A low whistle to my right drew my attention. “She’s got the legs of a kicker though.”

“Enough,” Oakley interrupted with a stern look. “Tonight, you’re the ball, Solver.”

“Excuse me? Did you just compare me to inflated pig skin?”

“Ahh well, when you put it like that, no. No, I did not,” Oakley stammered. He looked flustered for a moment but then recovered with, “You’re the most important part of the game!”

“Game?! Hazing is a GAME to you? And on top of dragging me into this when I’m not even on the team, you are making me the ball. The ball that gets thrown, kicked, spiked, and bunted?” I screeched, only slightly resembling a banshee.

Oakley tried to stifle a laugh, but it managed to escape. Some of the other players tried to cover their laughter with coughs. Dead. They were all fucking dead.

“What?” I yelled at no one and everyone. My undone hair was hanging tangled, and my eyes were wide. The crazy was just spilling out of me.

“Uh,” Oakley started, but even my dark silhouette must have looked deranged, because he stopped and looked like he didn’t really want to continue talking.

“Spit it out,” I hissed.

“Um. Bunting is baseball. Punting is football,” he finished sheepishly. At least he had the decency to look ashamed of himself.

Dale, completely oblivious, interjected with, “And we don’t like the word hazing!”

“Let’s get this shit show over with,” I finally said with a sigh. Based on how long we were in the car and the complete lack of civilization, I knew that the only way I’d get back to the safety of my apartment was if I agreed to this idiotic ritual.

Oakley cleared his throat and spread out his palms, like he was some Bible Belt preacher delivering a sermon. “Every year before the first home game, the freshmen are gathered here on this hallowed ground.”

I looked around and scrunched my nose at the sight of a used condom tossed on the side of the path. Hallowed, indeed.

“Devil’s Backbone is the most haunted road in Texas. Grown men have attempted to cross the five mile pass and have run home screaming for their mommies with piss dripping down their legs.”

“That is a visual I could do without,” I groaned.

“Your objective is to get the ball to the end of the road—the end zone—safely. She’s the most important part of the game. You protect her at all costs.”

“So I have to walk five miles in the dark with the three dudes in their underwear?” I asked while nodding toward said three dudes. I was ready to get this show on the road.

“Yes,” Oakley replied dryly.

“I thought the ball was supposed to be the captain’s girlfriend,” another player interjected.

“Yeah, this ball is too chatty. Can we get another?”