Y'all are killing me with these reviews, lol! So hilarious. I understand we're not feeling Quinn, but I'm hoping y'all hang in there! Hopefully, the next few chapters will ease the blow of the Fabram situation. Enjoy this chapter!

Noah Jackson- Stephan James

Monday Afternoon

"Hey, Sam! You ready for today?" Mike asked as he joined Sam on their way to the football field.

"Oh, yeah. And all thanks to you. I mean, the good word you put in with Coach Beiste, gave me the playbook and team policies to read, and helped arrange a practice in the park on Saturday with some of the other guys to top it all off? You bet your ass I'm ready."

"Good to hear. Beiste is in a mood today and you may not be in as good of a place as you think." He chuckled as he patted him on the back and jogged out to the field.

"Wait, what?" Sam asked, panicked.

As practice began, Sam surveyed the other guys kneeling down and followed suit. Seeing Coach Beiste walk over to him, he immediately felt the urge to run and hide.

"So you're Evans, huh?" He looked down at him.

"Yes, sir." Sam stood up abruptly.

"Chang here says you were head QB at your old school. That right?"

"It is, yes. I was also captain. My old coach actually picks the positions through two separate processes so it's actually kind of an honor to be both—"

"Did I ask about your old coach?" He yelled.

Sam gulped. "No, no sir, you didn't." He murmured.

"Didn't think so. Here's the deal. I've got two QBs. That combined with the fact that you look like I could snap you like a twig leads me to believe you don't have a chance of taking either of those spots."

As Beiste was talking, a player jogged onto the field quietly, attempting to go undetected. It didn't work.

"I'm sorry, Jackson. Did we start too early for you?" The coach asked, not even turning to look at him.

The boy shook his head. "No, Coach. I was in the bathroom. I'm sorry."

"You know, Evans, maybe you could have a shot at running back since Jackson over here is obviously not doing his job, as evidenced by last week's sham of a game."

Sam's eyes drifted along with the rest of the team's over to Jackson, who had instinctively lowered his head in shame.

"Eyes forward!" Coach screamed.

The teenager snapped his head back, feeling almost as if he had bitten off more than he could chew in asking Mike to set him up with a tryout. Coach Beiste was scaring the shit out of him.

"Chang says you've been going over the plays. That true?"

Sam nodded. "Yes sir, it is."

"Good. That'll make this a lot easier. Since everybody made a fool of themselves last week, we're running your worst plays until your legs go numb. Evans, you and Jackson will be switching out as RB. Whoever is the least embarrassing starts for the rest of the season. Everybody up and start stretching."

As the boys got up to begin practice, Coach Beiste called out to them. "Oh, and since Jackson wanted to be late, it's all or nothing. For both of you."

Sam looked over at Mike. "What does that mean?"

"It means one of you is getting the spot while the other gets the boot." Mike looked at him. "And let's just say that if Beiste kicks you off of one of his teams, you don't have a great chance of ever making it back on. I hope you're as good under pressure as you say you are, Sam."

Sam joined the practice, aware of the eyes on him, particularly Jackson's. He had one chance and he couldn't blow it. But he could tell no one was going to make it easy for him.

After practice, all the boys, sweaty and panting even after a five-minute cooldown, gathered in the locker room. Sam leaned up against the locker as some of the guys were talking, barely paying attention to them. Mike came up to him.

"Look, man. Whatever Coach says, I think you did great out there. I mean, watching you play was crazy. If it were me, you'd have the spot already."

Sam was thanking him when Finn joined them.

"Hey, dude. I just wanted to say, you're totally going to make the roster. Coach would be stupid not to bring you on."

"Thanks. That seems a little weird coming from the captain, though, doesn't it? Aren't you supposed to help lift up your team?"

"Definitely. But another part of being captain is knowing what's best for my team, and what's best for our team is you as our starting RB."

Sam smiled a little, feeling some of his stress leave him. Surely if the captain of the team thought the spot was his, that was a good sign, right?

Just as they finished their conversation, a deafening silence fell over the locker room as Coach Besite entered. He surveyed the room before looking at Sam. "Evans, my office."

Looks like he was about to find out.

"I'm gonna cut right to the chase here, Sam." Bestie sat down at his desk. "You're one hell of a player," he said.

Sam smiled. "Whoa. Thanks, Coach."

