Season 4, Episode 2
Brice slumped into the leather chair like he’d been dragged there, hoodie hood half-up, eyes dull with the leftover sting of the night before. LaPenna didn’t say anything at first, letting the silence hang.
"How’d you feel about your first game?” the therapist finally asked.
Brice let out a humorless laugh. “What do you think?"
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“What’s there to talk about?” Brice muttered. "I mean we won but…fuck."
LaPenna nodded. “You sound disappointed.”
“No shit,” Brice snapped, then winced. “Sorry. I’m just…yeah. I’m disappointed. You only get one debut, you know? One first impression.”
“And you don’t think it was good enough.”
Brice leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It wasn’t. I’m supposed to be this dude, right? I’m supposed to be playing at Notre Dame or Ohio State somewhere, right? So for me to come here and then I go out there and look like—”
LaPenna watched him. “You’re being very hard on yourself.”
“I guess but shouldn’t I be?” Brice drew a slow breath, eyes fixed on the floor. “I know I can be a dick sometimes, alright? I know that. To teammates, coaches, you…whatever. I know how I come off, I’m not that fucking stupid.”
He let out a tired little laugh, the kind that isn’t funny at all.
“But being good at football is like the trade off, you know? Like, yeah, I’m a dick, but I win games. I make teams better. That’s why I’m here, it’s why people put up with my shit. Without that? I’m just a dick."
LaPenna’s voice softened. “Brice…your value isn’t conditional on how you play.”
Brice looked up, eyes hard but scared underneath. “But it is though. Why do you think they brought me here? Paying me this money? Doing all the shit they’re doing to make sure I stay here? Don’t get in trouble? You?"
“That doesn’t make it true.”
Brice shrugged, the motion stiff, defensive. “Look, if I keep playing like that? I’m just a fucking headache with no upside, no reward. They can get another slap dick from fucking Louisiana or some shit for a quarter the price for that fucking stat line."
“Is that what you’re afraid of?” LaPenna asked. “Being replaced?"
Brice didn’t answer. He just stared at the carpet, jaw flexing.
After a moment, he said quietly, “I should’ve played better, left some points on the board."
“And you will be,” LaPenna replied. “But that’s not the only thing you are.”
Brice looked away.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe.”
…
“There’s no way you really believe that.”
“It’s way better,” Sophie insisted, taking a bite of her chicken sandwich.
“The first season, maybe,” Jimmy conceded, tilting his head side to side. “But after that? I feel like they lost the plot.”
“It’s sci-fi, Jimmy.” Sophie scoffed. “The plot is literally in the name.”
Jimmy glanced at his watch, mentally calculating whether he had enough time to catch Coach Lanovoi before the bell.
“Yo, Jimmy boy!”
Jimmy turned and spotted Pete—known universally as Little Dicky, for reasons no one could explain.
“What’s up?” Jimmy said, dapping him up without getting out of his seat.
“We got a spot for you.” Pete jerked his thumb toward the football players’ table, crowded with teammates and their girlfriends. “She can come too.”
Jimmy noticed Sophie’s eyes drop back to her plate, then to her phone.
“Nah, I’m good,” Jimmy said. “Appreciate it, though.”
Pete nodded and wandered off, sliding into a seat with the rest of the team.
“Anyway,” Jimmy said, turning back to Sophie, “the real question… is it better than Euphoria?”
“Oh God,” Sophie groaned, shaking her head. “Don’t get me started.”
…
The darkness surprised Brice as he stepped outside; he’d gone in early, and the day had slipped away. A massage, a lift, then film study—it all blurred together. He’d told himself he’d hit the library afterward, but when he walked past it, he couldn’t muster the energy to go in.
Then he saw a familiar face exiting the building.
He quickened his pace until they were walking side by side.
“You know stalking is a crime in Indiana, right?”
Mel glanced at him briefly before scoffing and sliding her earbuds back in.
“That’s not very nice,” Brice laughed. “What, you can’t be seen with the guy who threw two interceptions?”
“I’m going to assume that’s… some football thing?” she said. “Not really my speed.”
“Oh, okay. What is your speed then?”
“Nice, quiet walks across campus,” she teased, unable to hide a small smirk. “You know—peace and quiet.”
“What else?” he pressed.
They’d crossed paths a few times since the semester started, Brice offering a nod that she almost never returned. He didn’t mind. If anything, it made her more interesting.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re really bad at this?” she asked.
“That’s usually when I know it’s working,” Brice said with a grin as they crossed the street. Their routes would split soon—she lived in another residence hall—so he hurried. “What’re you doing Saturday?”
