I didn’t respond. I knew in my head that what Jules was saying was true and right. It’s just that my heart didn’t know how to sit by and let someone do something that hurt him.

A few days later, the entire school was abuzz with the news that Julius Blaine had had a car crash. He was fine, but he’d torn all the ligaments in his left knee. For his trouble, Jules got a few days off school, and when he returned, he was wearing an old knee brace that Keith had given him. Coach nearly cried when he saw him, and I have it on good authority that several of his teammates did cry when they realized that Jules was out for the rest of the season. I walked beside him in the halls, slowing my pace to accommodate his exaggerated limp and the well-wishes of almost every student in school.

Jules was quieter than usual for days. I was worried. It wasn’t like him. Usually, he was my polar opposite on the grumpy/sunshine scale. I knew the limp was an act, but I also knew his mood wasn’t.

That weekend I woke him up with a soft tap on his window.

“What’s happening?” His voice was gruff with sleep.

“Come on. You’ll see.”

He came stumbling out, dressed in a pair of old jeans and a white vest, moving pretty quickly for someone who’d been in a dead sleep mere minutes before. We walked down to the flat, grassy banks near the creek, and I pulled a football out of my backpack. I’d taken out a small loan from Mrs. O’Malley to be able to afford it.

“What the hell?” His face broke out into a big, open-mouthed smirk. “I thought you were above football. I thought you didn’t stoop to playing ‘glorified fetch.’” It was true. Up until then, I had considered myself above chasing and retrieving a ball in the name of organized sport.

I shrugged. “You want to play, or not?”

“Fuck, yeah, I want to play.”

“Then go long.”

He jogged backward briskly until he was far enough for me to make a decent pass.

“And Jules,” I called to him, “don’t hold back.”

I brought the ball up to my chest and tapped it twice. I had no idea why football players did that, but it looked important, purposeful even, so I thought it best not to deviate from the script. I passed the ball to Jules as hard as I could. It flew out of my hand, spinning like a torpedo, whistling softly as it sliced through the air. Jules caught it easily and threw it back just as hard. As we played, the sound of his laughter was broken only by the sound of him panting when he had to run to get under the ball.