"I mean, honestly. You're quick on your feet, you've got good instincts, your pass blocking is the best I've ever seen in someone your age and you've never even been a starting RB before. It's damn near unbelievable."

His smile widened.

"And had you been here to try out this summer or if it were any other time, that spot would've been yours without so much as a question."

His smile faltered. "Would've been mine?"

The coach shook his head. "I can't put you on the team, Evans. We're stretched as it is. And Jackson's worked his ass off for starting RB for over two years. I can't just give his spot to anyone, not even someone as good as you. It's not fair to him and it's not good for morale. I'm sorry."

Sam nodded. Despite being crushed, he understood. He didn't know why he thought he may actually have a chance to replace someone who was already on the team. He fell in so easily here that he forgot that any sense of hope was his enemy. Always has been, always will be. He stood up from his chair, thanked the coach, and began walking out of his office.

"Hold on just a minute, I didn't tell you to go yet. Sit back down."

Sam turned back around and did as told, hoping Coach would make it quick so that he could go somewhere and yell or scream or cry, whichever felt right.

"Now, I can't offer you a spot on the field. But that doesn't mean you can't be a part of this team. I want you to come on as manager."

Sam frowned, quickly realizing that yelling was going to be his expression of choice. "You want me to be a waterboy?"

Beiste caught the irritation in his tone and barked at him, "Did I say I wanted you to be a waterboy?"

"No, but everybody knows that the team manager is always the guy who couldn't quite make the cut for the team, so he just does everything for them, cleaning up behind them and handing them refreshments when they need it. That's how it works everywhere."

"Well everywhere isn't here, Evans. That's not how I do things. Chang told me that you were here under some special circumstances, and I did take it upon myself to have a chat with Principal Figgins and Ms. Pilsbury. I know about your situation and I wish there was more I could do for you, but this is my best and final offer."

Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes. He knew it wouldn't be long before his past caught up with him. "So, that's why you're giving me this? Because of my sad backstory? Because if so, I don't need your charity. If I can't make it onto the team, don't make special exceptions for me just because I—"

"As manager of my team, you'll be my right hand. Even more so than Hudson. When I'm on that field and you're available, so will you. We'll be wherever the guys are before they get there and after they leave. You'll help me with practice plans, make playbooks, you'll watch over practice, assessing each of the players, telling me about their strengths and weaknesses. You'll get to know this team inside and out better than any player could dream to, like the back of your hand," he said. "Securing a spot next year will be a breeze. I'm not giving you anything. If you want a spot on my team, you're going to have to earn it like anyone else. But if you prove useful enough, I may see about getting onto the field before playoffs if we make it. Because if I'm this impressed after one day of practice, there's no telling whose eye you could catch in a game. That is why I'm offering you this position. Because foster kid or not, you've got something. Talent. And I'd hate to see you throw that away. I'd hate to let you. Now, you've got until 30 minutes before practice tomorrow to give me an answer. Think hard and think fast."

Mercedes looked at the clock above her: 5:50. Thank goodness. She couldn't wait to be done here. She loved working in the bakery, but only when she got to make things or (ironically) interact with people. She hated the prep tasks like putting in online specialty orders, which she was doing right now. But still, she understood that someone had to do it and it might as well be her. She was almost done and ready to lock up when she heard the doorbell chime, signaling that someone was entering the bakery. She groaned silently. "Welcome to Home to Heaven Bakery and Café. I'll be with you in just a second."

She was still putting in another order when the person spoke up behind her. "You know, whatever you're doing, I could probably help you with that," they said.

He said. And his voice was deep. She turned around to see who it is, frowning surprisingly when she recognized him. "Noah?"

"Who, me?" Noah pointed at himself and glanced around the room. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, it is me." He grinned at her. He held his hands out presenting himself. "Cedes."

She laughed at his antics. "What are you doing here? You do realize we're about to close, right? You know how much I hate people coming in just before closing."

"I'm the new help your grandma hired. I wasn't supposed to be here until 6:15, but Coach let us off early today and I don't like to be late. At all. It's embarrassing."

She smiled, intrigued. "Oh, my god. I know right? Like, if you're supposed to be somewhere, the least you could do is be on time. It's usually not even hard."

"Or, better yet, be early. My mom always says early is on time,"

She picked it up. "On time is late,"

They both said the last line together. "And late is unacceptable!"

