Junior snores all the way down to Colchis. His head is thrown back, and his mouth is open. When we get to the gym, the couples are like statues, clutched in a slow dance. Everybody perks up when Junior gets there. His nap has given him a second wind. First, he walks on his hands between the couples and then he capers around the gym, whisking tablecloths off tables. Dixie cups of punch and frilly basket of mints go flying. He says it’s an army trick his father taught him. He’s the life of the party. Nobody speaks to me, of course, being immoral. Toward midnight, I’m sitting alone on a dark corner of the bleachers, wondering when I should start walking home. I look around, and there is Rack, standing in the gym doorway by the trophy case. She looks fat and pregnant. She’s wearing a tight maternity top that shows the outline of her belly button. Junior is now fully out of control. He has lowered the gymnastic rings and has put Lars Madsen’s feet in them, and is aiming him like a huge wrecking ball into the middle of the dancers. I catch up to him just as the missile is about to be launched, and lead him away by a pinch of blue cloth.

“Look who’s standing by the door,” I hiss in his ear. He looks.

“Jesus Christ,” he says.

I push him toward the door. “Go talk to her.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“I can’t do it.” He walks away from me, holding his hands in the air. “I’m a football player, not a farmer.”

I stay right behind him. “You’re not gonna be a football player if you can’t pass algebra.”

He turns. “College isn’t everything,” he says hotly. “I can always play semipro.” He puts his head down, shoulders through the dancing couples, and escapes through a swinging door into the boys’ locker room. I follow him in. I don’t think she’s seen us. The cool air of the locker room is a relief after the stale heat of the gym. It’s dark, except for the murky red light from the exit sign. It smells like feet.

“You can’t hide in here,” I tell him.

“Yes, I can,” he says. “I do it every day.”

Junior body slams a locker and sinks to the ground. Smoothing my dress underneath me, I sit on the floor next to him.

“It’s not that I don’t care about it,” he announces. “I mean, I think about it all the time. But she told them before she told me! She announced at dinner. Both of her brothers were there. Just like that, in front of all of them. ‘Junior, honey,’” he mimics. “‘Guess what? You’re gonna be a daddy!’