Did I screw up in the past? Absolutely. I own that shit. I know breaking the window and thinking about taking that car wash money was wrong. It doesn’t matter what my reasoning was; it still wasn’t a good choice. I know my dad’s reputation didn’t help anyone’s opinion of me, but it was my stupid choice that got me in trouble. Not my dad’s.

But what if Jeffrey Jackson had taken responsibility for his own actions?

How would things be different right now if my father hadn’t stepped out in front of the entire town and admitted guilt for something he didn’t do? The whole thing makes me so incredibly angry I just want to scream. And why is Julian so clueless?

I don’t think anyone has ever truly understood, except maybe Frankie, what it was like to grow up in the shadow of Eric Vance’s mistakes in a town this small. In Houston, I was invisible. But here? There was no escaping that reputation.

Julian had the memory of Jeffrey Jackson behind him, a great big shining beacon of perfection. A single dad raising his perfect quarterback son. Football heroes, both of them. Both of them trying to lead Meridien to what they’ve always dreamed about: Texas football glory. Will Meridien ever make it to a state title? Probably not, but that doesn’t keep the town from pinning their hopes on the shoulders of their current Golden Boy. This year it’s Julian. Twenty years ago, it was his father.

I wonder what life would have looked like for me if, twenty years ago, Meridien had pinned its hopes on Eric Vance instead.

Everything could have been so different.

The sun is barely starting to peek over the horizon as I run up the Crenshaw driveway and right into the gym doors. The weight room is empty, but I can see Coach Marcus in his office, shuffling through paperwork. He raises his hand to me, and I wave back, eager to get to the leg-press machine and load it up with as much weight as I can stand. The only way for me to get rid of all this crap inside me is to sweat it out.

I get almost an hour of time with the weights before a couple of the other guys start trickling in. Nate and I spot each other doing bench presses without talking. I wonder if he’s escaping his own head, too. Whatever he’s doing, he at least doesn’t talk too much other than to ask if I need more weight.

Yes. The answer is always yes. Put as much weight on me as you can, and I will always lift it.

“You okay, Elijah?” Coach stops me on my way to the shower. “You were here awfully early.”