"My grandmother says the same thing." Mercedes smiled again. "Wait, speaking of your mom, she's a senator and your dad owns two different law firms. What are you doing here slumming it with us working-class people?"

"Maybe I'm a big fan of the suits. Did you ever think of that? Plus, my parents are entrepreneurs first and they value anyone who can meet their standards of that, including Ms. Abby."

She nodded approvingly. "Well, in that case, let's go ahead and get started on showing you around. Follow me." She motioned for him to meet her behind the counter and gave him his tour. "So this is the-"

Without warning, Sam burst through the door and marched angrily upstairs, pausing briefly only to glare at Noah as he passed them.

Not noticing the glare, Mercedes looked after him and then at Noah, "I'm sorry, give me one moment." She didn't wait for a response as she followed Sam up the stairs and to his room, where he was pacing, huffing, and puffing. "Sam, what is going on? Did something happen?"

He stopped in his tracks and looked at her, not even noticing that she had followed him. "It's nothing," he said.

"Really? Because if my grandmother were here, all that 'nothing' would've gotten you a few words on not speaking to people when you come into a room."

"I didn't get a spot on the football team. Coach Beiste said no."

Mercedes looked down, feeling upset for him. "Sam, I'm sorry. I know how much you wanted to be on that team. But you always knew that was a possibility, though-"

"No, Cedes, you don't understand!" He said, exasperated. "I got the chance to try out and I did everything right. I remembered everything I needed to, I played better than even I knew I could, and I showed up on time. It was all or nothing and all of it should've been mine." He groaned and tensed up his arms, trying to keep himself from throwing something.

"Wait, what did Coach Beiste say?"

"He said he couldn't give me a spot on the field but offered to bring me on as team manager. Said he could see about getting me on the team before playoffs like that's going to happen."

"Then, Sam, what the hell are you moping around here angry at the world for? That's not nothing."

"Mercedes, on what Earth would I go from being a team manager to any position on the field? Much less a starting position."

"So you didn't take it?" She asked, both confused and a little irritated by his actions.

Sam sat on his bed and laid back, his feet still on the floor, and huffed. "Coach gave me till tomorrow to think about it, but I'm saying no."

"The hell you are." Mercedes closed his room door where she'd been standing the whole time walked closer to him. "Sit up, Sam. You're willing to blow everything because you didn't get the spot that you wanted? You're lucky to have gotten anything from that coach. At all. You need to take this seriously."

Upright, Sam shook his head. "You don't get it. He only even offered me the spot because of my situation. He told me he'd hate to see me throw away my talent. You don't think I'm taking this seriously?"

She crossed her arms, shifting her weight to one side. "I think you're doing yourself a lot more than good with this zero-sum game you're playing right now."

"So you think football, my literal dreams, are a game to me. Is that it?"

Shaking her head, she sat down beside him. "Sam," she said softly.

He felt his exterior soften just at the mention of his name.

"This is only a bad thing if you let it be." She looked down at her feet. "When I was younger, my dad was in and out of prison. When I was 7, he got out for what seemed like for good, but he wanted so badly to get back to everything he had before he went in that he ended up hurting people in the process. He hurt my mom. He hurt himself." She paused for a moment. "He hurt me."

He looked at her. "My mom did the same thing once. After a stint in rehab and having her kids taken away, there were a lot of things she did or said that were because she couldn't get back to who she was, no matter how hard she tried."

Finally, she looked up at him. "Sam, you don't want to hurt yourself because you can't be the head quarterback you were before you left. You're in a new place with new people. It's going to take time for you to get back on track with your dreams, but you can get there as long as you're not hellbent on sabotaging yourself. A potential spot by playoffs isn't a starting position today, no, but it's better than nothing. Much better. You might've thought it was all or nothing but obviously, Coach Beiste wants to make sure that that's not the case. He thinks you've got talent and he wants to find a way to nurture it and give you an outlet for it. Don't give up so easily." She stood up from his bed. "I have to get back downstairs. We have a new employee and I've got to break him in."

Sam frowned. "Jackson? He's going to be working here?"

She nodded. "I'm guessing you may have met him today? He's on the football team."

"Yeah, you could say that." He sucked his teeth.

She studied him for a few seconds. "Are you okay for me to go back down? You'll actually think about taking the team manager position?"

