Bigger Than The Program

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

[Soapy]

[supahotfire]

probably my favorite gfx of yours

[djp73]

TEZ!!
playoff time

[The JZA]

probably my favorite gfx of yours

Mid, but clean and simple

TEZ!!
playoff time

[The JZA]

All The Things She Said Pt.2
(SZN 1 , EPI 15)

Curtis came to the Bronx carrying three years of history. Then they left carrying twenty-eight unanswered points.

Senior Night belonged to Kennedy.

Not halfway. Not eventually.

From the first whistle until the clock bled its final second, the JFK Campus Knights treated the Curtis Warriors like a debt that had finally reached collection. The stadium had filled earlier than usual. Parents crowded the lower rows wearing layers against the November cold. Former players returned to stand along the fence. Teachers who normally disappeared after the final bell sat with scarves wrapped around their necks, pretending they had always cared this much about football. Senior names hung along the track. The cheerleaders had decorated sections of the railings with blue, red, and enough glitter to survive several weather systems.

Above everything, the stadium lights burned against a black Bronx sky. For Cortez Terrano, every piece of the field looked familiar enough to hurt. The worn patches near the hash marks, the section of bleachers where Antonio usually sat, the fence he had leaned against after losses while waiting for rides home, the sideline where Coach Lloyd once screamed at him until Cortez believed the man might personally remove his throwing arm and install a better one.

Four years.

Freshman disaster, Sophomore growth, Junior promise and Senior arrival.

Curtis had been there during the old version. Tonight, they met the finished draft. Cortez threw one touchdown in every quarter. Four in total with two hundred sixty-six yards behind them. No frantic stat-chasing, no reckless attempts to make Senior Night become an individual highlight reel. He played like the game belonged to him because the offense belonged to him. Curtis tried pressure, Kennedy answered. They dropped defenders, Cortez accepted the underneath routes and allowed his receivers to earn the punishment afterward. When linebackers widened, the Knights attacked inside. When safeties crept toward the box, Cortez went over them.

The Warriors had entered believing three years of familiarity might offer some advantage. Instead, every memory became outdated information.

Kennedy’s defense was just as unforgiving, it was brutal. Curtis managed only 171 yards. The Warriors attempted to establish rhythm, but rhythm required consecutive successful plays, which Kennedy rarely permitted them. By the third quarter, Curtis finally began threatening to erase the zero from the scoreboard. The Warriors moved into Kennedy territory and started finding openings. Their sideline woke up and coaches called the next sequence with urgency. The crowd tightened.

Then Kennedy intercepted the ball.

Whatever small fire Curtis had managed to strike disappeared beneath the turnover. The Knights controlled more than the scoreboard, they controlled the time as well. 32 minutes & 10 seconds out of a 48-minute game. Curtis could not take away the momentum or seize the assault on their defense. JFK dictated the everything. Cortez changed tempos when needed. The Knights snapped quickly after successful plays and slowed the game whenever Curtis needed urgency. Every possession became another message.

This was not the Kennedy team that used to hope rivalries might become competitive. This was not prey. The Knights had become the thing approaching from the dark.

The fourth touchdown put the final punctuation on the night: 28-0.

When the clock expired, Cortez looked toward the scoreboard before looking anywhere else, verifying the score was no mistake.

For years, tough games had carried memories of what Kennedy could not become.

Tottenville. Curtis. Lincoln. The schools attached to losses, early exits, and bus rides where nobody spoke. Now Tottenville had fallen and Curtis had been shut out. The old order had started collapsing one opponent at a time.

Both teams met at midfield. Handshakes and respect. The ritual came natural despite winners and losers.

Then the team erupted. Players crowded the sideline and swallowed Cortez inside shoulder pads, helmets, laughter, and screams. Cheerleaders produced a pitch capable of cracking glass. Students answered from the bleachers. Parents stood and applauded while phones rose to capture everything.

Cortez hugged one teammate, then another. Helmets collided in celebratory headbutts. Someone reached from behind and snatched his helmet away before he could identify the culprit. Two more Knights attacked from behind, dumping cold liquid of whatever was left in the cooler over his head. Cortez jerked beneath the shock while the sideline exploded around him.

