I didn't believe in the jinx. It was perhaps one of the more rational things I gleaned from my older sister Amy. When I'd be watching a game at home, and some boneheaded announcer would say something like this kicker hasn't missed a field goal from this yardage in 35 games, Beth would chime in and go, "Well, now he just jinxed him."

Amy would shake her head and reply, "Nobody has that kind of power. You think if that guy did, he'd be sitting there announcing football games?"

And she had a point. If any mortal had the power of the jinx, they'd be off the grid, undetectable, working in secret.

But after posting my final article on Reid, essentially touting him and Clemson as the undisputed best with basically a guaranteed spot in the playoffs, the worst possible thing could have happened. I jinxed them. That whole curse thing that Reid had gone on about...I evoked it. Taunted it. Tested its power.

I swallowed down the slimy bile building in my throat as Reid took a seat at the press table next to Coach Riley. He'd found time to quickly shower before the press conference, his hair still wet and the gash on his chin hastily bandaged up. There were turf burn abrasions all over his hands and forearms. He was a literal embodiment of how the ACC Championship game went for the team - absolute shit.

"I want to start with you Coach Riley," one of the journalists at the front began. "What do you think went wrong for you in this game?"

"Oh, everything," he answered without hesitation. Reid tensed up beside him. "We weren't focused, not for one moment of that game, and that's where everything else falls apart."

When big upsets happen in college football, most of the time analysts attribute the loss to something called looking ahead. If a team is playing a "cupcake game" followed by a game against a tough opponent, it's not that uncommon for the team to fall into the trap of looking ahead - as in, too focused on the tough team in the future that they lose focus playing the easy team. That's how a lot of upsets happen. That's probably how this upset happened. 

"You're a two-loss team now," another reporter chimed in. "Historically speaking, the committee has not taken kindly to teams with two losses. Reid, if you were to plead your team's case to the selection committee, what would you say?"

I gulped again as Reid brought his hand up to his chin to gingerly press the bandage down. He heaved out a tired sigh before speaking. "The committee goes on and on about how their job is to make sure the four best teams make the playoffs. We are one of the four best teams. I firmly believe that."

For someone that just got his ass beat, he still exuded the vibe that he was the one doing the beating. Regardless of how I felt about Reid and how well I knew the softer, sensitive side of him, I knew if I was a football player on the opposing team, I'd be terrified to play against him.

The press conference concluded, and we all slunk back to our hotel depleted and defeated and quite frankly, doomed. We were leaving to go back to Clemson early the next morning, and I wasn't sure if Reid wanted me around or wanted his alone time. Mara was with Derek, leaving me to sit up in bed staring into the void, contemplating my options. Was he waiting for me to reach out to him? Or was his radio silence a sign that he didn't want to be bothered?

I quickly decided that none of that mattered. I knew where I stood with Reid, win or loss, so I texted him the only thing that did matter.

ME: i love you, i'm always here for you <3 

I'd almost convinced myself to go to bed when there came a knock at my hotel room door. The way my heart lifted in my chest told me that I knew it was him before I could even open the door, and the moment it swung open, he was on me. But not in a sexual way. He draped his body around mine in a tired, desperate plea for support, as if he'd drop to the floor if I hadn't been there to intercept him.

I led him to the bed, where he laid his head on my chest and I gently threaded my fingers through his hair. I wasn't sure how long we laid there, counting each other's breaths and soaking up each other's warmth.

Finally, Reid spoke up. "I feel sick even asking, but...what do you think?"

I shook my head with a sigh. "I'm not sure. Georgia is still the unanimous #1, that one's easy. And because the committee has SEC bias, they'll probably put Alabama at #2 even though their strength of record isn't as good as Oklahoma's. The argument for us is that we have the head-to-head win against Florida State, but their only loss is against us, whereas we just have two losses. We've more or less played all the same teams, but our strength of record is also better because we schedule better out of conference games. We also made the conference championship over them, but I'm not sure which is worse - making it and losing or just not making it at all."

I hadn't even realized how much I'd be rambling until I caught Reid's gaze, looking up at me like I'd just handed him the Heisman trophy itself.

"What?" I let out a stiff chuckle.

Reid smirked. "You say something like I'm not sure and then proceed to rattle off an analysis that half the guys on ESPN can't string together as perfectly as you can. I just..." he took a breath, reaching up to gently stroke my cheek with the back of his hand. "I'm just in awe of you sometimes."

As if I wasn't in awe of him all the time.

"Well, I'm not going to pretend like I understand the way the committee makes decisions. It's all just educated guessing." I paused and gave him a coy smirk. "But I'm biased, anyway."

Reid took my hand and softly kissed my knuckles. "You like me that much, huh?"

"No, I just hate Cade Martello more," I snickered.

