Nate Connors, who seemed genuinely excited this morning when I told him I was coming back, spends the entire warm-up just two inches from Julian. Neither of them even wave or smile in my direction. I stay in the back, try to blend in, while I drag my out-of-shape ass through the warm-up and endless bear crawls. I shouldn’t be surprised that Julian is the captain. Since we were seven years old, he’s always been the kid that works harder than anyone else.

Coach Marcus calls for a water break after the eighteen thousandth bear crawl, and I try to creep into the background again. I just feel like I’m in the way.

I watch as Coach grabs Julian by the front of his helmet and talks to him with his other hand on his waist. Even though I can’t hear any of the words, I can tell by Coach’s body language that he’s giving Julian hell for something.

Eventually, Coach lets go of his helmet and Julian slides up next to me.

“When were you going to tell me that you were coming back to football?” he asks, his voice just oozing with anger.

“I thought maybe you knew,” I say. Only a little white lie. “I thought maybe Ms. Birdie had told you.”

“Still. You could’ve said something.” Julian’s tone is accusatory. “Like See you at practice or something. I had to find out from some jackass in marching band?”

I want to say something, but all I can manage is a mumble. Something that resembles, “I’m not on the team yet.”

And then my stomach is all wonky again. I want to be pissed at Julian for pinning this on me. Ask him when, exactly, was I supposed to tell him about football? When he shut the door in my face last night, or when he ignored me all the way to school this morning?

Instead, I bite the inside of my lip and fiddle with my belt.

He sets his jaw, grabs his helmet, and heads off to the opposite side of the bench. I can hear the exasperated sigh escape as he leaves me standing by the ice buckets.

Coach Marcus blows the whistle again, and we all take a knee. “Some of you may recognize a familiar face here today. We’re using this practice as an unofficial tryout for Elijah Vance. Let’s welcome him back and clap it up.”

The team turns and looks at me, clapping in unison. Nate lets out a deep, “Yeah, Vance!” and my cheeks burn. Okay. Not everyone hates me. I try to hold on to that while I watch Julian. He’s not clapping.