Another engine rumbled up the road. Headlights shone through the trees, approaching at a good clip. It sounded more like a speedboat than a car.

Manny smiled. “Come to D-A-D-D-Y.”

The headlights washed over Elray’s face. He zipped up midstream and finished the rest of his business in his overalls.

The vehicle swerved around the corner and they heard the first cackles of laughter from the boys piled into the bed of the truck. The mammoth Ford accelerated onto the bridge, then screeched to a halt in front of Booker. The KC lights above the cab switched on, looking like something out of a science fiction movie.

“Turn those fuckers off!” Booker yelled. “We don’t want to attract any attention.”

The lights switched off and twenty members of the Elmwood Badgers football team spilled out of the truck bed … along with a blizzard of empty beer cans.

“Whooo doggie!” one of the boys yelled.

“Where are those Killington pussies?” yelled another.

“Bring ’em on, baby!”

“Shit yeah!”

Booker saw more headlights approaching up the road—two cars, coming fast. “Shit, we got company!”

Tommy Larkin stepped down from his dad’s truck and put a hand on Booker’s shoulder. “It’s fine, Book. That’s just the rest of the team.”

“Everyone’s coming?”

“You got it, my man. No one wanted to miss this.”

The two cars skidded in behind Tommy’s truck. One was a yellow Mercedes, the other a silver Lexus—parent-bought cars. Badgers Rule! was painted in white shoe polish on the inside of the Lexus’s windshield. Seven boys spilled out of each vehicle.

The scene was like a winner’s circle celebration at the Daytona 500. Shaken beer cans exploded everywhere. Fist-pumps, high fives, and man hugs were exchanged all around. It was clear to Booker that his teammates had been attacking the booze with abandon.

Tommy Larkin, left tackle and co–defensive captain, came back to Booker. “Just tell me what I got to do, chief.”

Booker downed his second beer, tossed it, belched, and gave Tommy a high five. “Manny briefed you already, right?”

“Yeah, man. But how do I know when to let her fly?”

“You hear Elray fire off that twelve-gauge, and you’ll know it’s time.”

Elray pumped the shotgun and smiled.

Tommy Larkin nodded approvingly. “Fuckin’ A, chief.” He leaned in toward Booker’s ear. “Say, you sure it’s cool giving that ole boy a gun? I always thought there was somethin’ the matter with him.”