I study them for a few moments to make it look good. Then I nod and say, “Okay, but this is it.” I take the twenty. “Now, start texting people that I’m closed, okay?”

As they turn and walk down the alley in the direction away from the store, I roll the cart to the Dumpster and empty the garbage. I’m feeling better. Huey finally knows what he needed to know, and, best of all, my career as a Blaine spy is finally over. Thank God. I’ve learned enough about the adult world to know I want nothing to do with it. Now all I have to do is one more beer run and I’ll no longer have to worry about getting busted stealing and selling cases to minors. Yeah, I still have major issues with Tank, Sarah, and Coach Horton that need figuring out, but for the first time all summer some of that emotional weight pressing down on my shoulders is finally lifting.

So I’m rolling the cart back toward the entrance when none other than Coach Hank Horton himself pulls into the empty lot in his silver sedan. He parks in the space nearest the side of the building, almost sideswiping my cart in the process. He must recognize me, because he gives the horn a friendly blast as he shifts to park. I hear what sounds like arena rock coming from his speakers. For some reason that doesn’t surprise me.

He kills the ignition and gets out, sporting those hideous tight blue polyester coaching shorts and a white polo with the Blaine team helmet on the left breast. He’s not wearing a T-shirt beneath, and I can see a pair of doughy-looking man boobs that should be declared illegal. As for his gut, it resembles an inner tube for a semi-truck tire. Nasty.

“Zach Ramsey,” he says, leaning his pale fleshy forearms on the hood of the car. “I thought that was you. Working for the summer?”

“No,” I say. “I just enjoy pushing empty carts through parking lots.” He squints. I smile. “I’m joking, Coach. Yeah, I’m working for Huey.”

“That’s good,” he says. “Hard work builds character.” He looks me over. “Still haven’t seen you in the weight room. You still working out?”

“Like crazy,” I lie, flexing a bicep that barely exists. “What, you can’t tell?”

“Sorry, but no, not really. Maybe it’s the program you’re on. That’s another reason you should come to the summer sessions. The coaches will put you on a training program that gets results.”

I’m feeling pretty cocky about ending the spying thing and closing the black-market beer business, so I decide to make a play on Horton just to see how he handles it.