[Monroe Family Home]
The Monroe house sat on a quiet street in Culver City. It was a typical upper-middle-class professional home: a standard front yard, a two-car garage, and a spacious living room that connected directly to the kitchen.
In the living room, Derrick Monroe was sitting on the couch, a cup of coffee resting on the low table in front of him. The television was on, and on the screen played the same ESPN documentary Cam had been watching hours earlier.
The Standard.
Derrick was a UCLA scout and the first person from the Pac-10, now the Pac-12, technically, to approach Andrew.
He crossed his arms and leaned back slightly.
"Yes…" he murmured to himself. "That's how the game is played."
To him, those kinds of plays weren't just spectacle. They were information, details the average viewer would miss. Pre-snap posture, patience in the pocket, the way Andrew understood the rhythm of the game.
As a regional recruiter for UCLA, Derrick had spent years traveling from school to school, talking to coaches, watching hundreds of kids who showed promise and then fell short. His job wasn't glamorous or lucrative, but it gave him something he valued even more: time.
That day, for instance, he had wrapped everything up by three in the afternoon. Calls made, reports sent, visits scheduled. Now he was home.
[State semifinal win. Mater Dei's toughest game yet, with accumulated fatigue weighing on every snap. Even so, Andrew never dropped his level: five touchdowns.]
The narrator's voice followed the images as the screen first displayed the game stats and then a summary of the season so far.
"Sixty-eight touchdowns in thirteen games…" Derrick muttered, interlacing his fingers.
Anyone hearing that number would assume inflated stats. A system built on short passes, quick routes, heavy run game, and a quarterback who simply distributed the ball instead of truly throwing it.
But that wasn't the case.
In that state semifinal against Fresno Central, all four of Andrew's passing touchdowns had come on intermediate and deep throws. Clean reads, full progressions, throws on the move, lateral movement, and exceptional arm strength. Nothing forced.
Derrick had seen a lot of talent. Too much of it.
More than fifteen years in the business, traveling schools, evaluating prospects who fizzled out and others who never quite broke through. But this wasn't anything like what he'd seen before.
If someone asked him, he wouldn't hesitate for a second: the best prospect he had ever seen was Andrew. And probably the best to ever play high school football.
In three seasons, freshman, sophomore, and junior, Andrew had piled up 204 touchdowns, just 9 interceptions, and more than 15,000 total yards.
And as if that weren't enough, nine titles.
Who could possibly be better?
The answer was simple: no one.
There was no comparison, neither in the present, nor in the past, and very likely not in the future either.
And that had all been before his junior year ended.
His senior season was already underway. Barely two months in, Andrew had already racked up more than forty touchdowns, a league title, and an undefeated record that had stood since his arrival at Mater Dei.
The Monarchs were advancing once again, on course for another section final.
This wasn't an isolated peak. It was continuity.
Derrick drifted into his thoughts as the documentary moved toward the historic finale.
Thinking about continuity brought one name to mind: Matt Barkley.
Derrick remembered him well. It had been less than four years since he'd signed his LOI. UCLA had made a massive push to recruit him. Derrick had been obsessed, with good reason.
In his junior year, Barkley had the best season of his career: 35 touchdowns and 9 interceptions. Mater Dei reached the section semifinals, and that was enough to crown him the nation's top prospect, the No. 1 quarterback in his class, a five-star recruit, Gatorade Player of the Year, every individual award imaginable.
But the following year, his senior season, his level dipped.
It wasn't a collapse.
It just went down.
He finished with 25 touchdowns, a good year for almost any other quarterback, but not for someone coming off a historic season. More pressure, more cameras and higher expectations. It happens sometimes. Repeating that kind of peak isn't easy for most players. There's always a dip.
Except for Andrew.
The noise wasn't distracting him, and the pressure seemed not to bother him at all.
Quite the opposite.
With 46 touchdowns in just eight games, Andrew was surpassing his own records. And that says a lot, considering his previous season had already been far better than the best years of Barkley, Clausen, or any other quarterback in their prime.
The numbers were obscene.
In three full seasons, Andrew had thrown only 9 interceptions. Barkley had thrown 9 interceptions in a single year, and he was considered the best.
