“Sure, thanks.” Savannah turned to Kip. “It’s been riveting, as always, but I have to get to school. See you tomorrow.” She slid the laptop into her backpack, then took out her iPod and fiddled with the dial.

“One more game, Savannah, just one more game. We win tonight against Stanton High and we’re finally in the big one—the district championship game against Elmwood Heights.”

“You’ve said as much.”

“Elmwood Heights is out for blood.”

“You said that, too.”

“Tell me something. What do you know about the history of these two towns?”

“As much as I want to.”

“That’s what I thought. Allow me to paint you a picture.”

“Kip, I don’t have time for—”

“We may share a border and a water supply, but the towns of Elmwood and Killington couldn’t be more different. They were both named for wildcatters back in the Great Boom of the thirties. Slocum Elmwood and T. K. Killington had been lifelong friends when they pooled their pennies together, dug two wells eight miles apart, and agreed to share the profits if one of them hit. Guess which one hit? I’ll give you a hint: it wasn’t the one tapped into the dirt under our asses.

“You can probably figure out the rest. Opulent wealth suited Slocum Elmwood so well, he decided to screw T. K. Killington out of his share. Not long after, Mr. Killington hung hisself from an abandoned derrick. Slocum Elmwood, on the other hand, went on to lord happily over a thriving boomtown until the day he died some nine years later, choking on a rare leg of lamb. To say that us Killingtonians are still carrying a bit of a grudge would be an understatement. To this day, Slocum Elmwood has heirs walking the streets over there in the town named after him.

“They’re still a rich town. With a damn rich school, too. Elmwood Heights’s stadium holds sixteen thousand. Their weight room is state-of-the-art. This year they’re planning on sending a handful of graduating seniors to little corners of the football world like Notre Dame, Penn State, and Michigan on full scholarships. Elmwood students often drive Beemers, wear shirts with alligators on ’em, go to the mall every day and spend their parents’ money on things like surround-sound theaters for their SUVs.”

“Sounds like a heck of a deal to me.”

“Sure enough.” Kip looked over both shoulders, then leaned in closer. “But I’m of the opinion that the Elmwood football players are spending daddy’s money on something else, too.”

“And what would that be?”

He started to say something but changed his mind. “I’ve read your stuff, you know. You write good. It’s your story selection that needs work. You want a real story, find out what it is that’s turned them Elmwood Heights players into such savages this year.”

“What are you talking about?”