At 6 p.m. on an early July day, the Florida State skill players gather for 7-on-7 skeleton drills. The turnout, considering the 95° heat, is impressive. Twenty-five Seminoles, led by medical miracle QB Chris Weinke, are running through a series of goal-line routes in air as thick as honey.

All-America wideout Peter Warrick lines up right, opposite one of FSU's talented corners. Barely six feet tall, in baggy shorts and a sleeveless T, his body lacquered in sweat, Warrick charges forward at the snap, gives a sick stutter-step and does a quick out, leaving the helpless D-back leaning inside, two paces behind.

"S--!" says the corner, as Warrick takes in a touchdown pass.

"That's all you can say after that," linebacker Brian Allen chimes in from the sideline. "S--."

Warrick doesn't have to be here, sweatin' it out with his dogs. He could be a millionaire by now. Last January, just four days after FSU's crushing loss to Tennessee in the national championship game, Warrick sent shock waves up and down the Florida panhandle by declaring he'd return for his senior season. But shock turned to skepticism following the April NFL draft. Many scouts considered Warrick a better prospect than Torry Holt, the sixth player drafted, and David Boston, the eighth. Over the next several months, rumors had Warrick fleeing Tallahassee and turning pro via a supplemental draft. Even as he ran routes, lifted weights and faithfully attended summer school, fans couldn't help wondering: Would the man who routinely plastered his helmet with tomahawks the past three seasons really come back for one more?

He is the Playmaker, the Dice Shaker. He is Peter the Great, the most exciting athlete to hit Tallahassee since Deion. The kid's got these hands. Strong, fat hands that could catch a falling moon. Hands he tucks underneath his chin before each snap, as if poised for a fight. The kid's got moves, too. Enough isometric moves to make Janet Jackson envious. After a catch or during a punt return, he might pause to bait the D. The next instant, he's poppin' and lockin' like some berserk drum major, freezing defenders and molding TV viewers to their furniture.

"It's almost like he's double-jointed," says Warrick's mother, Joann Williams. In fact, he's ambidextrous -- throws right, shoots left. Raised as an only child, Warrick filled up Mama's Bradenton, Fla., home with trophies for everything from hoops to Ping-Pong. When word got out that Pete could run (his best 40 time is 4.28), kids came around and challenged him to races in the streets. In high school, he led the Southeast Seminoles to two state titles, first as a receiver, then as a quarterback. But it was his feel for the dramatic, his ability to change a game with one play, that drew the most attention.

In 1993, Southeast trailed archrival Manatee 14-10 with a minute to go when Warrick returned a punt 54 yards for the game-winning TD. The following week, he bumped into some players from Southeast's next opponent, Sarasota Riverview, the nation's No.1 team. "All of them were telling me, 'Just because you ran a punt back last week don't mean you going to do that against us,' " he recalls. "I just let that ride. Ran one back on them, too. Took it to the house."

After considering Florida and Nebraska, Warrick moved to a new house, Doak Campbell Stadium. Against the wishes of FSU, he redshirted his first year, spending most of his time chillin' with then-'Nole Randy Moss. Coaches knew they'd have a hard time keeping Warrick around for five years. A breakout performance at Clemson during his third year seemed to confirm their fears. Before the game, receivers coach Jeff Bowden gave Warrick a tour of Death Valley, pointing to the end zone where, in 1988, Neon Deion had made his mark by returning a punt for a score, pointing to the crowd and screaming, "How ya like me now?" Warrick got the message. In a 35-28 victory, he amassed 372 total yards and three scores -- including, yes, a 90-yard punt return for a TD. "He dominated the game," said then-Clemson coach Tommy West. "I've never been around anything like it, and I hope I never am again."

Bobby Bowden doesn't hype his players for individual awards. Maybe that explains why Warrick wasn't a finalist for last year's Heisman. On a team loaded with potential first-rounders, Pete was far and away FSU's MVP. In the Seminoles' eight games against ranked opponents, he averaged six catches for 123 yards and scored 10 TDs.

