Principal Harvey clears her throat, snapping me out of my memory.

"Why didn't you play? I mean, if you're passionate about the sport. Coach Carson told me how quick you are, so why not play at your previous school? Why here? At Blue Lake?"

I look at the floor and shrug my shoulders. The truth is, I wanted to play. Desperately. But I just couldn't, not while Pax was sick and just getting worse by the day. It didn't seem fair for him to be trapped in that hospital bed while I ran free.

"Peyton, I'm trying to understand why it is that you are all of a sudden seized by the desire to play tackle football. Is it because you are now at a five A school? Before you were at a six A. Maybe you knew you wouldn't make the team?"

"No ma'am. It's not that either." I don't know how to explain something so complicated to her. I don't like to talk about it, but she's making me feel like I have to try to explain it to her.

"In junior high, my twin brother asked me to not try out for the team. So, he played, but I didn't. When we were about to start high school, we had a big fight about it, and I told him I was going to try out." I clench my jaw, but my throat keeps growing tighter.

"So, you did play at your last school?"

"No. I tried out for the ninth-grade team. I made the A team. Pax made the B team. He was pretty upset about it. Anyway, a few weeks before the season, we found out he was sick. And neither one of us ended up playing. He couldn't play. So...I didn't play either," I say, my voice catching. It feels like I'm choking on a peach pit. And the stinging heat of tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. Don't cry! Don't cry, for God's sake! Not in a football coach's office. I keep staring at the floor blinking back my tears, willing myself not to lose it.

"I see." She turns to Coach Carson. "Did the brother try out too?"

I look up suddenly, my eyes shifting between coach and principal.

"No, Principal Harvey. He didn't. I wasn't aware there was a brother until now."

"If you were waiting for your brother to get better to play, why isn't he going out for the team?" She looks genuinely concerned and confused.

I stare back down at the floor. This is not something I talk about, especially with strangers. I'm getting angry. Irate. "Does it matter? It shouldn't matter!" Oh crap, I'm yelling at the principal. Not a good start to a high school career. But I can't stop myself.

Principal Harvey takes a deep breath. "Okay, Peyton. I didn't mean to upset you. I wanted to understand a little better. I think I do now." Her expression is full of pity, the look adults always give me when they know.

"Coach Carson." She sighs, turning to a now very confused looking man. "Here's the deal. According to Title IX, all girls are eligible to try out for a team sport. If the school does not have an equivalent girl's sport, then she must be allowed to try out for the boy's team. Peyton has tried out for your team, and she made it. She must be allowed to stay on your team. She can practice with the team and go to all of the games."

My anger dissolves. I'm beginning to love this lady because it seems as though I'm going to get to play football. Coach Carson and Coach Murphy both look catatonic.

"But... Coach Carson is still the coach," she continues. "He determines who plays in the games and who sits on the bench. You are guaranteed a spot on the team, not playing time. That is completely under the discretion of the coaches. Do you understand, Peyton?"

Yeah, I understand perfectly. I understand that I'm going to be sitting on the bench all season long. I sigh and nod my head up and down.

The coaches reanimate. They nod too.

"Okay, Principal. I thank you for your time. Now, if you'll excuse us, we've got practice to get to." He claps me hard on the shoulder and we walk out towards the field together where all of the players are suited up and ready to go.

"All right!" Coach yells. "Start running. I wanna see you do three miles. And no pansy-assing!"

Everyone groans as they begin the first of what's to become many laps. I don't care. I have so much anger to run off that I don't even feel the burn as my muscles warm up. Besides, I love to run. It's the only time I'm completely free.

As we start the second mile, I hear retching coming from the back of the pack. The big boys aren't going to last long in full pads and air that you can cut with a knife it's so thick. Someone jogs up beside me on the inside of the track.

"Hey, Thomas."

I briefly glance to my left. It's Jack.

"You ignoring me now?"

I shake my head no.

"You tell coach?" He's breathing hard.

"Yep."

He laughs. "Man, wish I'd been there to see that."

"Yeah. Epic."

"But you're still here."

"Yep."

"I'm impressed," he says after a moment. "And glad for you."

"Yep."

"You don't seem too happy about it, Thomas."

I huff out a deep sigh. "Are you planning to run by me and talk the whole time?"

He flashes that toothpaste commercial grin. "I hadn't given it much thought. Why?"

"I can't run with someone on my left. I'd prefer it if you could move to my right."

He laughs. "You're a character, know that, Thomas?" He huffs as he moves behind me to my right. "Is this so you can stiff-arm me if I mouth off?"

"No, I'm an ambidextrous stiff-armer. I just never could run with anybody on my left. I like to be on the inside."

He shakes his head and we both keep running.

I guess it is a quirk—probably a remnant of the old days when Pax used to ride next to me when I'd run. I don't know why, but after all those years, it doesn't feel natural to have someone on my left.

When we get to our third mile, neither of us is talking. The heat and humidity are beyond oppressive. He turns his head and looks back.

"Linemen. Poor bastards. Those boys aren't built for distance," Jack says.

"Or speed," I reply.

"Like you?"

"I'm not the fastest out here." I shrug.

"No. But if we pushed it... you could come in first today."

"You're crazy," I tell him.

"Nah. Little and Jackson, those boys can run. But this is football. It ain't cross country."

I look up at him. "Okay, but I'm setting the pace."

He nods, and we keep steady, ever so slightly increasing our speed on the second lap of the third mile. We're gaining on the front of the pack, but I want to stay behind them until the last lap.

