4 / MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 16—TROY CENTRAL HIGH

Pulling into the school parking lot in Dad’s Honda, I saw Shane and Orlando near the back of the lot. I parked next to them and rapped on the window of Shane’s Chevy. Shane rolled it down.

“What up, Two?” He meant QB2. As in, backup.

“Have you heard anything about Coach?” I asked.

“Heard what? What’re you talking about?” Orlando handed him a plastic water bottle full of orange juice. And vodka, I assumed. Shane took a swig. Even his hands had bulging muscles.

“Uh, nothing,” I said. “Just, you know, just wondering if you heard anything.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I ain’t heard a thing.”

“OK, cool. Talk to you later.”

“Hold up, Two,” Shane said. “You want a drink?” He handed me the jug.

“No, I’m good.”

Orlando leaned in front of Shane. “Yeah, you are good, aren’t you? Such a good boy. Such a mama’s boy. Whoops, I guess not, since you got no mama around, huh?”

He and Shane laughed pretty hard at that. Then Shane hit a button on his stereo and Eminem came cranking out. I never understood how he had his own ride and an awesome stereo while his family was dirt poor. No money, lousy grades, no anything—except football.

Actually, I had an idea. Illegal gifts from college recruiters.

“Classy,” I said over the music and started to walk away. Then Shane turned it down again.

“Hey,” he said, “why didn’t you come to the party Friday? It was a rager.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Everyone was asking about you.”

“Really?”

“No,” he said and took a drink. “They weren’t.”

I left them laughing there and went into the school.