I’m finishing my food in silence when I feel a kick in my foot, too pointed not to be intentional. I look up, ready to glare daggers at the offender, only to see Miguel trying to catch my eye. He gives the slightest shift of his chin downward, and I realize he’s trying to tell me to pull my phone out of my bag—a strictly verboten move, but one I can probably get away with since Coach is flirting with Devlin’s mom.

I slip my phone out as quickly and quietly as I can and check my texts. There’re just two words: Open Sesame.

The words tug at a memory from my days of studying the playbook this past summer like it held all the answers for the ACTs. I was obsessed, committing every single word of it to memory, even the plays that came with notations that they were almost never used.

Plays like Open Sesame, which is basically just a rushing touchdown, but hasn’t been part of Atherton’s playbook in forever; they haven’t had a QB who was a solid runner in the last decade, and they haven’t exactly been scrambling to change it up for the one they’ve got now. I could pull it off, but it means having a receiver to work with, and I guess this is Miguel offering himself up.

Can I trust him? Or is this just more fuckery?

I think back to that night at Gutter Kittens, to our conversation in the nature preserve, to Miguel telling me this morning that he wants to help, and I decide trusting him is the best chance I’ve got. I give him a quick nod, then slip my phone back into my bag before we can get caught. It’s just one idea, one play, but God, it would feel good to be able to show off what I can do to the scout, just once.

And yeah, okay, it’ll feel good to stick it to everyone else, just once.

When I turn back to my food, it’s nice to find that for the first time all day, I have an appetite.

I’ve been so distracted by everything that it isn’t until I’m alone in the locker room, tightening up my bun, that I realize I haven’t heard from Sage and Morgan since early this morning. Most game days they send me a selfie of the two of them with “Go Jack!” dancing somewhere on the screen in flashing or vibrating letters. The first time, they even sent a picture of cupcakes with Gator-green icing Sage had made and piped Js and footballs onto. (They also sent videos of our friends eating them and sticking out green tongues, along with Sorry—cupcakes stay inside city limits, because they suck, but even that made me laugh.)

Today … nothing.