"Yeah, go ahead." Sam did feel a lot better about the position. Something about Mercedes' talk just made him feel so at peace. He felt like he could see things so much clearer now. He was surprised that she opened up to him like that, but he couldn't even begin to describe how much he appreciated and needed it.

As she started out of the room, she turned around on the doorframe. "If it makes you feel any better," she said, "by the time Noah leaves, my Grandmother will still be on the way back from picking Maiya up at cheerleading practice. That means she won't be here to obnoxiously claim the last piece of chocolate chess pie. I'd be willing to split it." She smiled.

He chuckled a little. "Can't wait."

"I'll let you know when he leaves." She smiled at him one last time before going back downstairs.

"And for our final stop, everyone's favorite part of the job, the dishwashing station." She smiled sarcastically. "This is probably where you'll spend a lot of time for your first week or so until we start new schedules." She put her hand out in front of him. "I wouldn't set my sights on the cash register, though. Tina practically has a monopoly on that thing. I haven't seen anyone take it from her yet."

"Nah, that'll be a breeze. I've got the power of persuasion on my side." Noah waved her off.

She laughed heartily at his confidence. "I'd like to see you try."

He looked at her and tilted his head. "Oh, you don't believe me?"

"I'm just telling you that Tina is one determined woman."

"And I'm telling you," Noah leaned on the wall beside him and intensified his gaze, "As the son of a senator, which you pointed out, I'm a pretty persuasive guy. Some might even say that I'm quite the smooth-talker."

"I…" Mercedes was stuck. Literally stuck like a stalling engine repeating that same syllable. It was like over and over again as she tried to remove herself from Noah's eyesight, she couldn't. This wasn't a side of Noah she had ever seen, not that she had seen any in the first place. He was a jock, not in her crew, and therefore not on her radar. Well, except for that one time in Freshman year when he tried to ask her out.

Finally starting her engine, she said, "I... hope you don't mind getting wet!" She pushed a pair of gloves against his chest. "But if you do, we have some shirts in the back and you can have one of those."

He placed his hand on top of hers to take the gloves.

As their hands touched, she struggled to remove hers from his chest and her eyes from his arms. He was a lot more muscular since they last talked, that's for sure.

"Cedes?" He called out to her, a slightly worried look on his face.

She sobered up once again, taking her hand back. "Yeah. Okay. I'm gonna go get your shirt." She whisked past him.

"Wait, really quick. Was everything okay with Sam?" He asked, pointing upstairs.

She nodded. "Yeah, yeah. He's good. He's just going through a lot right now. And since you're on the football team, you probably know that practice today didn't go exactly as he'd hoped."

"Yeah, I do. I'm sorry about that." He really was.

She nodded again and left to go retrieve his shirt.

Noah called out to her again. "Hey, Mercedes."

"Yeah, Noah?" She smirked, halted but her back still to him.

"A buddy of mine is having a party this Friday. Starts at 8."

"B4?"

He nodded. "So you know about it, then?"

She crossed her arms, knowing where he was going with this. Do not engage, she thought to herself as she turned around. "As does half the city, yes."

Grinning, he asked, "So you're going?"

That sounded more like a statement than a question. This is dangerous, Cedes. DO NOT ENGAGE. "Noah, why would I want to go to that thing? Or any party, for that matter?"

"Because I'm going to be there. Do you need more of a reason than that?"

At this point? Hell no. She gave him a questionable look. "It's not very convincing." Lie.

"Doesn't have to be. But the way I see it, we can do this one of two ways. One," he pushed himself off of the wall and started making his way to her, "you can tell me what time you'll be there so I can wait for you at the door, or two, you can continue to pretend like you're not going so that I can have my eyes peeled all night and be absolutely stunned when you walk in looking as amazing as you always do." He stood right in front of her, locking her down with his eyes again. "So, what'll it be?"

She looked up at him, feeling herself being pulled in. Girl, what part of 'do not engage' do you not understand? Walk away. Walk away now. "Your shirt is waiting," she said.

As she was walking away he smiled. "Keep my eyes peeled, then. Got it."

She bit her lip, trying to fight the smile that slowly took over her face.

Another thing that I love about reading y'all's reviews is that it's like y'all are reading my mind sometimes! Someone predicted a potential love interest for our girl Mercedes. Do y'all think they were right? How are you feeling about this football team situation? What do y'all think this party is going to have in store? Can't wait to hear your thoughts! Till next time!