3 / MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 16—BEFORE SCHOOL

One Monday a few weeks later, after we’d won our third game to get to a two–one record, I woke up to the sound of my dad throwing up in the bathroom again. He didn’t just make some normal puke sound. When Dad had one of these days, you could hear him all the way down the block. His body would twist itself into a knot trying to get every last bit of his insides out.

I had to pee pretty badly, but I knew he could be a while, so I went in the backyard. I’m not proud of it, but I’d done it before. When your dad is on the kind of meds that scrape the core out of your body, certain life changes come your way. Peeing in the grass is a small one.

I went back inside and measured out some oatmeal and water into a bowl and stuck it in the microwave. Dad would be hungry when he was done, and oatmeal was about the only thing he could hold down. I’d become a decent cook since Mom left, but sometimes, the simple things were all the situation called for.

The microwave beeped. I pulled out the bowl and stirred in some brown sugar and cream, just like Dad liked it. A few minutes later, he came into the kitchen and inhaled deeply, like he was smelling something special instead of the same old thing.

“Ah,” he said in a big fake Italian accent, “oatmeal à la Gary especialamento!”

Dad was always trying to be funny and complimentary and everything. He hoped that through all this goofing around and buddy-buddy stuff we did, like going to the clinic together, I would stop being mad at him for cheating on Mom. For getting HIV from that woman in Columbus and breaking up our family.

But it wasn’t his true self. All his acting did was remind me—as if I needed a reminder—how important it is to do the right thing in life. Be true to yourself, do what you say you’ll do. And then you don’t have to act like a doofus to try to win your son’s love.

Besides, I was already here. I’d chosen him. What more did he want?

“Sounded like a rough one this morning, Dad.”

“It wasn’t a pleasure cruise, that’s for sure. You working tonight?”

“Swing shift,” I said.

I started bussing tables at Café Helen last year after Mom left to live in Harvest Valley with her sister. Money became really tight really fast, especially with Dad missing out on work. He was usually too sick to plow snow or cut lawns. Not to mention all his meds added a strain to the budget.

I made decent tips down at the café. But it wasn’t always easy to balance a job, school, homework, and football. Now that I was a senior and still not starting, I sometimes felt like sports weren’t worth it. Sometimes I wondered why I stayed on the team.

“Well, don’t miss practice, son.”

Oh, yeah. That was why: Dad. He’d be heartbroken if I gave up the game. He’d played when he went to Troy High, and he expected me to play, too. He was one of those people who believed the mythology of Trojan football. It was life.

Even though I was mad at him, and even though I did not think Trojan football was life, I couldn’t let him down. He was such a mess without Mom. He needed something to believe in. One thing he believed—foolishly—was that I could beat out Shane and start for the Trojans. He felt that favoritism had allowed Shane to start over me.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” I said, grabbing my gear on my way to the door. “I won’t miss.”

“Hold on,” he said, stirring his oatmeal. “I’m trying to tell you something. I got a feeling they’re going to need you on the field this week.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just something I heard yesterday cutting the graveyard. From Bailey.”

Alfred Bailey was his boss on the yard crew. He was on the Friends of Troy Football boosters too, and he had a way of nosing into everything. Always plugged into the gossip.

“What?” I asked.

“You remember a few weeks ago when Shane got arrested?”

“How could I forget?”

“Well, the word is that Principal Donahue found out that Coach Z was covering up for him. Could be some trouble coming downstream—and some opportunities.”

I was stunned. Coach Z was an Important Man, capital I, capital M. He’d played on the only undefeated Trojans team in school history, and now he was leading us to a state championship—so he believed. And so everyone else believed. It was hard to imagine trouble coming downstream for him. Not now. Not ever.

“Wow,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Wow. Now knock ’em dead today.”