Coach Lloyd found him through the chaos, his pride sat openly across the coach’s face. The man who had watched Cortez’s first varsity performance disintegrate beneath interceptions now grabbed the senior quarterback and pulled him toward the cameraman filming the celebration. Cortez knew what he was doing. He was advertising his star quarterback to recruiters, promising the highlights to come and solidifying the hype around the rankings. He wanted Cortez’s face attached to the performance.

When the sponsoring was done, Cortez turned the attention outward to the crowd. He raised flailed his arms up and down, hyping up the team, the cheerleaders and fans once more. He pointed toward his offense, then toward the defense, and finally toward the coaching staff. Cortez wanted everyone in the spotlight, not just himself. He needed protection. He needed routes, hands and blocks. He needed a defense willing to get the ball back and coaches willing to tell him when he was wrong.

The glory had looked individual online, but the suffering never had.

The hellish summer camp had owned everybody. The hot laps. The suicides. The days when heat shimmered above the field and Coach Lloyd still demanded another rep. The fall practices in the muggy humidity. The film sessions after school. The injuries wrapped beneath tape. The blowouts and losses suffered together. The arguments and mistakes.

Everything ugly had been melted down and reforged into the season now standing at their feet. Kennedy had finished the regular season strong, and now another war waited.

Eight teams. Three victories required. One loss ended everything.

The playoffs did not care about five-star rankings or Senior Night posters. Kennedy knew that many times over. The Knights had not reached the second round since the 2016–2017 season.

Ten years.

Cortez had been seven. Seven years old meant a completely different universe. Pickles removed from burgers during summer cookouts and fired at Lauri like ammunition. Throwing her into ball pits just so he could dive behind her while she screamed at him. Cheap seats at Yankee Stadium beside Antonio, a radio pressed close enough to hear the broadcast because young Cortez could barely identify players from where they sat.

Ten years later, he stood beneath lights with colleges watching him.

The postseason began next week. There was no rest for the wicked, only clockwork. But that didn't stop Kennedy from relishing in the moment.

Cortez eventually escaped the mob and made his way toward the track where Antonio and Kareem waited near the entry gate. One look at their faces made the night feel complete. Cortez reached out to them and exchanged daps before they became hugs.

Kareem grabbed him tightly. His palm struck Cortez’s back hard enough to make him cough up whatever air that was left in him.

When he pulled away, his grin nearly occupied his whole face. "Look at you, big dawg! Four touchdowns!" Kareem shook his head. "I told you — focus on the field and everything else handles itself. They couldn't touch you tonight."

He stepped aside and nodded toward Antonio. "Unc been up here talking about 'that's my nephew!' since the second quarter. Man's ready to call every scout in the country himself."

"Damn right!" Antonio gripped Cortez by both shoulders, wearing the smug satisfaction of someone who felt personally vindicated by every touchdown. "Coach Lloyd ain't the only one who knows what he's got!"

He looked toward Kareem before returning his attention to his nephew. "Hell of a game, Champ! You did good out there, real good."

"Awh shucks, you guys." Cortez waved them away with exaggerated embarrassment. "Y'all don't have to smooch up to me to tell me how great I am!"

The grin gave him away immediately. "For real though, thank y'all for being here. I'm glad y'all came out."

"Man, don't nobody wanna smooch up to you. You still ugly, you just happen to throw a nice spiral." Kareem chuckled. His varsity jacket folded at the elbows when he crossed his arms. "Nah but for real though, tonight was different. You made it look easy."

Cortez dapped him again. "If it was easy, I'd have ten touchdowns on those mongooses, but I'll take the strong W to close the season."

He nodded toward the cluster of offensive linemen still celebrating near the sideline. "Those boys over there deserve just as much credit, not just me."

"That's what I'm talking about." Antonio patted him on the shoulder. "A real leader knows when to share the spotlight."

His eyes moved from Kareem back toward Cortez. "But I only got enough to treat the star player, not the whole team. My money ain't that long!."

Antonio laughed.

