I headed for my cafeteria table the next day, slicing straight through the roar of noise. In a way, it was like being alone. I didn’t care about the hundreds of other kids, their antics, their food, the insults they served back and forth at one another like Ping-Pong balls. I saw only Izzy, head bowed, quietly unwrapping a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, freeing it from its plastic wrapping and taking the smallest of bites before sipping at her milk through a straw.
Jackson was nowhere to be seen—late, I assumed, since he had a math teacher who liked to keep them after the bell about every other day. I stood beside her without speaking until she looked up and smiled and offered me the chair next to her. I had to believe the popular kids were looking on, hopeful for some more fireworks. I sat down and started to eat my lunch, doing my best to mimic Izzy’s finer manners.
She took another bite and then a sip before dabbing her mouth on a napkin she produced from her lap. “So?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes. I read it. All of it.”
“And?”
I had to look at her, even though those eyes turned my insides to jelly. “Are you saying I’m Austin?”
She stared at me with those big eyes. Hypnotized, I couldn’t move.
Her face erupted into a smile. “Aren’t we all Austin?”
Relief flooded through my body. The tension drained through my feet. I nodded.
“I was thinking more Jason than Austin, though,” she said, and now I warmed with pride and something else because Jason’s character was pretty awesome, even though he started out not so great.
Was she saying that about me? I didn’t dare to ask. I just soaked it up until Jackson walloped me on the back.
“Dude, it’s her.” Jackson beamed with joy, nodding at Izzy.
“She has a name,” Izzy said, but not meanly.
“I told Izzy I was really sorry for being a jerk,” I said, “and I finished this book she gave me to read last night. I think she’s—you are, right?—sitting with us again?”
“Watch out.” Jackson sat down heavily and started emptying his big bag of food onto the table in front of him. “This will be the popular table before you know it. Then I’ll have to leave.”
Izzy laughed and dabbed her mouth with the napkin, then suddenly stopped and stared over my shoulder. I turned around and saw Bethany Bracewell standing there with her diamond earrings glinting and her freckled arms folded across her chest, staring down in disgust. “Izzy, don’t even think you’re coming back to our table again.”
I looked back at Izzy and watched the surprise on her face turn to something else. This time she didn’t dab her mouth, she just laughed out loud at Bethany and her stupid lunch table. I held out my fist and Izzy gave it a bump.
“Do you like football?” I asked.
“Not at all.” She shook her head, still grinning.
“Well, you’ll have to start liking it, because this is the . . .” I pulled the first thing that came to mind out of my head. “. . . football superstars table.”
“This is the sports superstars table.” She stuck a thumb into her chest. “And I’m the best athlete we’ve got.”
I looked at Jackson to see what he thought of that, but all he did was nod.
“I was kidding,” she said. “Not about being the best athlete part, but about football. I love football, especially the Cowboys, and not just because you own them.”
“Finally, you say something about it! I’ve been waiting for you guys to talk about me owning the team.” I grinned.
Izzy shrugged. “It’s cool and all, but what does it mean? What’s even happening?”
I gave them a recap of when I found out about my dad, of the will reading, and how my mom was trying to schedule a press conference. “It’s really still all with the lawyers to get things worked out. At least, that’s what my mom says.”
“I’m sorry about your dad,” Izzy said.
“Yeah, me too.” Jackson paused, then said, “So what changes can you make, you know, to the team or players and all?”
“Oh, I don’t know! I haven’t even thought about it!”
“Well, don’t you think you should?” Jackson laughed.
And as we started talking about which players were good, we moved on to the ten all-time greatest players in a friendly argument that took us to the bell. We got up and moved through the halls together, ignoring the rest of the world. It felt good to have our own small group, just like the three best friends in Izzy’s book.
At practice later that day, we headed out onto the field and Coach Hubbard divided us up, telling me I should go with the wide receivers during passing drills. It frustrated me that the fact that I was the kid owner of the Dallas Cowboys didn’t seem to have any impact on him. He wasn’t treating me that much better than before and I wondered if he somehow might not have heard the news. It didn’t seem possible. He was probably just being a football coach, focused on coaching our middle-school team. That’s how they were, especially in Texas.
But now I hesitated, fearful that the change back to receiver was going to be permanent. “Coach, I’m really good with reading defenses and stuff. You might need me at QB when things get going.”
“Get going?” Simpkin muttered under his breath, even though he kept throwing the football back and forth to Estevan Marin. “Take a walk, shrimp.”
I looked hard at Coach Hubbard, pleading with my eyes because I knew my hands weren’t much to talk about, small and hard as stones. Even the passes I got during warm-ups with other quarterbacks seemed to bounce off my hands. It was all I could do to take the snap, make a handoff to a runner, or throw a pass that didn’t wobble. Catching wasn’t in it for me.
“Well . . .” Coach Hubbard seemed to be thinking about it.
“Zinna, seriously? You don’t question the coach!” Simpkin stopped throwing and stared at me, faking outrage and taking a step toward me as if to emphasize my lack of height. “Ever! Part of being a quarterback is calling the play you get. You don’t argue when a coach tells you something. What, you think you’re special ’cause you supposedly own the Cowboys? Please, that means nothing here.”
Coach Hubbard scowled and looked confused before he said, “That’s right! Get going, Zinna, or would you rather run a lap?”
At that moment, I wished I were Jackson. If I were, I would have pummeled Simpkin into the dirt. Instead, I just narrowed my eyes at Simpkin, turned, and jogged over to where the receivers were, a place I knew I shouldn’t be.