Explaining It as Simply as Possible
It had been about two months since football training began, and at last, my high school life was underway. Today was the first day of the 2016/17 fall semester.
And, as always—
“Coming through—! Move it—! Coming through—!”
The first day of the semester is always a madhouse. Compared to everyone else, I was remarkably relaxed.
“Science first period? That's total bullshit.”
“Why? It was fun.”
“Are you being serious right now?”
“Come on, Jay. If you can't avoid it, enjoy it.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Let's go. The classroom's right there.”
The kids sprinting through the hallways in the opening weeks of a semester were usually one of two cases: they desperately needed the bathroom, or their classroom was just too far away. Sign up for classes based on the subject name alone, and you might find yourself sprinting down corridors every single day, just like those guys. So you always had to choose wisely.
I made plenty of mistakes with that in my past life. These days, though, building a schedule was child's play. I'd done it so many times. In fact, this time around, I'd personally put together the morning class schedules for my friends as well.
Inside the classroom, Marcus turned to me.
“Damn, you know what?”
“What?”
“There wasn't a single pretty girl in science just now.”
“Hilarious. You couldn't make a move anyway.”
“That's just because she wasn't my destined one.”
“Oh— really? So that's why you were stammering all over yourself the other day?”
“My condition was just bad that day, okay?”
“Yeah, sure it was.”
One thing I'd learned—or rather, remembered—over the past two months: boys this age are absolutely crazy about girls. And Marcus was a particularly bad case. I genuinely suspected his brain was split cleanly down the middle, one half football and the other half women.
“Hey! Two o'clock!”
“Two o'clock?”
“Huh? No, wait. One, two, three, four, five... Oh! Seven o'clock!”
“Idiot. ...Is she your type?”
“Yes— locked in. Touch her and you die.”
“Do as you please.”
I lightly shoved away Marcus, who'd been scanning every girl in the class since the very first period, and struck up a conversation with Sol-Jay. Talk between the two of us ran differently than when Marcus butted in.
“Damn— seriously? Football talk first thing in the morning?”
“You think we're all blessed with your cushy life?”
“We're playing in ten days, man.”
“Fuck!! Nothing like QB bragging rights.”
Marcus, an offensive lineman, probably wouldn't see the field at all this season. But Sol-Jay and I, as two of only three quarterbacks on the team, had to get ready for the season opener.
For the record, the first game was on the 12th. Against Leilehua. An away game.
And I'd be starting that day. Sol-Jay would be waiting on the bench as backup.
Just one week into training, I'd met every basic requirement the head coach demanded. One week after that, I'd beaten out Cameron and secured the starting job. It didn't seem especially difficult. If anything, it felt later than expected.
The only variable was my feel for live-game football. No matter how much head-coaching experience I carried, or how thoroughly I'd prepared from the very beginning of this life, standing on a field as a quarterback was something I hadn't done in a long, long time.
“Is Moi around, by any chance~?”
“Ah, damn it.”
Just as my friends and I were deep in conversation, a girl whose very voice sent shivers down my spine appeared at the classroom door.
Stephanie Jensen.
Following the crowd's gazes, she found me, gave a sly smile, blew a kiss my way with a suggestive little hand gesture, and vanished.
At that, Marcus shuddered from head to toe. Even he knew she was dangerous.
“Ugh. I get full-body chills every time I see her.”
“Why does she even do that?”
“You seriously have to ask?”
“I honestly have no idea?”
“Haah—”
For Sol-Jay's benefit, I explained. When a girl acts like that around school, rumors start flying. The *so-and-so is dating so-and-so* kind.
Stephanie still hadn't given up on her ambition to date me and become the undisputed Queen of the school. When I first saw her outside my cabin, I figured she'd give up eventually—but she was far more relentless than I'd expected, and it was becoming a problem.
The reason she could act this way was simple: she was captain. Captain of the football cheerleading squad. Hawaii being such a small, tight-knit place, the cheer captain of a high school football team almost always became that school's Queen. Her influence was already enormous. All the so-called popular girls trailed after her, desperate to stay in her good graces, kissing up at every turn.
A side of high school life I'd completely forgotten. Why did I only remember the good parts?
“Why not just date her?”
“Are you insane? I don't want to.”
“Aww— it might not be so bad.”
“Yeah, right. Fine, then *you* go out with her.”
“Whoa. Hard pass.”
“Then never bring it up again.”
“Okay.”
For the sake of a happy—and safe—high school life, I had no intention of getting entangled with Stephanie, no matter what.
A little while after the bell rang, the teacher walked in. An older gentleman.
Marcus reacted right on cue.
“A woman teacher would've been better.”
“Get it together and focus, would you.”
This guy would be chasing girls until the very end. For a moment, I genuinely worried about his future.