“What I do most Saturdays.”
“Which is?”
“None of your business.” Another flash of a smile.
“You should come to our game,” Brice said, stopping at the sidewalk where their paths split. “I know football’s not your thing, but it’s kinda my thing. I think you’d like it.”
“That’s exactly how I know I wouldn’t like it,” she said, already turning to walk backward as she continued down her path.
Then she pivoted and headed off, leaving Brice standing there, watching her go.
Damaged Petals.
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 16774
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
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Caesar
- Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16956
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Damaged Petals.
Poor wittle Bwice sad because he thwew intewceptions? 
Get good fn and stop that crying.
Sophie got future single mother written all over her living in this family.
He needs to leave that Black woman alone. Go terrorize a yakubian queen
Get good fn and stop that crying.Sophie got future single mother written all over her living in this family.
He needs to leave that Black woman alone. Go terrorize a yakubian queen
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7956
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Damaged Petals.
Keep curving him, Mel. Save yourself.
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redsox907
- Posts: 6313
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
Damaged Petals.
Mel's fuck boy radar blaring everytime Brice walks up 
trolling aside - makes sense that Brice ties his value to football since that's how his father raised him, if he did good at football they took care of everything else. It is hard to have an identity when all you see people value you for is what you bring to them and then on top of his parents being pieces of shit, he just accepted that I can do whatever I want so long as I'm good at this.
It'll be interesting to see how he tries to re-wire his self-value, since we know he isn't going to suck at football forever
trolling aside - makes sense that Brice ties his value to football since that's how his father raised him, if he did good at football they took care of everything else. It is hard to have an identity when all you see people value you for is what you bring to them and then on top of his parents being pieces of shit, he just accepted that I can do whatever I want so long as I'm good at this.
It'll be interesting to see how he tries to re-wire his self-value, since we know he isn't going to suck at football forever
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 16774
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
boy can't go through growing pains? smh
fair
redsox907 wrote: ↑27 Nov 2025, 12:43Mel's fuck boy radar blaring everytime Brice walks up
trolling aside - makes sense that Brice ties his value to football since that's how his father raised him, if he did good at football they took care of everything else. It is hard to have an identity when all you see people value you for is what you bring to them and then on top of his parents being pieces of shit, he just accepted that I can do whatever I want so long as I'm good at this.
It'll be interesting to see how he tries to re-wire his self-value, since we know he isn't going to suck at football forever
you sure about that?
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 16774
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
ignore me, im an idiot
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 16774
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
Season 4, Episode 3
Brice wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but a tightly crammed room inside the student center certainly wasn’t it. The spread was forgettable: some mini sandwiches and lukewarm chicken wings from Pay Less, still in their original containers. It didn’t seem to dampen the enthusiasm from the other attendees, though, who were dressed in shirts and ties, resumes ready when greeting one of the fraternity members.
Brice wore sweats—team-issued, of course—and Nike slides, embarrassingly underdressed. He put the blame squarely on his roommates.
“You guys didn’t tell me this was a serious thing,” Brice said, biting into a chicken wing as he leaned against the wall. “I thought it was just a hangout.”
“It’s never just a hangout,” Walter said, shaking his head and subtly keeping enough distance between them for plausible deniability that he hadn’t brought a White boy to the event—much less a White boy in sweats.
Abdul didn’t mind, mostly because Brice’s outfit made Abdul’s polo and jeans look better by comparison. But also because, to him, crossing over had less to do with tradition and legacy and all the stuff Walter cared about, and everything to do with improving his odds with the fairer sex.
“The AKAs are tough, bro,” Abdul nudged Brice, eyes locked on the sorority booth from the moment they walked in.
“Don’t do that,” Walter snapped. “You don’t want to be that guy. And yes—they can sniff out that guy.”
“Whatever,” Abdul sucked his teeth. “I thought you said we were locks. Only reason I didn’t go with the Alphas.”
“You really need to shut the fuck up,” Walter muttered. “We have a good chance of getting in—that’s what I told you—but that doesn’t mean you can’t fuck it up.”
Brice tuned them out. He wasn’t planning on crossing over or pledging—Black frat or White frat. The idea of paying for friendship or belonging to something bigger than himself didn’t resonate. That’s what football was for, and they paid him, not the other way around.
His gaze drifted to the AKAs, who had a booth set up as they co-hosted the event with the Ques, helping freshmen prep resumes for internship opportunities. It was community outreach and a recruiting event all in one—Walter’s whole reason for insisting Abdul show up. Artie had already abandoned his own crossover aspirations after getting into it with a member over the summer—something about a girl or a gambling debt. Brice wasn’t sure; he’d tuned that out too.
