“In that order, for Norris,” I added.

“If you didn’t want to hear football talk,” Leo asked, “why did you come?”

“So that Katie wouldn’t have to fight toxic male culture alone.”

“We’re not toxic,” I told her. “Just because we’re football players doesn’t mean we’re unenlightened, and stuff.”

“And stuff,” she mocked. “I will concede that current toxicity levels are in the green, but if they start to rise, I’ll let you know.”

A dozen yards away, a server dropped a tray. Since the place served everything in red plastic baskets, nothing broke—there were just a few impotent thuds and the clattering of silverware. It made my head jerk around, though, and my brain spun like one of those dashboard compasses. I took a deep breath, and splayed my hands out on the table, as if feeling a solid, stable surface under my palms and fingertips could reassure me that gravity was still pulling in the same basic direction. Norris had begun the obligatory applause at the food dump, and everyone was looking over in the direction of the hapless waiter scrambling to clean it up before the manager came out. It was Katie who noticed me, the way I had noticed her.

“You okay, Ash?”

“Yeah, fine,” I told her. “Just got dizzy for a sec.”

Layton then looked at Katie, followed her gaze to me, and raised his eyebrows. “Where’d your blood go, man? Into your toes? You look morgue-ready. Are you gonna hurl?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Katie pushed her water glass toward me. “Maybe you’re dehydrated,” she said.

“Thanks.” I took a few gulps, and Layton told me to keep the glass—just in case I was contagious.

The dizziness faded, although it came back whenever I turned my head too fast. Was this a concussion? I’d had concussions before—minor ones—but this was different. You know how, when people get transplants, the body will reject the organ, and they have to take meds to stop it? Well that’s the closest I can come to describing the feeling. My body wasn’t rejecting my brain, but the stuff inside it. As if my own mind was an invader. It didn’t make sense at the time, but later it was weird how accurate that thought was. In the moment, however, I just wanted to deny and dismiss it. I would walk it off, damn it! I would walk it off.

I drove Norris home that night because he had yet to pass his driving test. Last time he made it all the way to the end, then honked at an old lady in a crosswalk.

“The guy from the DMV had it out for me,” Norris lamented. “I’ll bet that old lady was a plant.”

“Just add it to your conspiracy theories,” I told him, of which he had many.

“Don’t laugh,” he said. “The truth will out!”