Joel took a step back. Was there anything more terrifying than the thought that these two might have been discussing him?

“Where’s your team spirit, son?” Jason asked.

“I’m giving the team room to grieve. They’re going through a tragedy.”

“Ain’t you clever tonight?” Ranger’s smile revealed a dry gum. He scrutinized Joel for a final second, glanced at Jason. The boys exchanged subtle, almost imperceptible nods: they’d come to some consensus. Joel’s stomach tightened.

“Speaking of tragic, Whitley,” Ranger said, turning back. “How is Miss Clark doing?”

“We hear she’s real lonely these days,” said Jason.

Joel felt a sudden flush of panic. “She can take care of herself,” he said, and regretted it immediately.

The two boys guffawed. “She must be doing that a lot, dating you.”

Jason took a step forward. “Is it true you used to sniff our straps after the games?”

“That’s disgusting,” said Joel, who had.

“That’s what we said when we heard about it.” Ranger shook his head. “You need help, Whitley.”

Ranger reached out a hand to stroke Joel’s cheek. Joel flinched. “You need to get out of my fucking face,” Joel said, and heard his voice crack.

He backed away. They followed him. Why weren’t they letting this go like they usually did? What had he done to bring this on?

“Listen, Whitley,” Ranger said, all tender sympathy. “We’re progressed around here, ain’t we?”

“We’s in the new millennium,” Jason agreed.

“Exactly. The millennium. So we don’t give two fucks how you get your rocks off. But we got some goddamn standards in Bentley, alright? We’ve got rules of comportment.” Ranger drew himself up to his full height, puffed out his chest. His nipple peeked through a hole in his shirt. “You keep your private life private around here, you hear me? Because, Whitley, I saw you at your job the other day and I got to tell you—you’re starting to show.”

Joel didn’t think about what he was doing. Looking back a decade later he suspected he could have saved himself a great deal of hurt if he’d just taken a breath and walked away. If he had brushed Ranger off, let the man grow into the tragic fuckup he was destined to be.

Instead Joel succumbed to a lifetime of fear. It was rage, he told himself later, indignity, but deep down, he knew the truth. Not that it did him any good.

That evening at the stands, Joel took a step forward, drew back his fist and swung it at Ranger’s face, all because Ranger was right about him. Pity.

The blow hardly connected—Ranger was already turning back to snicker at Jason when Joel began to swing and so his nose avoided what would have been a nasty break. But Joel’s knuckle still cracked against Ranger’s cheek, tore loose a piece of skin. No one had warned Joel the pain in his knuckles would bite like a bear.

Ranger staggered back. He pulled up his own fist.

A pair of kids from Franklin High started to cackle in the shadow of the stands. Jason, suddenly looking panicked, murmured something urgent in Ranger’s ear.