"What do you say, Champ? Wanna get changed and go grab something to eat? All three of us, my treat."

Cortez scoffed at the need for the question. "Maaan, I'm about to run your pockets! I haven't eaten since lunch and I'm hurting for a smash burger!"

"A smash burger? Kid drops four touchdowns and wants to gain ten pounds, I can't with this boy. "

Antonio shook his head. "Fine, we'll meet you out front, go get changed."

"Say less."

Cortez turned toward his teammates. The night had reached the part he wanted to remember: the celebrated win, spending time with family and eating some good unhealthy food. A few hours where life did not need to be deeper than any of those things.

Then glass shattered near the front gate. The sound sliced through the celebration.

For half a second, nobody moved. Then came the scream.

"Oh my god! Someone get some help!"

Heads turned.

Some spectators froze in place, unsure whether the sound belonged to an accident or a fight. Others immediately moved toward it.

New York had always produced two kinds of people around emergencies. Those who created space and those who rushed forward because somebody else’s disaster might become tonight’s story.

A crowd began forming near the front exit, then another scream rose through it.

"Jennessa!"

The name struck a nerve in Cortez. His body moved before thought arrived. He jogged, then ran. Kareem called after him before trailing him, but the words disappeared beneath the noise. Faculty members attempted to form a barrier around whatever had happened. Staff shouted for students to step away. People lifted phones above shoulders and aimed cameras toward the ground. Cortez pushed through. Someone caught his arm, but he ripped free. Another body tried to stop him, he slipped around it.

Then he saw the pink hair. Jennessa lay near the gate. Motionless, just barely.

For one moment, Cortez’s mind refused to process the rest.

Her body. The blood. A shattered bottle near the edge of the crowd.

Her hand pressed weakly toward her side as though instinct had told her she could keep everything inside if she held tightly enough.

Cortez went cold. The entire field disappeared behind a high ringing inside his ears.

People told him not to touch her, not to move her. That emergency help was coming.

He heard none of it as instruction.

Cortez dropped beside Jennessa, one hand slid carefully beneath her head.

Her breathing was faint. The girl who had spent months refusing to disappear from his life now looked as though the night might remove her permanently.

Phones surrounded them, flashlights came on, white beams crossed Jennessa’s face and bloodied clothing.

Someone had finally reached emergency services. One of Kennedy’s assistant principals, Mr. Clarke, pushed into the opening.

He saw Cortez and Jennessa. Saw the cameras, then understood several problems at once.

Mr. Clarke knew pieces of the breakup through school gossip. Administrators always learned more about students than students believed. He had no interest in their relationship.

He understood optics. A nationally ranked quarterback kneeling over his recently stabbed ex-girlfriend while dozens of phones recorded them could become something entirely different before sunrise. Context disappeared quickly online depending on who's telling the story.

Mr. Clarke placed himself between them and urged Cortez backward.

Cortez barely responded. A teammate eventually reached beneath his arms and pulled. Jennessa's head left his care while catching under Mr. Clarke's hand. His body moved backward while his eyes remained fixed on her.

Suddenly, none of the previous months mattered. The cheating. The arguments. The photograph. All of it disappeared beneath one primitive thought.

Jennessa was bleeding, barely breathing and she could die.

Senior Night had ended less than ten minutes earlier. Cortez had thrown four touchdowns, and now he could not remember a single one.



———————————————



Two days passed. Somehow they always felt longer when sitting the waiting area. The night of the stabbing, Cortez changed out of his uniform so quickly that the locker room became a blur. Antonio drove him and Kareem to hospital as their the celebration dinner was cancelled.

No smash burger. No jokes.

NewYork-Presbyterian received Jennessa while Cortez, Antonio, and Kareem waited beneath fluorescent panels that made everybody look exhausted. An hour passed and nobody had enough verified information. Only that Jennessa had arrived alive.

Her family eventually rushed into the waiting area.

Her Mother and Jennessa's little sisters, nipping at the heels. Her Grandmother, Saley, wore fear and questions on her face as she towed the tail of the lot..

