THINK THE WAY GANGS THINK. That's what Kimi's dad had said. I went to the players' gate and looked around. If I were driving the black Civic, where would I park? What would I do?
I scanned the area until I spotted the perfect place: the fence directly across from the players' gate. The Civic could back up against it and wait. From there, the driver could see the players come down the brightly lit chute toward the parking lot without being seen. When he spotted Angel, he could fly down the lane, make a quick right turn, and stop. A passenger in the car could stick a gun out the window, fire, and then the car would be gone, out of the parking lot and onto I-5. Once the Civic reached the freeway it could head toward Portland or Gig Harbor or Mount Rainier or back to Seattle.
I walked out to the fence. The overhead lighting in the parking lot dwindled to nothing before I reached it. The ground was littered with cups and candy bar wrappers that had blown up against the fence.
I looked back to the players' gate, and I was more certain than ever that this would be where they'd settle. I walked along the fence, kicking glass and garbage out of the way, thinking how stupid I'd been not to bring gloves, and wondering whether, if it finally came to it, I'd have the guts to do what had to be done.
After I'd walked a hundred yards along the fence, I headed back to the T-Dome and found the regular press gate. As I showed the usher my pass, I remembered how awkward I'd felt using it the first time; now it was second nature. I found a seat that was high enough to see everything, but not so high that the players looked like ants.
I looked around me. Cops and security guys were visible throughout the stadium. Coach McNulty had been right. Nobody would be stupid enough to try anything during the game. If an attack came, it would come afterward in the confusion and blackness of the parking lot.
But that was three hours away. I had a football game to cover for the Lincoln Light, the most important football game in the history of Lincoln High. Win or lose, students, teachers, and parents would keep the newspaper their whole lives. Over time, my words would become their memories. I opened a new Word document on my laptop, and typed: Championship Game: Lincoln Mustangs vs. Ferris Saxons.