#. 2:00 PM
Thankfully, the first day of the fall semester ended without incident. Having finished Spanish class, I packed up my bag.
From the start of afternoon classes on, I'd been walking around alone. As I gathered my things, the Spanish teacher smiled and struck up a conversation.
“How was class?”
“It was good.”
“Not too difficult, I hope?”
“No. You taught it very well.”
“Haha. If anything doesn't make sense, come see me anytime. I'll walk you through it personally.”
“I will. Thank you.”
It was clear: every single teacher was friendly toward me. It had to be because I was an athletic recruit. Not just any recruit, either—one drawing national attention. And that influence had already proven itself, in a way that had never happened before.
For the first time in the history of American high school football, our home opener was going to be broadcast nationally on Fox. The reason unfamiliar men had been roaming the field for the past few days was to install their equipment.
Anyway.
“Moi! How was your first day?”
“Well, if it isn't the star of Kahuku High!”
“If you need anything, my door is always open.”
“Heading to practice?”
Even on the walk from the building where I'd had my last class to the football field, not a single teacher I passed failed to stop and chat with me. Girls clustered in twos and threes along the corridor, sneaking shy glances my way, and a few brave ones offered a “Hi~” or a little wave. And whenever I answered with a smile, they positively dissolved.
So this is what popularity tastes like?
The boys, on the other hand, gave me a slightly different look. Somewhere between admiration and jealousy—the ratio seemed to run about 7:3, maybe 8:2.
In every sense of the word, I was the star of Kahuku High School.
At the edge of the football field, where I arrived bathed in everyone's attention, I found the friends I'd parted with earlier. Oddly, they all looked a little deflated.
“How were your classes?”
“Damn it, I've already lost confidence.”
“Already? It's literally day one?”
“I'm hopeless at studying, man. Truly.”
Under school rules, any athlete whose subject average fell below a C+ couldn't participate in games—or even practice. There was an exception allowing them to claw back credits through retests, but since they couldn't train during that window either way, it was a loss for us no matter how you sliced it.
Comforting friends who'd already been defeated by academics on day one, I stepped into the locker room inside the football facility.
Upperclassmen who'd arrived ahead of us came into view. One of them grinned when he saw me.
The team's starting running back (RB). Harmon Brown.
A Samoan with East Asian features, like me—though I'd heard he had a few more ethnicities mixed in than I did. Not that it mattered much. What mattered was his football.
Harmon came over and spoke.
“You're already famous, you know that?”
“Really?”
“Yep. Word spread all the way to the senior classrooms. Girls were begging me to introduce you. You interested?”
Harmon was a senior graduating this year, with dreams of playing at a mainland college. Toward that end, he'd been practicing a second position since last year: outside linebacker. A decision made to boost his recruiting stock.
For high school players whose path to college wasn't guaranteed, playing multiple positions like this was a common way to appeal to universities. But on its own, it still wasn't enough. Unless a college scout found something truly special, 999 out of 1,000 high school players like Harmon never became recruited athletes. They might have to give up football entirely.
That was exactly why Harmon was extra kind to me. So much rested on my shoulders. If the quarterback didn't call many rushing plays, the running backs had fewer chances to shine.
And so—
“Yo— Fake Samoan!”
“Hey! I told you to knock that off!”
“Oh, Harmon. Didn't see you there.”
“I told you it's a bad look, Sio. Cut it out.”
“Tch.”
He was protecting me. Sioele, displeased with the situation, clicked his tongue and walked off, the other two Huamatu brothers trailing behind him.
The defensive unit, Huamatu brothers included, still sneered at me, calling me a “Fake Samoan.” But every time they did, the older boys on the offensive side stepped up to shield and look after me.
“Don't sweat it, Moi. Those guys are idiots.”
“Thanks for that.”
As you can see, the Kahuku football team was currently split into two factions: the defensive unit centered around team captain Sioele Huamatu, and the offensive unit featuring Harmon, Royce Pao, and the others.
In other words, our team chemistry wasn't exactly great. The head coach and assistant coaches knew it too, but unless things spiraled into the worst-case scenario, their position was to wait and watch.
It was possible because offense and defense were separate worlds in football. As long as no punches were thrown, it wasn't a serious problem—it could actually help the team. The offensive unit held each other accountable, and so did the defensive unit. Because everyone knew they'd catch flak from the other side whenever they screwed up, the bad blood often became fuel for motivation. That, too, was different from other team sports.
Of course, everyone actually getting along would be even better.
“Ughhh. Moi! Help me out!”
“I told you to stop stuffing your face with wings.”
“Nnngh— my arm won't come out... please.”