He was mostly here for support or, more honestly, the prospect of free food—only to be met with sandwiches and chicken wings instead of mac and cheese and collard greens. Since he wasn’t getting any of that, he resorted to scouting the AKAs, seeing if any caught his attention.
He noticed her before she noticed him, a smile forming as he started toward her. He didn’t know she was an AKA—but to be fair, he didn’t know much about her. Just her name. And how good she was at playing hard to get.
He didn’t make it three steps before someone cut him off. A familiar face, just not one that inspired any warmth.
“My dog,” Augustus—one of the Ques—greeted him, pulling him in for a dap far more familiar than their relationship warranted.
“What’s up, man?” Brice said, trying to look around Augustus’s head to find her again, but she was gone.
“Looks like you’re giving it some thought,” Augustus said.
“What?” Brice blinked. “Oh—no, not really. I’m just here with my boys.”
“So why not cross with your boys?” Augustus shrugged.
He’d been relentless since their encounter in the summer, somehow finding Brice’s Instagram and following him. Brice followed back out of courtesy, only to get a comment or reply under every story. Any time they crossed paths, the conversation took the same turn—asking Brice when he was going to cross. As much as Brice wanted to tell him to fuck off, he knew how important this was for Walter, and to a lesser extent Abdul. Pissing off a member could reflect poorly on their chances.
“Maybe next year,” Brice said, scanning the crowd for her but coming up empty.
“Where’s your resume at?” Augustus asked. “We can at least help you out while you’re here.”
“I don’t really have one,” Brice admitted.
“Sounds like we’ve got something to work on,” Augustus said, smiling as he placed a hand on Brice’s shoulder and guided him toward a workstation.
…
“You sure you don’t want any more bacon?”
“No, I’m good,” Jimmy said, putting down his fork.
“You’re going to need to eat more,” Liz insisted, still walking over to drop three more pieces on his plate. “You’re using a lot more energy now.”
Jimmy didn’t argue and took another slice. It had been a long night—playing almost every snap on both sides of the ball, plus a kick return in the third quarter when the coaches needed a spark. And it worked. He returned it to the forty-five. His legs were heavy and his shoulder still sore; he’d fallen asleep with an ice pack on it. But it was a good tired—an earned tired.
“Don’t forget to bring your Normatec with you,” Liz said as she scrambled eggs and slid them onto a plate. “Sophie! Hurry up!”
Tom sat at the far end of the table, quietly drinking his coffee with his laptop open.
“Did the film come in yet?” Jimmy asked.
Tom shook his head. “Probably tonight. We can watch it with Jordan tomorrow. You up for a throwing session?”
“I should be fine by then,” Jimmy said.
Sophie walked into the kitchen in pajamas. She flicked Jimmy’s ear before dropping into the seat where Brice usually sat, snagging a piece of his bacon.
“Your plate is over here, baby,” Liz told her. “We’re going to be late.”
“I’m not going,” Sophie said calmly, sitting straighter. “I went last week.”
“Sophie—” Tom gave her a warning glare.
“What? I can’t have a Saturday for myself?” she argued. “Do I not get to have a life?”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Liz said, sipping her coffee. “It’s a couple Saturdays a year. You’ll be fine.”
Sophie let out a frustrated grunt, dropping her fork and crossing her arms.
“I can stay with her,” Jimmy offered. “I could use the sleep. I’m pretty tired.”
“You can sleep in the car,” Liz shot back instantly.
A silence settled over the kitchen—the kind that always followed after Liz laid down the law. Tom kept scrolling on his laptop but occasionally glanced at his kids, both staring into their plates.
“You guys can stay behind if you want,” he said finally. “No UberEats, no leaving the house. Okay?”
“Tom,” Liz said firmly.
“They don’t want to go, they don’t have to,” he said with a shrug, rinsing out his mug. “No sense in forcing them.”
