But then I get a better idea.

“How’s it going, Zach?” His voice is deep and confident.

“Good,” I say. “It’s summer.”

“Damn right it is,” he says. He checks his mirrors for approaching cars, but the street is quiet. “Come here a second. I can barely hear you.”

I cross the lawn and walk over. I have to shield my eyes from the sun to see him, but I notice his enormous beer gut hanging over his trademark pair of blue polyester coaching shorts. He offers to shake hands, which I reluctantly agree to do. His grip feels like a closed vise.

“I was thinking about your old man the other day,” he says. “When we played high school ball together, he was the hardest-working guy on the team. And all that hard work paid off. He was small, but he was good. Damn good. He got better every day, never worse.” I nod and think about how horrible of a player I am. “Then again,” Horton adds, “anatomically speaking, the bumblebee isn’t supposed to fly.” He winks at me. “But nobody told the bumblebee that, now did they, Ramsey?”

“Come again?” I say, having absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. That’s the thing about Horton. He has all these ridiculous quotes that are supposed to pump players up and make us think positive and all that, but part of me wants to bust out laughing every time he spits one out. I mean, who really cares about bumblebees and their flight mechanics? Not me.

“The bumblebee,” he repeats. “It’s an expression, a motivational saying. Come on, you’ve heard me use that one before.” I shrug. He seems frustrated with my inability to grasp the meaning. “Never mind.” He takes another peek up and down the street. “So, you getting in shape for two-a-days?”

“Working my butt off,” I lie.

He smiles, wipes sweat from his upper lip and forehead. “Good, because with this kind of heat you need to be in tip-top condition. I mean, if you fail to plan, you plan to fail, right?”

“That’s what I hear,” I say, suppressing my laughter.

He looks me up and down. “You’re a lot different from your old man, but I’ve always liked your attitude. It’s … unique.” He gives me the once-over—again. “So, why haven’t you been coming to the weight room on Tuesdays and Thursdays?”

“Because I’ve been hitting my brother’s weights like crazy. He doesn’t use them anymore.” That’s another lie, of course, but it’s an important part of my quickly developing plan.

And Horton totally takes the bait, saying, “How is Justin, anyway?”