“Haah—”
After helping Marcus—who'd gotten so chubby on chicken wings he was struggling to squeeze into his pads—I headed out onto the field with the rest of the offensive unit. The moment I did, my mood lifted instantly.
The field was, without question, the best place on earth.
Clap!
“Alright. Let's run the field before the coach gets here.”
“Everyone, four-column formation!!”
One of the coaches proposed a run first, and Sioele raised his voice to gather us on one side. Heat shimmered up from the sun-soaked turf. We'd barely started running and our bodies were already drenched in sweat.
Still, we ran in step together. The heat meant nothing. Far more painful things happen on a field—physically, and mentally.
“Ko Wai Matou?”
“Kaipāhua Kura.”
“Ko Wai Matou?”
“Kaipāhua Kura.”
Chanting hard in time with Sioele's lead, we circled the entire field in one long sweep.
“Ko Wai Matou?”
“Kaipāhua Kura.”
Who are we? The Red Raiders.
Somewhere along the way, I had become a proud member of the Red Raiders myself.
#. August 6, 2016
#-1. Oahu, Hawaii, USA
#-2. Honolulu
With Saturday upon us, I'd come down to Grandma's house. Aunt Mel, who'd driven me here, was in the shower.
“You're really coming to cheer me on?”
“Of course. It's my grandson's game, isn't it?”
“I'd love to have you, but do you actually know the rules of football?”
“Well, I suppose it would be nice if you taught me.”
“Hmm— right. I suppose so, yes.”
Grandma had said she'd come cheer at the home opener on the 19th, so I'd brought a pen and notebook, settled into a seat beside her, and began explaining as simply as I possibly could.
She didn't need to understand everything from the start. Positions, tactics—none of that was necessary. All she needed to know was who I was, and how the offense worked.
First, how many players took the field.
“Eleven players on each side—offense and defense.”
“Just like soccer.”
“Exactly right. And I'm called the quarterback—the first person to touch the ball once the play begins. The guy in front of me hands me the ball, and that's when the play starts.”
Boiled down to its simplest, football is a game of territory. Whoever gobbles up the other team's ground fastest wins. Points go to the side that takes the land first. The team with possession gets four chances total, and across those four downs, they must advance ten yards from where the drive began.
In football, that's called a first down—the single most important word on offense.
Now, say a team gets pushed back five yards without losing possession. Then it has to gain fifteen yards across its remaining downs to earn the first down and keep the drive alive. Keep advancing like that until you reach the end zone, and you score—different amounts of points depending on how you score them.
And the quarterback—
“—is the position that has the biggest impact on first downs and scoring.”
“Can you pass more than once?”
“Sideways or backward, as many times as you want. But forward, only once.”
“Oh— then your job really is the hardest of all, isn't it?”
“It is. But that's exactly why I love it.”
A position where you make the decisions. One that swings the team's scoring. One that, in the end, decides wins and losses. All of it drove me insane—in the best way.
For now, I'd only explained the basic offensive rules and how points were scored, but if Grandma found herself enjoying it, I planned to teach her a little more here and there.
Just then, Aunt Mel came out of the shower.
“Phew— your turn.”
“Yep, going now.”
“Hmm? Were you explaining football to Grandma?”
“She's coming on the 19th.”
After tagging Aunt Mel in, I hurried into the bathroom and stripped off. Two months of training had made my body noticeably more solid. I struck a pose or two in front of the mirror.
Ah. Come to think of it, I'd forgotten to explain game time to Grandma.
I quickly rinsed off in cold water and stepped out to find Aunt Mel already seated at Grandma's side, explaining it for me.
A football game runs fifteen minutes per quarter, four quarters in total. But because the shot clock stops every time a play ends, a game usually takes three to four hours all told.
“Moi.”
“Yes, Grandma.”
“Make sure you eat a proper meal before you play.”
“Haha. Yes, I will.”
She seemed worried I'd go into games on an empty stomach. I'd told her I understood, but I couldn't promise anything.
In my past life, when I was a head coach, I'd burn one cigarette before stepping onto the field. Meals were usually after the game.
Come to think of it—no part of me craved a cigarette anymore. I used to be a hopeless chain smoker.
Strange. Was it because my body was new?
“Mo—i! Mel—! Come eat!”
“Auntie, let's go.”
“Yeah.”
Aunt Mel and I had been chatting outside for a while when Grandma's voice called us in.
As always, the table was overflowing. Without fail.
Which meant, today too—
“I'm gonna gain a kilo.”
I worried about putting on weight. Grandma, apparently, did not.
“It's nothing fancy, but eat up.”
“...Where, exactly?”
“Hm?”
“Oh— no, nothing. Never mind.”
What on earth did a well-prepared table look like, by Grandma's standards? I had always been too afraid to ask.