Practice Friday afternoon and Saturday morning were sweet dreams. Coach Kinen treated Danny like gold.

“What do you think about that play, Danny? You like it?”

“How’s your foot doing? Let’s not overdo things. We need you for the game.”

The downside to all that positive attention was the glaring difference he felt when he walked into Ms. Rait’s house Saturday afternoon for what would be the last time. Turned out she was a church person, but she said she thought meeting Saturday afternoon was a good idea.

“Danny.” She sat at the kitchen table looking like she’d tasted a lemon. She set her book down on the table and began shuffling papers out of her folder, snapping them down in front of him.

“Ma’am.” Danny sat.

She dove right in, teaching him some new things and drilling him on the old. She had him answer worksheets on the stopwatch and she brandished her red marker when he’d finished, clicking her tongue and fouling the paper with her red ink.

After a particularly bad page, she pushed it away from her and huffed. “This just isn’t good enough. I need more from you. Give me more. The test is Monday.”

Danny bit down on the inside of his lip. Obviously, no one from the team had done anything to frighten Ms. Rait or back her down in any way. He kept on, though, because now he really needed this. His dream of the big game had come and gone and come again. He was so close, and instead of moaning to himself, he hunkered down and poured every ounce of energy and concentration he had into learning as much as he possibly could.

He knew the course of his entire life might be changed by a single answer. He needed a 65 percent, that was all.

It wasn’t until the sun dipped into the back windows that Ms. Rait rested her red marker on the table between them.

She sat back and sighed heavily.

She looked almost sad.

Danny swallowed, afraid to ask, but knowing he had to.

“So do you think I can do this? You think I can pass?”