INST (FCS) | 3 | 3 | 0 | 14 | 20
PUR (1-0, 0-0) | 0 | 28 | 14 | 0 | 42
PUR QB Brice Colton (Fr): 22-27, 381 Yds, 5 TD, 3 Car, 53 Yds
PUR HB Jaheim Merriweather (R-Soph): 14 Car, 43 Yds
PUR HB Gabriel Joyner (Jr): 10 Car, 42 Yds, 5 Rec, 16 Yds, TD
PUR TE George Burhenn (Jr): 6 Rec, 130 Yds, TD
PUR WR Nitro Tuggle (Jr): 4 Rec, 97 Yds, 2 TD
PUR WR De'Nylon Morrissette (R-Sr): 2 Rec, 91 Yds, TD
Season Stats 53-70, 630 Yds, 6 TD, 2 INT, Sacked 6x, 16 Car, 95 Yds, 2 fumbles (2 lost)
Remaining Schedule vs. #1 Notre Dame, vs. #12 Washington, vs. Maryland, vs. Wisconsin, at UCLA, at Iowa, vs. Minnesota, at #11 Penn State, at Illinois, at #14 Indiana
Brice wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but a tightly crammed room inside the student center certainly wasn’t it. The spread was forgettable: some mini sandwiches and lukewarm chicken wings from Pay Less, still in their original containers. It didn’t seem to dampen the enthusiasm from the other attendees, though, who were dressed in shirts and ties, resumes ready when greeting one of the fraternity members.
Brice wore sweats—team-issued, of course—and Nike slides, embarrassingly underdressed. He put the blame squarely on his roommates.
“You guys didn’t tell me this was a serious thing,” Brice said, biting into a chicken wing as he leaned against the wall. “I thought it was just a hangout.”
“It’s never just a hangout,” Walter said, shaking his head and subtly keeping enough distance between them for plausible deniability that he hadn’t brought a White boy to the event—much less a White boy in sweats.
Abdul didn’t mind, mostly because Brice’s outfit made Abdul’s polo and jeans look better by comparison. But also because, to him, crossing over had less to do with tradition and legacy and all the stuff Walter cared about, and everything to do with improving his odds with the fairer sex.
“The AKAs are tough, bro,” Abdul nudged Brice, eyes locked on the sorority booth from the moment they walked in.
“Don’t do that,” Walter snapped. “You don’t want to be that guy. And yes—they can sniff out that guy.”
“Whatever,” Abdul sucked his teeth. “I thought you said we were locks. Only reason I didn’t go with the Alphas.”
“You really need to shut the fuck up,” Walter muttered. “We have a good chance of getting in—that’s what I told you—but that doesn’t mean you can’t fuck it up.”
Brice tuned them out. He wasn’t planning on crossing over or pledging—Black frat or White frat. The idea of paying for friendship or belonging to something bigger than himself didn’t resonate. That’s what football was for, and they paid him, not the other way around.
His gaze drifted to the AKAs, who had a booth set up as they co-hosted the event with the Ques, helping freshmen prep resumes for internship opportunities. It was community outreach and a recruiting event all in one—Walter’s whole reason for insisting Abdul show up. Artie had already abandoned his own crossover aspirations after getting into it with a member over the summer—something about a girl or a gambling debt. Brice wasn’t sure; he’d tuned that out too.
He was mostly here for support or, more honestly, the prospect of free food—only to be met with sandwiches and chicken wings instead of mac and cheese and collard greens. Since he wasn’t getting any of that, he resorted to scouting the AKAs, seeing if any caught his attention.
He noticed her before she noticed him, a smile forming as he started toward her. He didn’t know she was an AKA—but to be fair, he didn’t know much about her. Just her name. And how good she was at playing hard to get.
He didn’t make it three steps before someone cut him off. A familiar face, just not one that inspired any warmth.
“My dog,” Augustus—one of the Ques—greeted him, pulling him in for a dap far more familiar than their relationship warranted.
“What’s up, man?” Brice said, trying to look around Augustus’s head to find her again, but she was gone.
“Looks like you’re giving it some thought,” Augustus said.
“What?” Brice blinked. “Oh—no, not really. I’m just here with my boys.”
“So why not cross with your boys?” Augustus shrugged.
He’d been relentless since their encounter in the summer, somehow finding Brice’s Instagram and following him. Brice followed back out of courtesy, only to get a comment or reply under every story. Any time they crossed paths, the conversation took the same turn—asking Brice when he was going to cross. As much as Brice wanted to tell him to fuck off, he knew how important this was for Walter, and to a lesser extent Abdul. Pissing off a member could reflect poorly on their chances.
“Maybe next year,” Brice said, scanning the crowd for her but coming up empty.
“Where’s your resume at?” Augustus asked. “We can at least help you out while you’re here.”
“I don’t really have one,” Brice admitted.
“Sounds like we’ve got something to work on,” Augustus said, smiling as he placed a hand on Brice’s shoulder and guided him toward a workstation.
…
“You sure you don’t want any more bacon?”
“No, I’m good,” Jimmy said, putting down his fork.
“You’re going to need to eat more,” Liz insisted, still walking over to drop three more pieces on his plate. “You’re using a lot more energy now.”
