Elijah swallows the last of his Coke and throws the bottle in the trash can. He wipes the Cheetos crumbs from his hands across his black shorts. “Aw, man,” he says, trying to brush off the neon orange dust but only making it worse.

He doesn’t remember.

I’ve spent three years thinking about him and wondering what I could have possibly done differently, and he hasn’t given me a second thought at all.

A huge wave of sadness washes over me as we round the bend from Main Street onto Rudy Street.

“Oh, good. You’re both here!” Birdie greets us at the front door. She’s wearing her GUARDSMAN GRANDMA T-shirt with my name and football number in silver glitter on the back. “It’s Tuesday! You didn’t forget, did you Julian?”

Booster Bingo. I totally forgot.

Birdie calls bingo every Tuesday night at Crossroads Church. Not only is it the highlight of her week, but it’s the highlight of everyone’s week in Meridien. I would reckon the multipurpose room at the church is more packed on Tuesdays than the pews are on Sundays. The second Tuesday of every month is Football Booster Bingo, and almost all the proceeds go to the Crenshaw football team. Birdie and Coach Marcus expect the team to volunteer selling hot dogs and popcorn and passing out extra cards.

“I didn’t forget,” I lie. “I just need to change my clothes, and I’ll help you pack up the car.”

I leave her and Elijah on the porch, Birdie reminding him how important Tuesdays are to the whole community. I’ve heard the spiel before, and I can only imagine Elijah’s reaction to the news that he’ll be selling bingo cards with me all night.

I comb my hair and put on a clean Crenshaw polo shirt.

“Aren’t you a sight!” Birdie says, waiting in the living room. Down the hallway, Elijah’s door closes, and I assume he’s changing his clothes. “Tell me about practice. How did Elijah do?”

“He’s pretty rusty,” I tell her, setting my jaw. I’m still annoyed she kept this secret from me.

“Now, don’t be mad at me for not telling you sooner,” Birdie says in a hushed voice, throwing a look down the hallway toward the guest room. “I honestly didn’t know if the boy was going to go through with it. He was so nervous this morning about upsetting you and making a mistake. Practically had to talk him off the ledge at breakfast before you got up,” she says.

“Well, he certainly looks like he hasn’t played in a while,” I say, letting my anger for Birdie subside a little bit.

“Oh, I’m just glad he put on a helmet and got out there! He’ll get his legs under him, sure enough,” she asserts. “Is he at cornerback? Left side, I hope.”