That is to say that these two big white dudes giving this charming black brother some grief wasn’t a racial issue. They were just mouth-breathing motherfuckers.

I turned toward Troy and said in my most sincere voice, “I forgive you.”

“Forgive me?” Troy said. “Oh, ho, I’m not looking for forgiveness.”

“Aw, I’ve seen you at church with your family in your cute suit and bow tie,” I said. “I’m sure God will understand.”

“God is telling me to splatter your brains across the floor, Conners,” he huffed.

Jesus, this guy. “Have a blessed day.” I smiled.

Luke stepped forward, his lips curling upward. “Do you forgive me?”

“Hey, man,” I said, “I know quarterback isn’t your position, so I can’t blame you for calling a shitty play that got your teammate injured. I’m sure those scouts won’t hold it against you, either.”

“You listen to me, you little bitch,” Luke said. “I don’t know what your problem is, but today was my day. They were here to see me. I’ve started at running back since I was a sophomore, and you’re not going to take that away from me.”

“You did pull off that nice scamper into the end zone, though. Oh, wait, that was … me.”

“Oh, man,” he said, licking his lips like he was about to eat a whole pig with the skin still on. “I’m gonna enjoy this.” He handed his helmet to Troy, took a step toward me.

The other players were all clustered around us now.

“You gotta be kidding, man,” Tico said. “My guy was just out cold and is standing there in his underwear, and now you’re gonna fight him?”

“Shut the fuck up, Tico,” Luke barked.

“Take off your pads at least, pretty boy,” Tico returned.

That’s my man—not about to back down.

Luke turned toward him, weighing whether he wanted to fight this battle on two fronts.

“Thanks, Tico, but I got this,” I called out, directing Luke’s attention back to me. I didn’t know what inspired me to do that or, then, to position myself with one foot forward, the other back, and my hands hanging down.

There wasn’t much room with lockers on both sides of us and a bench down the middle. Luke shuffle-stepped toward me, and I backed up.

Images of where I could hit him flooded my head, as if I’d made anatomical notes: ankles, knees, hips, stomach, elbows, throat, chin, face, ears.

He swatted out with one hand, trying to grapple my arm, and I angled out of reach, bouncing on the balls of my feet.

An odd calm came over me. I wasn’t thinking about how much I hated Luke right now or how badly Troy had hurt me. I just was observing Luke’s body, the way it moved, his stance, his center of gravity—and how slow he seemed.

When he swatted again, I grabbed his hand and yanked him toward me, and with my other hand, I thrust the tips of my fingers into the spongy base of his throat, lightning-fast. I let go just as quickly, and he stumbled to the floor, hacking a pained cough.