She nods and stands. “So, where do you go from here? I mean, with the Tank and Sarah thing.”

“Beats me,” I say. “But it’s funny. The more I think about it, the more I realize Tank was in total control of the situation. He acts all crazy when he snaps like that, but I think he knew exactly what he was doing, like he coordinated every detail of the fight ahead of time and was holding back on purpose.” I exhale deeply and shake my head. “Justin’s right. Tank could’ve done a lot more damage if he’d wanted to.”

“Well, he is your best friend.”

“Guess so.”

She gives me that worried mom look.

“Any news on where Dad is?”

“No,” she says. “And you know what, Zach? Right now I really don’t give a shit.”

And that makes me laugh, hearing Mom swear like that.

She shows a hint of a smile. “I’ll be in here every twenty minutes or so, and don’t you dare complain about it.” She gives me the once-over. “God, I can’t believe he did this to you.”

She leaves the room and closes the door.

I hold the icepacks firmly against my cheeks and fall asleep, dreaming about what I’ll say to Coach Horton tomorrow.

————

A few hours later I wake up to take a pee. Sitting up and then standing, I’m relieved not to feel any excruciating pain. But once I start walking, my head throbs with each step.

Leaving my room and entering the hallway leading to the only john in the house, I notice Justin’s door is open several inches, the light on and Metallica coming from inside. Poking my head in, I see my brother sitting at his computer, bobbing his head up and down to the beat of the music.

I knock on the open door.

He turns, sees me, and nods.

Turning the music down, he says, “Bet you feel great right now, huh?”

“Very funny.” I open the door wide and step inside. “I have to show you something.”

“So show me.”

“I need to get to my email.”

He gives me an irritated look, shrugs, and stands, motioning for me to sit in his sacred throne.

“Hurry,” he says. “This better be good.”

“Oh, it’s good.” I walk over and sit.

What I do, of course, is play the Horton video and audio files for him. He’s speechless and plays each one three times, his smile growing wider with each playback, stunned but thrilled at the thought of Horton falling from grace. There’s this awesome look of delight on his face as I tell him about last night’s email and what Big Dale told me this morning, his comment about things already happening.

“Man,” Justin says, staring at the monitor. “If they can get Horton … well, that would be beautiful.” He looks at me. “Nice work, bro.”