they were remembering games from decades ago. Even the band seemed louder tonight, with its brass section cutting through the cool fall air as they warmed up behind the end zone.

I adjusted the blue ribbon in my ponytail and glanced up toward the stands again. My heart was beating faster with each minute that passed. This was so different from what we had gotten used to.