“Twenty years ago, the big brawl resulted in us forfeiting the game. Ten years ago, the Crenshaw quarterback slips in the parking lot after spraying shaving cream all over the Taylor bleachers and breaks his arm the night before Crenshaw’s first game. He’s out for the season. Loses his scholarship. Five years ago, six seniors get suspended for stealing the bronze statue in front of Taylor. One of them got arrested. Boom, scholarship gone. Are you noticing a pattern here?” Julian says.

“Oh, good lord, Juls,” Camille says. “You don’t have to do anything that serious! Filling a locker room with Ping-Pong balls is not exactly the same as stealing a statue! Look, this is something the guys have been looking forward to since freshman year. Please rethink it.”

“I’m serious. This prank crap ends here,” he says. “I’ll tell them after the game, but this is the end of it.”

Camille looks at me and raises her eyebrows.

This is absolutely not the end of it.

· nineteen ·

JULIAN

The Stephens City bus pulls up outside of our field house just after ten. We’ve been out on the field for over an hour already, doing some light passing drills and just getting the feel of the grass under our feet. We all pause to watch the players file off the bus and into the visiting locker room. I don’t see any surprise monster-sized players, and my stomach starts to settle.

I grab a bag of footballs and jog over to the target, ready for some easy accuracy drills. I get into a smooth rhythm, being sure to match my inhale and exhale with the pull back and release of the ball. I visualize the waiting hands of my receivers as I drop ball after ball through the targets from twenty to thirty yards out. Before our warm-up ends, I back up to fifty yards out and continue to make easy, relatively accurate throws. My arm feels pretty good, and there’s just a little bit of stinging in my ribs. Elijah whipped up more cayenne pepper ointment before Birdie woke up this morning, and I’ve taped them up, too, just in case. I’m hoping my offensive line can do its job this afternoon and I don’t get sacked. Another couple of days of not getting punched in the ribs, and I can probably quit worrying about it at all.

Coach blows his whistle three times to signal us into the locker room to change and get ready for the game. By the time I clean up my passes and roll the target back toward the field house, the rest of the team is already in the locker room getting ready.

Elijah is sitting on a bench with his game jersey in his fists, looking positively green. His leg shakes up and down, and it looks like he’s trying to take deep breaths.