It's no secret that Warrick is prone to mental lapses and dropped passes. But his litany of outstanding plays last season left little blank space to hang 'hawks on his helmet. Against Texas A&M, he came back from a sprained ankle to catch the winning TD. Against Florida, he threw a 46-yard touchdown pass off a reverse to seal the W. Against Georgia Tech, he showed off his uncanny ability to lose defenders with one move: A 16-yard end-around TD so shook Yellow Jacket Jesse Tarplin that the defensive end was subjected to repeat showings in film study. "We rewound that about a thousand times," says Tech CB Jamara Clark, a high school teammate of Warrick's. "It was a nasty move."

Perhaps Warrick's best performance came against North Carolina, a game in which he caught just three balls and was suspended for the first quarter after skipping practice to be with his 2-year-old daughter, A'Lyric. Dre' Bly, the Tar Heels' All-America corner, had taken every opportunity to dis Warrick in the press that week, calling him "Petey." And throughout the first 15 minutes, Bly sought out Warrick on the Seminole sideline. "I'm waiting," he said. On the third play of the second quarter, Warrick issued his response, blowing past Bly for a 33-yard reception to the UNC 1-yard line. You can see it on the replay, Pete walking back to the huddle shaking his head up and down. "I was like, You wanted me, huh?" he says. "Now you got me."

All last season, Jeff Bowden would kid the kid about his "lasts." Last ACC game, last Florida game, last time on the sideline in garnet and gold. Before the Fiesta Bowl, D-back Mario Edwards seemed to speak for the team: "Any man with eyebrows can see that the man's fixing to go to the next level." But after catching just one pass for seven yards in the 23-16 loss, the man began having second thoughts.

On Jan. 8, Warrick called a press conference to announce his intentions -- even though he wasn't sure what he would do. Upstairs in the Moore Athletic Center's atrium, a garnet-shaded room dominated by retired jerseys and Charlie Ward's Heisman, Warrick stopped to talk to Weinke, his fourth -- and favorite -- QB at FSU. Pete asked Chris if he thought he could return from his neck injury. Weinke said yes. They rapped some more. Everything was happening so fast. Then, just before ducking into the conference room to face the media, Warrick paused. "Weink-dog," he said. "Let's ride."

Warrick came back for all the right reasons. He wants another shot at the title. He wants his poli sci degree. And he wants to win the Biletnikoff Award, if not the Heisman. But a lot of people just couldn't buy those reasons -- and the spontaneity of his decision didn't exactly help quash those pesky rumors about the supplemental draft.

On July 5, Warrick took the CLAST, a test that college students in Florida must pass before they can graduate. Warrick failed the math portion and was under the impression he only had one more chance to pass. "If I don't, I can't register for the fall and that means I can't play football," he said at the time. "If I knew it was going to be like this, I wouldn't have stayed." As it turned out, he doesn't need to pass the test to play ball, only to graduate. But it's not surprising Warrick thought otherwise. Since January he has been assailed by runners for agents offering deals and spreading false info -- a barrage that has forced him to change his phone number three times this summer.

Warrick's return has definitely put a charge into the nation's top-ranked team. Whether hauling in passes or working as a decoy, he makes the 'Noles the scariest offensive squad around. And teammates respect that Pete's given up maybe $40 mil for a chance to win it all. "I can't believe it," says Warrick's fellow wideout and best friend, Laveranues Coles. "If it were me, I'd be gone."

A year ago, Warrick thought he'd be gone too. Instead, he's enjoying his final months of college. He might not be rich, but he's hardly anonymous. Back home in Bradenton at the beginning of summer, a couple of boys approached Pete and a friend and challenged them to a race. "I had braids in my hair. They didn't know who I was," he says. "We were going to do a little relay run, but some dude came up and said, 'Are y'all crazy? Man, that's Peter Warrick.' "

Since then the Dice Shaker has shaved his braids and taken out a $3 million insurance policy with Lloyds of London. He has learned a lot about whom to trust and how people perceive him. There's a lot left to accomplish at FSU -- and he doesn't want any negative pub. "He knows image is everything," his mother says. Warrick's mitts and sugar feet stand to leave a lasting impression on fans. But the image he keeps coming back to is this: The Seminoles walking out of the Superdome as champs.

This article appears in the September 6, 1999 issue of ESPN The Magazine.