“And that’s another thing,” Booker said. “What kind of assholes wear full pads on a damn school bus? It’s no wonder they drowned. You wanna talk about a safety hazard . . .”

“We’re all gonna fry! Fuckin’ fry . . .”

Booker took Tommy by the shoulders. “Tommy, get a grip, man. Stop being such a pussy.”

Tommy shook free of Booker’s grasp and kicked a beer can across The Shake and Scoop parking lot.

“It wasn’t our fault they drowned,” Booker said. “Those Jackrabbits were taking way too many risks in getting to that ball game.”

“You told us you just wanted to stop the bus,” Tommy said. “Put a little scare into the Jackrabbits and prevent them from making it to the Stanton High game. You never mentioned anything about killing anyone!”

What Tommy said was true. Their plan had never actually included the bus going off the bridge. That part had been an accident. But now that the sons of bitches were dead, Booker knew he had to prevent his teammates from coming unglued.

“You’re right, Tommy,” he said. “But the most important thing is we’re a team and we back each other up—always. And let’s not forget who died … we’re talking the Killington Jackrabbits here.”

The statement extracted halfhearted grunts of agreement from some of the boys. Wet and shivering in the biting wind, most of them were still huddled on top of the empty beer cans in the bed of Tommy’s truck. The rest were pacing around, smoking cigarettes, and trying to either sober up or get drunker. They looked like combat soldiers who had just come out on the losing end of an ambush. Most of them were still in various states of shock and had scarcely said a word since the moment the bus fell from the bridge.

Booker eyed the frightened faces before him. “Look, guys, we did what we had to do. Any of you fellas want to experience another Brackenwall?” All eyes came up. Booker held their stare. “That’s what I thought. Now, what’s done is done. So let’s cut this crybaby shit.”

“You better be right, Flamont,” Tommy said. “I didn’t sign up for this shit just to spend the rest of my life behind bars!”

Booker shushed him again. “Keep your voice down! Nobody is going to prison. Let’s all just stay calm; there are people around.” Booker glanced over both shoulders. “It’s important that we look like we’re just out having a good time. Somebody laugh or something.”

The order was met with blank stares.

Manny said, “Not to change the subject, bro, but what’s up with your acne? Looks like it’s bleeding all over your face.”

“It’s not my acne,” Booker said. “That cousin of yours, ace sniper that he is, somehow managed to miss the goddamn sky.”

“What do you mean?”