Cortez did not know how much Jennessa had told them about the breakup. He did not know whether anyone had heard the ugliest parts. None of it mattered. Still, he did not want his presence turning a moment of concern into a confrontation of accusations. He prepared to leave, but Saley stopped him. Jennessa’s grandmother had always liked Cortez. Their relationship had existed independently from his relationship with her granddaughter. When he visited Jennessa, Saley found something for him to lift, move, repair, or reach from a shelf. Cortez complained theatrically, then did it. Saley repaid him with a hot meal before sending him home.

That night, Saley thanked him for being there.

Two days later, Cortez returned that Sunday afternoon. The hospital remained busy enough to make sickness feel like another form of traffic. Visitors moved through corridors. Nurses disappeared behind curtains. Machines produced soft electronic warnings from rooms whose doors remained partly open.

Cortez found Jennessa’s room. He knocked before entering cautiously. He had no idea whether she wanted to see him or not. Saley sat beside the bed with a weariness that lived across her face, but she stood with a small smile when Cortez appeared.

She welcomed him, insisted he stay before announcing she needed coffee with enough convenience to make the excuse transparent.

Cortez watched her leave. The door closed before he looked toward Jennessa. She had looked smaller beneath the hospital blanket. Reduced somehow by the wires, bandages, IV, and sterile room. Her pink hair had lost its usual polish. Her face looked pale beneath fluorescent light. Darkness rested beneath her eyes.

She was still alive, that was what mattered.

Cortez moved toward the foot of the bed. "... You look like someone ate your last jello and the hospital ran out."

Jennessa shifted but pain immediately punished the movement.

"Jello joke. Real original, Cortez. You been saving that one?" The corner of her mouth attempted the old smirk. It never fully arrived. "Grandma told me you were here that night. Waiting."

Her voice had become hoarse. "You came back..."

Cortez rested his fingers against the footboard. His eyes traveled over the room before returning to her.

"I wanted to come see how you were doing. Make sure you're not stressing Granny Saley more than you already do."

The joke landed flat intentionally. "Given that you're not in ICU, you're better off than you look. But still... How are you?"

Jennessa released something between a scoff and exhausted laughter. "I feel like I got stabbed four times, Cortez. How do you think I am?"

She swallowed. "Doctors said I got lucky. One of them nicked my kidney. Another missed my spine by an inch."

The words made the room feel smaller. "But yeah... I'm not in ICU, so I guess that's something to celebrate."

"Shit..."

Cortez had no smarter response. "I'm sorry... I mean... I don't know what to say."

He looked toward the partially opened blinds. The afternoon light leaked between them.

"I'm just... glad you're not for worse." His eyes returned. "I'm glad you're okay."

Something moved inside Jennessa’s expression. The walls she normally carried weakened. Her eyes shined, but she blinked before anything could escape.

"You don't have to say anything,"

Her fingers worked nervously along the edge of the blanket. "You showing up... that's more than I expected after everything."

She turned her head enough to face him more directly. "I remember you being there next to me, when I was laying on the ground, bleeding out... why did you come to me?

Cortez moved around the bed. He took the same seat Saley was sitting in a few minutes ago. The warmth of it poured into his legs through his jeans.

"... I don't know... I remember talking to my uncle and Kareem, we was supposed to go out and celebrate, just the three of us. Then, I heard your name... Someone screamed, it sounded frantic... My body just moved on it's own, I guess."

"Your body just moved on its own," Jennessa repeated the words softly.

"You always did that. Even when we were kids. Someone would be in trouble and you'd just... go. Didn't matter if you were mad at them or not."

She shifted again. The bandages pulled with pain tightened on her face before settling back into something neutral.

"I thought you hated me. After everything I said to you that day... I thought you'd be the last person to..."

The thought disappeared. "Thank you... For being there."

Cortez knew what he wanted to tell her. He did not hate her. He had been angry, humiliated and finished. Those things were different. He wanted Jennessa out of the role she had once occupied, not out of existence. But explaining that would reopen doors along with wounds no doctor can't mend.

"You know me... Just your friendly, neighborhood superhero. "

Cortez attempted another dead joke. "You're welcome..."

