“Yep. You heard me. See, Figg told me that my dad actually wanted to do nothing when it was his senior year. He even tried to get a petition signed to bring down the entire thing! So, in his memory, I’m. Doing. Nothing.” Julian leans back in the booth and folds his hands behind his head, smiling. He shuffles his feet beneath the table, and he’s no longer touching my ankle.

Camille looks at me, and I can see what she’s thinking. This is probably not going to end well for Julian. Not at all. The team will be pissed; the alumni will be pissed. The only one who won’t be pissed is Julian.

“Think about it, though!” He sits up in the booth again and puts both fists on the table. “Taylor will be so distracted at the game, wondering why we haven’t made a move yet and worrying that something big will be coming in the middle of the game, that they’ll be completely psyched out! Only we will know that a prank isn’t going to happen. It’s an ingenious plan, actually.” He leans back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “The prank is that there is no prank! I’m pretty proud of it.”

“I don’t think that’s how it’s going to go down,” Camille says, suddenly very serious.

“Well, I’ve already made up my mind. The town’s insistence on stupid traditions that mean absolutely nothing is not worth me getting in trouble. Or getting anyone else in trouble, for that matter. I’m noping out of it. The end.” He grabs another fry.

Camille and I share another look.

“So, when do you plan on telling the team about your grand idea?” Camille asks.

“Before the game tomorrow,” Julian says. “I want to make sure our heads are in the right place. We need to think about what it’s going to take to beat Stephens City, not worry about the Taylor Titans and whether or not they’re going to fill our weight room with Ping-Pong balls or something.”

“Uh… I’m going to ask you to please, please not tell the team before the game,” Camille says.

I nod my head in agreement. All that’s going to do is paint a great big target on Julian’s back.

“Why are you so against all of this? I mean, I get it, it really pulls focus from playing football, but why are you so adamant about breaking this tradition?” I ask Julian.

“I’ve been doing some reading,” he says.

“Reading?” Camille raises her eyebrows.