Jimmy didn’t argue and took another slice. It had been a long night—playing almost every snap on both sides of the ball, plus a kick return in the third quarter when the coaches needed a spark. And it worked. He returned it to the forty-five. His legs were heavy and his shoulder still sore; he’d fallen asleep with an ice pack on it. But it was a good tired—an earned tired.
“Don’t forget to bring your Normatec with you,” Liz said as she scrambled eggs and slid them onto a plate. “Sophie! Hurry up!”
Tom sat at the far end of the table, quietly drinking his coffee with his laptop open.
“Did the film come in yet?” Jimmy asked.
Tom shook his head. “Probably tonight. We can watch it with Jordan tomorrow. You up for a throwing session?”
“I should be fine by then,” Jimmy said.
Sophie walked into the kitchen in pajamas. She flicked Jimmy’s ear before dropping into the seat where Brice usually sat, snagging a piece of his bacon.
“Your plate is over here, baby,” Liz told her. “We’re going to be late.”
“I’m not going,” Sophie said calmly, sitting straighter. “I went last week.”
“Sophie—” Tom gave her a warning glare.
“What? I can’t have a Saturday for myself?” she argued. “Do I not get to have a life?”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Liz said, sipping her coffee. “It’s a couple Saturdays a year. You’ll be fine.”
Sophie let out a frustrated grunt, dropping her fork and crossing her arms.
“I can stay with her,” Jimmy offered. “I could use the sleep. I’m pretty tired.”
“You can sleep in the car,” Liz shot back instantly.
A silence settled over the kitchen—the kind that always followed after Liz laid down the law. Tom kept scrolling on his laptop but occasionally glanced at his kids, both staring into their plates.
“You guys can stay behind if you want,” he said finally. “No UberEats, no leaving the house. Okay?”
“Tom,” Liz said firmly.
“They don’t want to go, they don’t have to,” he said with a shrug, rinsing out his mug. “No sense in forcing them.”
INST (FCS) | 3 | 3 | 0 | 14 | 20
PUR (1-0, 0-0) | 0 | 28 | 14 | 0 | 42
PUR QB Brice Colton (Fr): 22-27, 381 Yds, 5 TD, 3 Car, 53 Yds
PUR HB Jaheim Merriweather (R-Soph): 14 Car, 43 Yds
PUR HB Gabriel Joyner (Jr): 10 Car, 42 Yds, 5 Rec, 16 Yds, TD
PUR TE George Burhenn (Jr): 6 Rec, 130 Yds, TD
PUR WR Nitro Tuggle (Jr): 4 Rec, 97 Yds, 2 TD
PUR WR De'Nylon Morrissette (R-Sr): 2 Rec, 91 Yds, TD
Season Stats 53-70, 630 Yds, 6 TD, 2 INT, Sacked 6x, 16 Car, 95 Yds, 2 fumbles (2 lost)
Remaining Schedule vs. #1 Notre Dame, vs. #12 Washington, vs. Maryland, vs. Wisconsin, at UCLA, at Iowa, vs. Minnesota, at #11 Penn State, at Illinois, at #14 Indiana
Last edited by Soapy on 28 Nov 2025, 19:55, edited 1 time in total.
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Caesar
- Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16956
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Damaged Petals.
You copy/pasted Brice’s scene twice.
They embracing this white boy too hard in Black circles for my liking. This the same man was running to Notre Dame until he beat his girlfriend. He ain’t down for the cause. He ain’t backing reparations.
But I see he found the level of opponent he can excel against
They embracing this white boy too hard in Black circles for my liking. This the same man was running to Notre Dame until he beat his girlfriend. He ain’t down for the cause. He ain’t backing reparations.
But I see he found the level of opponent he can excel against
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7956
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Damaged Petals.
Five tuddies, even against an FCS squad is going to have Brice ignorant as hell 
Don't blame Sophie for not wanting to go to that bum ass game.
Don't blame Sophie for not wanting to go to that bum ass game.
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 16774
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
allegedly beat his girlfriend. liz gonna sic the law on youCaesar wrote: ↑28 Nov 2025, 12:00You copy/pasted Brice’s scene twice.
They embracing this white boy too hard in Black circles for my liking. This the same man was running to Notre Dame until he beat his girlfriend. He ain’t down for the cause. He ain’t backing reparations.
But I see he found the level of opponent he can excel against
if brice said he wasn't going to jimmy's game that'd be a whole different tune though hmmmmCaptain Canada wrote: ↑28 Nov 2025, 12:42Five tuddies, even against an FCS squad is going to have Brice ignorant as hell
Don't blame Sophie for not wanting to go to that bum ass game.