Silence returned. The monitor beside Jennessa’s bed suddenly sounded louder than anything else. Cortez listened until the rhythm became uncomfortable.

"I'm just curious... You know who could've done this to you? What happened?"

Jennessa’s expression emptied. "I don't know who did it,"

The usual bite in her voice was gone. "It happened so fast. I was near the front exit, heading out after the game. Next thing I know, someone grabbed me from behind and..."

Her hand moved unconsciously toward her bandaged side. "I didn't see their face. Everything went blurry."

Cortez leaned back. Jennessa could be reckless with her mouth, everyone knew that much. She argued hard, shouted insults, and held grudges long enough for them to earn birthdays. But none of that explained four stab wounds.

"I hate to sound like I'm interrogating, but I'm still gonna ask... You sure there wasn't anybody you were beefing with lately? I mean... You be on some other sometimes, but not enough to warrant you getting stabbed... If there's anyone you can think of, you definitely need to let one-time know about this."

Jennessa shifted again, the pain reminded her why she needed to remain still. One section of faded pink hair fell over her eye. Faint traces of dried blood still marked strands she had not been able to wash properly. She pushed them aside.

"You sound like my grandmother," She says with fatigue.

"I've been racking my brain since I woke up. Going through names, faces, every argument I've had in the last six months. There's... I mean, there's people I've pissed off. You know how I am. "

She paused. "But nothing that would make someone want to kill me. This wasn't a slap or a shove, Cortez. Whoever did this wanted me dead."

The truth of it chilled him. Four wounds were not a warning, they were intention.

Maybe Jennessa truly had no idea. Maybe she knew more than she wanted to say. Maybe whoever attacked her had come from a part of her life Cortez had never known existed. His brain attempted to build a suspect list and returned blanks. The question had grown beyond him.

Soft knocks interrupted. Saley had returned and entered with her coffee. Cortez understood the signal whether she intended one or not: Jennessa needed rest.

He stood up with a slight sigh. Before leaving, he returned toward the bedside. His hand found hers, her fingers trembled inside his.

"Hey, you gonna get through this. You're annoyingly tough. You'll be back on your feet in no time. Don't give Granny a hard time, aight?"

He squeezed gently. "I'll catch you later."

Cortez released her. Jennessa’s fingers held for the smallest second longer before their hands separated.

He hugged Saley, gave her a kiss on her cheek, then left.

Behind him, Saley returned to the chair beside the bed, lowering herself with a quiet grunt.

She studied Jennessa. Not the wounds, just her face.

"You still love that boy." Jennessa turned toward the window as her jaw hardened. "Don't start, Grandma."

Silence stretched between generations. Outside, New York continued as though nobody inside the hospital had nearly died.

Traffic. Sirens. People late to somewhere. Life disrespectfully refusing to stop.



———————————————



Sunday did not slow New York-Presbyterian. The waiting area remained crowded. Patients moved from intake into corridors separated by curtains and temporary walls. People sat with plastic wristbands while watching phones lose battery. A gurney rolled quickly past Cortez as he walked toward the front. He stepped aside as a nurse followed behind them.

The moment Cortez crossed close enough for his phone to reconnect properly, the device erupted inside his pocket. It sounded like it had suffered a seizure.

Texts. Voicemails. Emails. Recruiting messages. Social-media notifications, all from college programs such as Indiana, Oklahoma, Oregon, Nebraska, Tennessee and Penn State.

Senior Night highlights had continued spreading while Cortez’s attention remained elsewhere.

One notification stood apart, a Instagram post by Lauri.

They had barely spoken since the photograph confrontation. Not completely silent, but the old rhythm had not returned. He still had not decided whether he believed her explanation enough to release what remained.

Lauri had noticed.

Years earlier, Cortez had prioritized notifications from her account so he could keep track of what she posted. He never called it monitoring. Lauri absolutely did. His reasoning remained the same. Social media collected creeps and he needed to police that.

She wanted visibility. He wanted awareness.

Cortez opened the story.

Reposts came first.

Fashion. A video. Something anime-related. Then black filled the screen. Crimson text sat at the center.

