A chorus of groans erupts from every old-timer in the line. The paper predicted the Guardsmen would win by like a million points, but a massive brawl broke out on the field before the homecoming game even started, and Crenshaw had to forfeit. I’ve asked Birdie what started it, but she refuses to tell me. All of Meridien is very hush-hush about the whole thing. Like it’s an embarrassing town secret or something. The only thing the whole town agrees on and is very vocal about is that the Shame of the Century was brought on by someone predicting that Crenshaw “had it in the bag.”

Add that to the running list of things Meridien is stupidly superstitious about.

The group of adults moves toward the tables, and we hand out a ton more cards to the throngs of people coming in, each one of them with a handy comment or tip as to how I can guarantee a win against Taylor. I smile politely and thank each and every one of them for their support of Crenshaw County football, but by the time the line wanes, I’m ready to punch someone in the teeth. Does anyone even remember that we’ve got three games coming up before we even have to start thinking about Taylor?

I grab a handful of cards when the line slows to a trickle and wander through the crowded tables, leaving Camille and Elijah to handle the entrance for a little while. I’m glad Elijah’s not within spitting distance, because I don’t think he’d like to hear what people are saying about him.

“I heard he was back in town,” Ms. Brownie says. “That family is nothing but trouble. Can’t really expect much with Eric Vance’s DNA running through your veins,” she says under her breath, so Pastor Ernie doesn’t hear.

“I can’t believe that Coach Marcus let him back on that football team. Is winning that important? More important than morals now?” someone else says.

“He’s just a boy and boys make mistakes. Let’s not go crucifying the child,” Mr. Cooper says.

“Just you wait until it’s your money that goes missing,” Ms. Brownie says.

Most of the people sitting near her nod their heads and mumble quiet “mmmhmmm”s of agreement.

“Now, you cut that out. No money disappeared; the boy only broke a window.” Mr. Cooper puts his hand down on the table.

The talk stops after that.

Bucky Redd and a few of the freshman are running the concession stand. “Hey, Julian! Come here,” Bucky stage-whispers to me. He holds out a hot dog covered with relish. “Can you bring this over to Camille? Tell her I made it just for her exactly how she likes it.”