They played on the same team. With the same coaches, in the same league, and under the same conditions.
"What the hell is that level…?" he murmured, incredulous, as he analyzed it more closely.
Just then, the front door opened, and Angela's voice, his wife, echoed from the hallway.
"I'm home!"
"I'm in here!" Derrick replied, without taking his eyes off the television.
A few seconds later, Angela appeared in the living room. She was still in her work clothes, jacket draped over her arm and her briefcase in the other hand.
"I see you wrapped everything up early today," she said, looking at her husband.
Derrick pressed the remote and paused the screen. "Yeah. Quiet day," he replied. "That's why I could go pick Jade up from school."
Angela raised an amused eyebrow. "Oh… I'm sure she loved having her dad pick her up."
Derrick let out a short laugh. "She prefers that to taking the bus," he said. "When there's comfort involved, teenagers don't care about pride, just the ride."
Angela smiled, set her briefcase aside, and sat down next to him. "Did she say anything? Or was it total silence and headphones?"
"Silence, headphones, and a don't-talk-to-me-or-I'll-kill-you look," Derrick replied, already used to it. "A classic."
Angela shook her head, amused, then turned her gaze to the television. As soon as she recognized what was playing, she sighed.
"Again?" she asked, looking at him with a resigned expression.
"Absolutely," Derrick replied with a small, completely unashamed smile.
"At this rate you're going to scare Andrew away, even if he never finds out," Angela joked.
"I don't believe in those superstitions!" Derrick shot back, almost offended. "You don't understand, honey. Andrew chose us! A player of his caliber can change an entire college program."
Angela glanced at him sideways with a gentle smile. She knew that tone well, the barely contained excitement, the voice rising half a pitch whenever he talked about football.
"And I mean it," Derrick continued. "I've evaluated his technical and physical abilities a thousand times. He's on another level. Just looking at his numbers and his command of the game tells you that. He's 6'4", 214 pounds, and his reads and understanding of the game…" He shook his head. "I'd bet my life on it: right now, today, he's already college-ready."
"The way you talk, anyone would think Andrew has already chosen the Bruins," Angela said with a half-smile. "And as far as I know, he's only been on a visit."
"An official visit!" Derrick corrected immediately, raising a finger.
Derrick began to explain, even though his wife hadn't asked him to.
"A player can only take five official visits. Five. No more…"
As he spoke, Derrick stood up from the couch and took a few steps around the living room, unable to stay still.
"Andrew is a generational player. He must have well over twenty programs that have offered him a scholarship and want him to visit: Alabama, USC, Georgia, Ohio State, everyone. And yet, for his first visit, he chose us."
Angela raised a hand, stopping him with a tired smile.
"I know," she said. "You've explained this to me a thousand times."
Since September had begun, and with it, Andrew's senior year, the NCAA's legal barriers for universities had fully lifted.
Now they could do things formally: offer scholarships without workarounds, call him directly, send emails, letters, even faxes. Head coaches could speak to him without intermediaries, explain offensive schemes, how they envisioned him within the team, and what his role would be from day one.
But there was something even more important than the scholarship, because everyone offered that.
The official visit.
An official visit was a fully paid tour: travel, hotel, meals, game tickets, private meetings with the coaches, and a tour of the facilities. Forty-eight hours of VIP treatment.
And the rule was clear: a maximum of five.
That was the key.
Out of the more than twenty offers Andrew had on the table, he could only choose five colleges to experience at that personal level.
Accepting an official visit wasn't just looking at options. It meant seriously considering that program.
That was why it mattered so much.
Those five official visits were the real Top 5. The finalists. If you were there, you weren't out, you were in the fight.
And UCLA, by becoming Andrew's first official visit, was also the first to qualify.
No one truly expected it.
Yes, there had always been a good relationship between both sides. Andrew had even said in a past interview that he would choose UCLA over USC. But almost no one took it seriously. The previous season didn't help: UCLA was coming off a 4-8 record, a disappointing year that, on paper, didn't fit a quarterback of that caliber.
Until that moment.
Because when Andrew accepted the official visit, UCLA suddenly jumped back into the game, and did so forcefully. It wasn't USC. It wasn't Oregon, coming off a historic season. It wasn't Arizona.