"I ain't no killer, but don't push me..."

A famous 2pac line, nothing else. No song attached or repost marker. Lauri had uploaded it herself 13 hours earlier.

Cortez stared. The logical part of his mind knew what a quote was. People posted lyrics and captions constantly.

Lauri especially.

It could have meant nothing. A mood, a song stuck in her head.

The part of Cortez still carrying Jennessa’s photograph did something uglier.

It calculated. Lauri despised Jennessa. The siblings had been estranged after Cortez confronted her about the image. Now his sister had posted a quote about not being a killer unless pushed.

A Coincidence. It had to be.

How absurd Cortez had to be to believe his sister could have been related to the incident? Yet, his brain still made the connection before permission arrived.

He stared at the story while walking. Too late to looking up, a woman walked directly in his path, she too had not see him in her peripheral.

They collided.

His phone hit the floor. Her folder followed, papers shifting inside.

"Oh, damn, I'm sorry." Cortez crouched immediately.

He grabbed his phone, then collected the folder. "My bad about that. I wasn't looking."

He stood and handed it toward her. Then saw the face. The recognition had arrived. "I'm sorry, but I feel like I've seen you before. You look familiar."

The woman accepted the folder with controlled grace, her thumb straightened the papers before her attention returned to Cortez.

"You have. You were with my daughter in Chinatown. " Her tone carried no obvious warmth. No hostility either. "Maria."

The name unlocked the memory. The black Range Rover. The woman who had removed Maria from the sidewalk with a sentence.

"You are Cortez, I presume... I remember faces."

Cortez’s eyebrows tightened before realization widened his eyes. He corrected his expression quickly.

"Mrs. Hwangbo... Uh, it's nice to finally meet you. Yeah, I'm Cortez."

Then another thought arrived. "Wait, is Maria here? Is she okay???"

Yu-Ni shook her head once. "Maria is fine. She's at her apartment, studying. "

The folder shifted beneath her arm. "I was here visiting someone else. A private matter. "

Boundary established as Cortez understood not to further ask.

Yu-Ni’s attention sharpened. "I had intended to speak with you eventually. This is... convenient, if unexpected."

Her eyes moved toward the exit. "Do you have a moment, Cortez? I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Cortez blinked. Meeting somebody’s mother accidentally was one thing. Being informed she had already planned an interview was another.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Mind if we talk outside? Could really use some fresh air in here."

They moved through the entrance. Cortez held the door while Yu-Ni passed.

November's crispy air had met them immediately. Cold air cut through the stale hospital atmosphere and cleared Cortez’s head enough to remind him how long he had been inside. Pedestrians moved along the sidewalk. A police cruiser sat empty inside the no-parking zone. Cortez and Yu-Ni walked far enough from the entrance to avoid becoming part of the foot traffic.

He looked toward her. "What is it that you wanted to speak to me about?"

Yu-Ni turned as the wind caught the ends of her hair. Her coat remained buttoned neatly, the folder secured against her stomach.

"I saw you with her that night, before I had arrived to pick her up." She hadn't arrived, she knew she was following her.

Her eyes remained on him. "How long you've been seeing my daughter?" The question carried no accusation, but Cortez still felt examined. "I'm not here to interrogate you, don't be afraid to talk to me plainly."

The reassurance failed. Anyone capable of pulling up in a black Range Rover, lowering one window, and retrieving her adult daughter from a sidewalk through pure authority was not someone Cortez believed asked casual questions accidentally.

He chose the answer carefully. "About a month now? Maybe a little more."

He kept his posture loose. "We're not technically 'official', we're still talking, figuring things out."

One eyebrow rose.

"'Not technically official.'" Yu-Ni considered the phrase.

"What do you know about my daughter so far? Not the surface things — her major, her friends. Tell me something real."

Cortez looked away for one second.

"Something real..." Maria appeared inside his thoughts.

The way she observed rooms. Her film work. The softness in her voice when speaking to him.

"Um, she like to people watch while drinking green tea at cafes or write drama pieces. She said it helps settle her frustration and clear her mind. She mentioned her father once, I understand he passed away. She hopes to make him proud one day with her visionary work."

