The forty, the thirty, and the safety had an angle. The twenty. The safety drew in, and Goldenbaum stiff-armed him to the ground. The cornerback trailing the play tried to drag him out of bounds, but Goldenbaum high-stepped out of the tackle, stumbled at the ten, but kept his feet moving. Touchdown Rangers. The Ranger band fired up the fight song.

We sing hurrah for the blue and gold . . .

“Goddamn Goldenbaum. That was ridiculous.” Rob pumped his fist as the extra point tumbled over the bar. “If we can run like this, we will blow them off the field.”

Way to jinx it, McGhee. The Longhorns got the ball on a touchback, and the Calvin Murray show began. First play: a rollout with a twenty-yard bullet to his tight end. Second play: shotgun, keeper running at half speed, and fifteen yards, before stepping out of bounds. Third play: drop back, pump fake, freezing the secondary as the slot receiver ran a deep fade. From the far point in the horn of the midfield logo Calvin aired it out and hit the receiver five yards deep in the end zone. In stride. Touchdown. Forty-five yards on the stat sheet, the throw more like sixty yards in the air.

“Holy shit.”

The White stands went loco. The Longhorn band played the Dr. Who theme—the horns super raw and brassy, the drums like a war taunt.

The rout was on. By halftime it was 35 to 7, and the Calvin show had put up two hundred yards rushing and two hundred yards passing. Dan was pretty sure that it wasn’t until a Longhorns option run in the second quarter that went for five yards that the Ranger defense had even touched Calvin Murray.

By the start of the third quarter, Rob was the last of the crew standing, out of some protective instinct, but it was time to go—time to head toward Sticky’s car, smoke a cigarette, and get the fuck out of Dodge. Dan, tipsy and tripping down the steps, took a passing glance at Cady Bloom. She had checked out of the game long ago and stood with her pom-poms on her hips, sharing sheepish sideways looks of embarrassment with Embry Martindale.

What little Dan could read into that gored him with jealousy. Christ, how do I get her to notice me without dorking out? Come on, just man up and talk to her. It’s easy. She knows you. No doubt she’ll say yes to a date. No way, ugh, no way . . .

Dan followed his crew out to Sticky’s car. The bleachers may have been segregated, but the parking lot was a gauntlet of kids from White talking shit.

“Good thing the Jebbies taught you guys how to take it up the ass.”

“Jesus Mary and Murray! We blew your fuckin’ doors off!”