It was funny in the moment, but the reality of the situation wasn't. Tomorrow at 7 PM, the final college football rankings would be announced, determining which four teams would be going to the playoffs. Clemson was directly fighting with not only Cade fucking Martello and Florida State for that final playoff spot but Michigan as well, and no matter how much we thought we deserved it, our fate was in the hands of 13 people who thought they knew better.

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It had become pretty commonplace in the modern college football playoff era for teams that were in the running for a playoff spot to have a "watch party" at their facility for the Selection Sunday show. ESPN cameras and a few reporters had been slinking around the football complex since this afternoon, and the entire team gathered in the nutrition center for dinner before the show started. Even though there was plenty of energetic chatter as players, coaches and staff bounced around from table to table, nervous energy buzzed in the air.

Knowing how many cameras would be pointed at Clemson's quarterback and Heisman nominee, I chose not to sit with him and sequester myself to a table in the back with Mara and a few other media people. It wasn't a secret to most people on the team that we'd been spending a lot of time together, but the assumption was because it was kind of my job to do so. People watching on national TV would have decidedly different assumptions.

I couldn't pretend like it didn't hurt as I watched him from afar, talking with some of his teammates and looking as casually good as he ever did in a simple hoodie and sweats. Whether we were going to be celebrating or mourning, it almost ached that I couldn't sit there and just hold his hand. 

"If you look at him any harder, I think he might catch on fire," Mara leaned over and whispered to me.

I shushed her and shooed her away. "I'm focusing."

"On what? Where he cut himself shaving this morning?" Mara snickered.

"I watched him shave, and he didn't cut himself," I grumbled, propping my elbow onto the table and resting my chin in my hand. "I just..."

"Wish you could be closer?" Mara's tone quickly shifted into something more genuine as she offered me a small, sympathetic smile.

"Yeah," I sighed out. "I do."

The Selection Show itself was a big song and dance. All the usual suspects (see: analysts) stretched the simple task of announcing the top 25 college football teams into an hour-long show, deep-diving into niche statistics and scenarios. They announced the teams from bottom to top, with 25-15 being announced first, then 15 to 7. 6 through 1 was where the drama was cranked to 100, like bad scripted reality TV. Since spots 4 ,5, and 6 were the most contested, they announced 1, 2, and 3 first.

"Remember, we're seeing these for the first time too," ESPN's College Football host reminded us for about the fifth time in the last half hour. Georgia's logo flashed across the screen and slotted into that #1 spot before showing a quick flash of live footage from their watch party, where all the Bulldogs cheered and howled as if they hadn't been #1 literally the entire year.

There had clearly been some merit in my educated guesses last night, since Alabama had indeed moved up to #2 and Oklahoma was put at #3.

"Now we've got one spot left, and three teams with resumes worthy of that final spot."

Mara reached over and squeezed my hand as the screen showed a side-by-side comparison of us, Florida State, and Michigan, all with pieces of their respective resumes that put them at an advantage over the other teams. I wanted to pay attention, but my gaze was pulled towards Reid, who looked on with lethally serious intent.

As if he could feel my eyes on him, he looked over at me and allowed his lips to turn upwards into the faintest smirk. Love you, he mouthed.

Love you too, I mouthed back.

In a moment where things seemed so incredibly uncertain, I was certain of Reid. In fact, I was so painfully, horribly certain, that I was worried being without him now would rip me in two. Whatever was about to happen would happen, but we had each other for whatever it would be.

"Now we're gonna go back and announce number 6 first and see who's been eliminated."

When Michigan's logo flashed across the screen and filled the #6 spot, there was a collective exhale in the complex. In the anticipatory silence I could practically hear the blood pumping through my ears, barely able to register the ESPN host rattling off the final two spots.

"This leaves us with, of course, the decision that everyone anticipated we would have. Florida State or Clemson. One spot left. Whoever is put at 4 plays Georgia, and the other...heartbroken."

I was almost inclined to scoff at the dramatics, but honestly, I couldn't even fault it. It was how we were all feeling. We took one last collective inhale as three seconds turned into three hours, but eventually there it was, Clemson's orange paw print logo slotted into the #4 spot.

The complex erupted into cheers, players jumping up from their chairs and hugging each other in part excitement and part relief. The show continued on as the analysts picked apart the decision, some for it and some against it, but we didn't care. We made it, and now we had to show why we deserved it.

Reid was being led away to do a few interviews, but as he brushed past me, he gave my hand a quick squeeze. The blink and you'll miss it kind. But I held onto it for the rest of the day. I'd hold onto it for as long as I could.

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7 chapters to go. 2 more football games to go. narrowly avoided disaster there, didn't we? it's fine. i'm fineeeee

i plan on submitting BIG SHOT to the watty's as a completed story, so these next 7 chapters are going to come fast and furiously. thank you as always for reading and supporting my silly football kids <3