“What a great place,” Junior Davis says, walking around the shop. “This should definitely be a bar. Colchis needs a bar with a pool table, because I don’t drink.”

Rack takes center stage. “Okay, let’s get started,” she says. She whips out her poster. Her rocket is quite impressive-looking, with purple and gold lettering down the side and a lot of stars and planets dancing around on springs.

“The rocket needs to be about twelve feet high,” she says.

“That’s not big enough,” says Junior. This, for some reason, strikes all the guys as profoundly funny.

“It’s not violent enough, either,” says Tony Beech. Tony smokes pot and captains the badminton team, usually on the same day. “How about something like Hunt the Cougars to Extinction and Then Skin Them and Mount Their Heads on Spikes?” This suggestion proves popular.

“It’s not very sustainable, though,” I put in. “Aren’t cougars an endangered species?”

“It’s not real, Serena.” Junior claps his hand on my shoulder. “It’s only a game. Just a bunch of guys with a football.”

“Can we stop wasting time, please?” Rack cuts in. “Can we have a vote on Colchis Shoots for the Stars?”

“How about Bomb the Cougars?” Lars Madsen asks Junior.

“No,” Tony says. “Not Bomb. Bomb sucks.” Dozens of dissenting opinions are fielded.

“How about Crush?”

“How about Kill?”

“What do you think their floats will say?”

“Lick the Rockets!”

“Lick my rocket!”

“Is Junior going to be the model for the missile?”

“It’s not a missile!” shouts Rack over all the voices. “It’s a rocket!”

“I can’t be the model,” says Junior. “The trailer’s too small.” Again, all the boys double over laughing.

“How about Castrate?” asks Angel, lighting two cigarettes and giving one to Grimshaw.

Junior howls and covers his crotch.

“How about Excellence, Perfection, Teamwork, Success?” My idea gets booed. “Sorry. Just a thought.”

“Hey—how about Trap?” says a voice that has not been heard yet. Everybody looks around to see who’s talking. It’s Martin Gerard. Martin Gerard is one of those people you never notice unless you’re forced to be his lab partner. But that never seems to bother him. He makes bad puns and always seems to have a drip of toothpaste lather on his shirt.

“How about what?” Rack asks with as much scorn as she can muster.

“Trap!” says Martin, all happy. “As in—Trap the Cougars! My grandfather was a trapper, up in Canada. Those traps are wicked-looking. Big steel teeth.” He bares his teeth at us and bugs his eyes out behind his glasses.

Junior laughs and claps him on the shoulder. “I like it,” he says.

“And the float—” Marty keeps going. “The float could be this giant trap with big teeth, and we could have someone dressed in a cougar suit—”

“Like their mascot—” Lars gets excited. “Let’s kidnap Minnechaug’s mascot!”

“They don’t have a mascot,” Rack sneers. “Nobody has mascots, you dumb-ass.” But it’s too late—Martin’s idea is taking off. Everyone crowds around him, suddenly excited.