That didn't mean they had won anything. Not yet. But it did mean something just as important: UCLA now had a real chance. One in five. Twenty percent. Far more than anyone would have imagined the year before.
Derrick remembered that visit perfectly, vividly.
It was Saturday, September 3rd, and Sunday, September 4th. Two days during which Andrew was treated with absolute, almost presidential-level VIP treatment. It wasn't an exaggeration, no other recruit had been received that way.
The schedule had been planned far in advance. First, a private meeting with the head coach, Rick Neuheisel, completely one-on-one. Then the quarterbacks coach and the offensive coordinator joined in. Long conversations, unhurried, focused on scheme, reads, and leadership.
After that came the full tour of the facilities. No rush, showing the step up in level from high school to college. The difference is noticeable even if you're coming from Mater Dei.
And, of course, the game.
That Saturday night, UCLA faced the San Jose State Spartans at the Rose Bowl. They won 27–17. A solid, much-needed victory. They were coming off a season opener loss to the Houston Cougars by just four points, it had been a tight, competitive game, but a loss nonetheless.
That night, with the Rose Bowl as the backdrop and the team responding on the field, UCLA didn't just bounce back on the scoreboard.
They reaffirmed themselves to Andrew.
After the game, they took him to the locker room and then to dinner with the players and the staff.
On Sunday there was another breakfast, this time with his family and the head coach. Derrick was also there, taking advantage of the cordial relationship he already had with Andrew.
Then came the final meeting. That was when they spoke plainly: his future role, the development plan, and the training he would go through if he arrived in January. For a player of his caliber, the logical move was to graduate early and enroll in the program ahead of schedule.
Overall, Derrick felt it had been a favorable visit for UCLA. He saw Andrew as receptive, attentive to every detail, and engaged in all the conversations. It was clear he was taking it very seriously, especially alongside his grandfather and his redheaded father, far more than with his other father, who experienced everything with overwhelming emotion.
"The other visit he chose was Georgia, right?" Angela asked, recalling having seen articles with photos of Andrew at one of Georgia's airports.
Derrick nodded thoughtfully, his brow slightly furrowed. "Yeah. The Georgia Bulldogs. SEC. The toughest conference in the country. Maximum competition and exposure."
"The SEC is the SEC. But California was never invisible, and especially not now," Derrick added, and Angela looked at him.
"Because of the new league?" she asked, and Derrick nodded.
"The Pac-12."
At the start of the 2011 season, the Pac-10 became the Pac-12 with the addition of Colorado and Utah. The change wasn't just in name. The entire format was transformed.
Now there were twelve teams, more games, more television exposure, and, for the first time, a conference championship game. The conference was split into North and South, six teams on each side. The winner of each division would face the other for the Pac-12 title. One final game, everything on the line, far more appealing than the old round-robin format.
Even so, the Pac-10 had never been a minor conference. It had always been nationally relevant. USC dominated for years, Oregon reached the BCS Championship the previous season and lost by just three points to Auburn, and every year there were teams in the Top 25.
The visibility was always there. Now, with this new format, it was multiplied, more big games and a meaningful finale. That made the Pac-12 more attractive than it had been when it was still the Pac-10.
Just then, footsteps were heard and someone appeared in the living room. Derrick, who was about to keep talking, turned his head and saw his daughter, Jade.
Dressed in black, as always, dark makeup and neatly messy hair.
"Whoa, you came out of your vampire cave," Derrick said with a smile.
Jade shot him a glare. "Very funny joke coming from someone who's almost forty-five."
"Ouch," Derrick said, clutching his chest.
Angela, on the other hand, wrinkled her nose slightly and sniffed the air. "Perfume?" she asked, puzzled.
Then she looked more closely at her daughter. She was more put together than usual, with a small black bag hanging from her shoulder.
"Are you going somewhere?"
Jade fell silent, as if weighing whether the question even deserved an answer.
"Yes," Jade finally said. "On a date."
Absolute silence followed. Derrick blinked once. Angela's eyes widened just a bit.
No one spoke for a few seconds, as if the words hadn't fully registered yet.
"…a date?"
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