It’s another tense game, lots of points scored, and at halftime, the Rockets are trailing the Cougars by a field goal, with the crowd on the verge of violent hysteria. After the marching band manages to screw up “Rock Around the Clock,” Rack gets on the winning float, takes the microphone, and presents me to the fans as the queen of homecoming. It happened yesterday at the pep rally. They pulled me off the sidelines, where I was sitting with my ‘sore knee’ cramming Shakespeare into my head, and suddenly I was in the middle of the gym with a crown on, and everyone was laughing like it was the funniest joke in the world. My king is Tim Marhaver—how he got elected I’ll never know, because nobody likes him either, but I strongly suspect authoritarian practices, stuffed ballot boxes, and underhanded deals late at night in smoke-filled rooms. Suddenly we all hear honks, and here comes the Grimshaw brothers’ flatbed tearing across the football field, with the smoking lips on the back. Ruby’s driving. I hold my crown on my head and jump off the purple and gold rocket. My attendants run after me, and my king trails them. As I hike up my velveteen cape and get on the flatbed, Rack passes out the cigarettes and we sit on the bear trap and blow smoke rings at the crowd. They love it. The band tries “Rock Around the Clock” again, and gets it right this time, and the crowd gets very rowdy. I put the crown on Grimshaw. Tim reclines on the bear trap in the middle of his four queens.

“Hey, buddy, can ya handle it?” someone yells.

He gives them thumbs-up, and the crowd goes wild.

Toward the end of the third quarter, Rack insists we leave a tie game to go up to the farm and get her house ready for a party after the homecoming dance tonight. Rack’s parents have gone away for the weekend, which means she has to do the evening milking, which means we have to help.

“The cows come first,” she says. “Even before football.”

We all clamber into her truck. “Doesn’t anybody want to listen to the radio to hear who wins the end of the game?” Grimshaw asks.

“I don’t,” says Rack.

“Don’t you care who wins?” Angel asks her.

“No. Do you?”

Angel shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out sooner or later.”

“Anyway, I just broke up with him,” Rack announces.

“You did?” Angel and Grimshaw gasp together.

“Yeah. In the first quarter. I told him I was sick of his shit and tired of looking at his ugly-ass face.”

“Why?” Grimshaw asks.

“Because I am. I told him he didn’t know how to play football, either. Among other things.”

“Wow.”

“Hey, Grimshaw.” I turn around. She looks particularly pretty and happy today. “Did Mike ever get that Viper?”

She looks blank. “Mike?”