9 / MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 23—COACH Z’S OFFICE

On Monday, I was still wearing the bandages but I could talk. I went to Coach Z’s office before practice to let him know I couldn’t suit up for one more day.

“I’ll be ready tomorrow,” I said.

“I appreciate your dedication,” Coach replied. When I didn’t leave right away, he said, “Anything else, Jayo?”

“Well,” I said. “There is one more thing.”

He raised his eyebrows, like, Come on, let it out.

“Well, uh—is it true that Shane crashed through Higby’s chicken coop? That he was driving drunk?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I just want to know if it’s true.”

Coach took a few seconds before responding. “I’m guessing you know the answer to that already.”

“Here’s what I know,” I said. And I showed him the footage of Shane getting into his car and driving away.

“Give me that,” he said, reaching for the phone.

I handed it over. “I already posted it onto a private YouTube channel, if you’re thinking you’ll erase it. I figure I’ll send the link to Principal Donahue.”

Coach went over and shut his office door and sat on the desk. He lowered his voice. “Why would you want to do a thing like that, son?”

“You said everyone deserves a second chance,” I said. “One second chance. Fine. But this is his second time drunk driving that we know of. He’s been drinking at school, he’s been late for practice, missing practice. He’s been ignoring the rules for years. When a person messes up, there’s a price to pay. At least there’s supposed to be.”

“You think Shane’s some kind of golden boy?” he asked.

“Sure seems like it, Coach.”

“You think he’s had everything handed to him on a platter?” Coach asked.

“I don’t know. Yeah, sort of.”

“And you want to get him in trouble so you can start a football game.”

“He’s had his chances,” I said. “Where’s my chance?”

He handed back my phone, and I put it in my pocket. He was staring me down. Challenging me. I chose my next words carefully. “I just want to see the right thing done.”

“You just want to see the right thing done.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me something,” Coach said. “When was the last time you were out to Shane’s house?”

“We’re not really friends anymore, Coach.”

“When was the last time?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Middle school?”

Shane lived out near the bus station—the roughest part of town. My family wasn’t rich by any means, but I didn’t find myself over in that part of Troy very often.

“Why don’t you pay him a visit?”

“All due respect, sir, but I don’t have anything to say to him.”

“You’re about to ruin a guy’s career,” Coach said. “You ought to go to his home and look him in the eye. Tell him what the right thing is. Don’t worry about me, Jayo. Your video can’t hurt me—not at this school.”

He let that sink in for a minute. Then he told me to get out of his office, which I did in a hurry.