“Hey, it’s a tradition! If you camp out in Port A after your first victory of the season, you’re guaranteed another victory in your second game,” Figg says.

Julian rolls his eyes. “More tradition. More superstition. Does it ever end?”

Ms. Birdie tut-tuts. “Meridien is steeped in them, Julian. None more important than the Taylor game, though. You keep your eyes on that prize. It’s coming up sooner than you think. Oh, and yes, you and Elijah may go to Port Aransas. Is that sweet Brian Redd picking you up?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Julian says, a smirk pulling on his lip. Probably for the same reason I’m laughing; no one would ever refer to Bucky as “that sweet Brian” other than Ms. Birdie.

“Hey, I didn’t know you played football at Crenshaw, Mr. Figg,” I say, grabbing a second sandwich. Skipping breakfast this morning was probably a mistake, but I had been way too nervous to think about chewing and swallowing.

“Class of nineteen, uh… never mind all that,” Figg says, laughing. “I’ll never tell.”

“Thomas was the kicker,” Pastor Ernie says, grabbing Figg’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I was the equipment manager.”

“You two knew each other in high school?” Julian asks.

Pastor Ernie and Figg share a look. “Not exactly,” Figg says, smiling.

“We found each other again after a lot of years away from Meridien,” Pastor Ernie says. “It wasn’t until then that it dawned on us that we graduated just a few years apart.”

“Did you guys have the Taylor prank tradition way back then, too?” I ask them.

Pastor Ernie starts to laugh. A big hearty sound from his belly. “Oh, sweet Elijah,” he says. “It was the highlight of the season even ‘way back then,’ as you so kindly put it. Though we probably weren’t quite as creative as some of you boys are now.”

I can see Julian’s face starting to pinch. “Hey, we better get packed if we’re going to be ready when Bucky gets here,” he says to me.

We walk down the hallway together toward our rooms, and I can see the muscles in Julian’s neck and back are flexed and tight.

“You okay?” I ask him.

“If I have to hear one more word about how steeped in tradition Crenshaw is, or the Taylor prank is the most important thing in the world”—he rolls his eyes—“I’m seriously going to hurt someone.”

“Can I ask you something without you flying off the handle?”

“I can’t exactly promise that until I know what you’re going to ask, can I?” Julian chuckles.

“How come it bothers you so much? All the tradition?” I ask, standing in Julian’s doorway while he pulls a few pairs of shorts from his dresser.