“You’re a beast out there,” Bucky Redd says. “Now all we need is for Julian to throw a few touchdowns and we’re golden this weekend.”

“That was awesome,” I tell him.

“Yeah? It’s nice burying the defense, right?” Bucky laughs.

Julian is sitting stiffly on the bench near our lockers, taking deep breaths with his pads still on. “Hey, nice job out there today,” he says quietly when I sit down and start untying my cleats.

My cheeks warm. “Thanks. I haven’t played offense since our peewee days.”

“I got a few good throws in,” he says quietly. “I think it’s a good fit for you.”

I feel like I want to say more to him, but he looks down and starts unbuckling his pads after that. Once he has his jersey off and most of the buckles undone on his shoulder pads, he heads for the shower with just a quick half smile in my direction. He lumbers away awkwardly. Not exactly limping, but not exactly not limping, either.

I shower quickly and put on the pink T-shirt Camille threw at me before football practice. In black letters on the front it says COACH. Julian meets me in a matching T-shirt near the field house, where Camille and an army of dance-team girls dressed in highlighter pink are waiting for us. Julian holds the bags with the flags and starts handing them out to the girls.

“Let’s stretch a little before we do this,” Camille says to her team of warriors in pink. Some of them have painted pink hearts under their eyes. All of them are wearing neon pink knee socks. A few of them even have pink tutus on. I don’t know how that’s going to work with the flag belts, but I don’t say anything.

As the girls form a circle on the field and start stretching, I stand next to Julian and watch the chaos around me. The stands are filled with pink and purple T-shirts, parents with noisemakers, and huge painted signs.

“Are regular football games this well attended?” I laugh.

“This event always draws a huge crowd,” he says, folding his arms across his chest and drawing in a quick breath.

“You okay?” I ask.

“I’m good. Just a little sore from that last hit,” he says. “I’ll be okay.”

I know he’s not telling me the truth. His voice cracks just a smidge, and the smile he’s trying to give me is pinched and forced. But I don’t say anything. I don’t want to give Julian more of an excuse not to talk to me than he already has.