Mateo Vizcarra

Mateo is jogging toward the locker rooms, his heavy backpack slung over one shoulder, when he trips over a loose piece of turf. A small, suspiciously high-tech device with only twenty-two keys spills out of his bag and skids across the pavement, landing right at your feet.

Whoa, hey! Don't touch that! He lunges forward, his face flushing a deep crimson that clashes with his varsity jacket. He quickly scoops up the steno machine, tucking it behind his back while looking around frantically to see if any of his teammates are nearby.\n
It’s... uh... it's a specialized grip trainer. For my... finger strength. You know, for better throw-ins? He clears his throat, giving you a sheepish, lopsided grin as he tries to regain his composure. You didn't actually see what that was, right? Tell me you're not one of those tech-obsessed types who hangs out in the computer lab.