He shrugged almost too casually. "Either I'm extremely easy to read or she's very perceptive. I haven't figured out which yet. "

Cortez stopped himself enough to turn the spotlight.

"May I ask where is this leading to? Your daughter is an amazing person and I genuinely like her. But what's with this third degree I feel like I'm getting?"

Yu-Ni began walking as Cortez followed alongside. Her heels struck the concrete at an unhurried rhythm.

"The third degree, as you call it, is a mother's prerogative. Maria has already had enough people orbit her for the wrong reasons. Pretty face. Family connections. Access."

Those final words carried more weight than the others. Yu-Ni glanced toward Cortez. "But I won't pretend that I know everything that goes on my daughter's life, but I do care who enters and who leaves it"

Her eyes returned fully to him. "I'm not here to chase you off, Cortez. I'm here to understand whether you're serious about her — or serious about the idea of her."

Cortez understood the distinction.

Maria was attractive, an aspiring film creator that could possibly see Hollywood one day, and clearly came from circumstances more financially comfortable than his. Any one of those details could attract somebody interested in what being beside her represented.

"I understand, Mrs. Hwangbo, but it's nothing like that."

They passed pedestrians moving in the opposite direction. Near the end of the no-parking zone sat the Range Rover. Same shape. Same dark windows. Same vehicle that had carried Maria away that night.

"I got a little sister of my own that I think the world of. I'd do the same if I was in your position if she was serious about someone... I guess you just caught me off guard with the sudden directness. I'm not gonna stand here and 'promise' you anything to be perfect between me and Maria... People change, things happen..."

The words hit Cortez differently after Jennessa.

Promises once felt easy. Forever had once sounded like something people could decide at 13-years-old confined to puppy love. He knew better now a little older, a little more matured.

"Only thing I can be certain of is moving at a pace comfortable for her."

Yu-Ni stopped beside the Rover. For the first time, something inside her face softened.

Recognition.

"Good." The soothing base of her tone quietly reaching him. "I like honesty, it suits you than trying to articulate yourself carefully."

The driver’s door opened. A man in a suit stepped out, rounded the front of the vehicle, and opened the rear passenger door.

Yu-Ni did not enter immediately. Her gaze remained on Cortez.

"Maria's father died six months before she was born. She never got to meet him, but she carries him with her everywhere. It makes her cautious. It makes me cautious."

Cortez listened. The detail corrected an assumption he had never realized he made.

Maria did not know her father, yet she had inherited him, His will. His stories. His expectations.

Yu-Ni paused. "You mentioned your sister... What's her name?"

"Lauri, m'am."

Cortez kept his response short and simple.

"Lauri."

Yu-Ni tests the name, committing it to memory before the faintest hint of a smile touches the corner of her mouth. The driver remains steadfast by the open door.

"It's a pretty name. She's lucky to have a brother who thinks the world of her."

She finally steps towards the open door, placing a gentle hand on the inside handle before pausing one last time. "My daughter doesn't bring people around me unless they matter. Do try not to be someone who wastes her time."

Her tone makes it clear this isn't a request before she fully entered the back of the SUV. Cortez watched the gentleman closed the door behind her. He could see the faint silhouette of Yu-Ni sitting behind the dark tinted window without giving him a second look. He had noticed how her eyes lit up with a glint of hope, or maybe a telling that he passed of a 'preliminary round' of her own. Whatever it was, Cortez lived to see another day as he stood on the corner watching the vehicle pull off the curb and cornering after the crosswalk had cleared.

National Rank: 17 | State Rank: 1 | Position Rank: 4
Interests: Arizona State, Arkansas, Baylor, Boston College, Duke, Houston, Indiana, Kansas State, Louisville, Miami, Michigan, Missouri, NC State, Nebraska, Notre Dame, Ohio State, Oklahoma, Oregon, Penn State, Pittsburgh, Purdue, Rutgers, SMU, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, Tulane, UCF, USC, USF, Utah, Vanderbilt, Virginia Tech, Wake Forest

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

[The JZA]