“I need to get bigger,” I say. “This is my last season. Any idea where I can get some help?”

“Help with what?”

“Getting bigger.”

Silence.

“What, you mean like steroids or something?”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “There. You said the magic word. Do you know anything?”

“Zach, look at me. Do I look like I take steroids?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Dude, I know what you meant.”

“Good,” I say. “So who do I talk to?”

“Man, I don’t know anything about that shit!” He squints and then rolls his eyes. “Ask somebody on your team. Horton’s players were using when Justin and I went there, and I know it’s still going on. Some of the players who come through here are monsters.” He pauses, studies me. “What? Don’t tell me you never knew. Come on. You’re on the damn team, Zach.”

“It’s not that,” I say, shaking my head. “I know certain guys use, but I’ve never known exactly who to approach to get my own.”

“Maybe you should start with somebody who uses.” He studies me again, a look of disapproval on his face. “Justin would kill you if he knew you were looking to buy. He’s totally against that shit.” He takes a deep breath. “Anyway, like I said, I have no idea who deals. Ask a juiced-up jock, not me.”

“Right,” I say, convinced he knows nothing more than what he just revealed.

Brandon looks back out onto the empty main floor. Huey’s left without saying anything to us, and I have this weird vision of him marching over to Tank’s to shoot Dale Foster. Anyway, I see this twenty-something woman sitting on the cashier’s stool behind the front counter. She’s reading a paperback and listening to Pink Floyd, a dead giveaway that she’s a total Blaine girl. She’s really into the book, too, not even looking up as she reaches for her cigarette from the ashtray beneath the counter.

“Who’s she?”

“Brenda,” Brandon says. “That’s another thing. The cashiers make all the difference. They come and go like clouds, man. Always women, too. Your brother and me, I bet we’ve worked with thirty women the past four years.”

“Why so many?” I watch her as she takes a big swig of Diet Coke, followed by a drag on her cigarette. She still hasn’t looked up from her novel. She looks nice enough, kind of hot, too, in a rough, blue-collar sort of way. “Does Huey fire them all?”

“No. They all quit. I don’t think he’s ever fired one.”

“Why do they quit?”