Anyway, I couldn’t even imagine introducing him to Paul, and thinking about Paul made me want to reach out to him. I texted Paul to let him know that I’d see him after the game, and asked if he’d be there. He was always at my games, but after this week, I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about it.

He texted back a double thumbs-up, and a spade. The spade, if you never noticed, is an upside-down black heart. It was our code, should anyone read our texts. I texted him back with the right-side-up black heart, thought for a moment, then followed up with an in-your-face red one. He closed with the blatantly erect eggplant, which made me laugh.

My mom threw me a glance in the rearview mirror, and although she didn’t see our texts, she must have read them in my face, because she said, “Tell Paul he can sit with us.”

Dad said nothing. He wasn’t the only one who made unilateral decisions in this family.

The parking lot, which was always full by game time, still had plenty of open spaces this early. When we parked, my dad took a moment before turning off the ignition. Then he looked at me.

“You go out there and play like you always play,” he said.

“So how do I always play?” I asked.

He seemed taken aback by the question. “Like a star,” he said, as if it was obvious. The thing is, being a lineman didn’t often make you a star. It was the first time I’d ever known he’d thought of me as one.

I grabbed my gear from the trunk and headed for the locker room, but long before I got there, I saw the news crews hovering near the entrance.

It wasn’t strange to have a crew from the local station cover our games, but this was more than just the T-ville affiliate flunkies. There were three crews right there outside the locker room. One of them even had a satellite van, with a dish on its roof. My first thought was that this was about me. My second thought was to smack myself around at how stupid it was to think a bunch of news crews could possibly be about me. But as I approached, the reporters took notice and the cameras turned my way. I had been right the first time.

The instant I was in shouting range, the reporters started yelling out questions like they do at people who actually matter.

“Will you be playing today, Ash?”

“How extensive are your injuries?”

“Do you know who did this to you?”

“Why haven’t you come forward?”

“How many of them were there?”

“Do you have anything to say to other gay athletes?”

“Is this the first time you’ve been attacked for your sexual orientation?”