When we come to the first straightaway on lap four of the third mile, we turn on the gas. As we round the corner, Jack is sucking air, but he keeps pushing to keep up. The other players look sharply to their left as we pass them on the inside. But it's so hot, I doubt any of them care that the new guy is showing them up. Except Pretty boy Cash Carson, who tries to turn on the gas, but he's completely spent by now, and we easily overtake him. Little nods hello. Jackson shakes his head in annoyance. Long distance isn't their thing, so they don't care to compete.

At the end, it's me and Jack. We run side-by-side to the finish. My lungs burn, and the skin under my shoulder and thigh pads is so hot it feels like it's about to combust.

Jack and I are both sucking serious air now. As we reach the end of our last lap, he slows slightly, falling back. I cross the line.

Alone.

Well, almost.

For a moment I think I see Pax standing at the finish line, just like he used to in elementary school.

Fastest one again, huh?

I close my eyes, hands on knees, gasping. When I open them and stand back up, he's gone.

Coach Carson's out on the field with his whistle and his clipboard. His face is beet red, as if he completed three miles in full pads. He watches, arms crossed over his chest as all the stragglers jog in, wheezing and sweating, some of them vomiting.

"Gentlemen! I hope y'all are satisfied! The whole bunch of you got schooled by the new kid!"

None of them care. They're all too busy trying to catch their breath, hands on knees, heads hanging down. A few of the bigger guys slowly collapse to the ground in the shade, knees bent, hands on their chests.

"Coach Murphy?"

"Yes, Coach Carson?" Murphy asks, playing along like they're some kind of comedy duo.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"Damn shame, is what it is. Damn shame." Murphy shakes his head in mock disgust.

Suddenly, the players raise their eyes in curiosity, all except for Jack, who stares down at the track, grinning.

Coach Carson points at me. "Let me be clearer. All y'all got your asses handed to you by a skinny little girl."

Mortified, I stare down at my feet. This is not the best way to deliver the news. Everyone glares at me, recognition sinking in. They're still processing the fact that the scrawny guy they formerly dismissed is actually a girl.

The rest of practice is bizarre. Nobody says a single word to me, not even Jack. Coach lines us up for Oklahoma drills, and I'm running the ball first. He has me up against Payne and Jackson. I know he's trying to make practice so punishing for me that I drop out. But it backfires. No one will touch me. They stand there, arms hanging down by their sides as I breeze past. Coach shakes his head, muttering something that sounds like "Pathetic...damn pathetic."

The Warriors don't know quite what to do with themselves.

After coach lets us go for the day, they all creep to the locker room huddled in their little cliques, talking quietly amongst themselves.

I walk to my car alone. Head hanging.

"Don't look so glum, Thomas," says a voice to my right. I look up. Jack sits on the tailgate of his truck. Of course, it's a Ford F150, but older, I'm guessing a 1996. Older than Dora.

I stop and look up at him, hands on my waist, hip cocked. Hoping I come off looking like a badass. "They all hate me now." I thrust my hands up in the air, madman style. "Thanks a lot. Did you and Coach Carson plan that little scheme?"

"Yeah, Thomas, me and coach are in cahoots."

I nod vigorously, like I knew all along.

"Are you nuts? I wanted you to prove to the coaches how tough you are. You think they always make us run three miles?"

"I don't know."

"They don't," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "I been playing Blue Lake football since I was a freshman. I'm a senior now. You know how many times I've run three miles on that track?"

"I think we've established that I don't."

"One time. Once. Today." He's holding up his index finger to make it very clear.

"So?"

"So. It was because of you. They were trying to get you to quit. I may talk and look like a redneck, but I sure as hell know hazing when I see it. You were getting hazed, Thomas. They were thinking you would give up. And I wanted you to show them they thought wrong."

"Why? Why do you care?"

He looks up at the sky, bringing his hands up over his eyes, and then slides them down his face shaking his head. I'm wearing him out.

He steps closer. "I have absolutely no idea. You're a real pain in the ass."

I stand there glaring with narrowed eyes.

That damned wolfish grin spreads across his face. "You're pretty extra, Thomas. But you do keep things interesting."

I roll my eyes.

Then he gets serious. "But it's more than that. I get so sick of them and their good old boy crap. I don't like ignorant."

"Ignorant?"

"Yes, Thomas. Ignorant. Damn ignorant. You think Cash Carson is the best quarterback we have?" He asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Probably not, no."

"You're right. He's not. Darius Little has an arm like a rocket, and he can run. He would be a serious threat at QB. Arm like a missile. And he can run."

"Yes. I get it. So why not play him at QB?" I ask.

"Lots of reasons. His family can't fork over a bunch of money to the boosters. His uncle's not the head coach of the team. Those things...and he's black. They don't get to be QB one around here."

"That's stupid. That's something Rush Limbaugh would say."

"I don't think that way. I was telling you how it is. You think I like losing all the time?"

I shake my head. "Wait. This team loses all the time?"

"Pretty much. With that arrogant ass Cash Carson leading our team, there's a lot of...let's call it dysfunction."

He stands there with his head cocked to one side looking at me.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing. You asked me why I care. That's why I care. If you ask me, this town could use a little diversity."

"I hate to disappoint you, but the only thing I'm going to be diversifying is the bench. The coach and the principal made that pretty clear to me this morning." 

"Aw, Thomas. Don't give up just yet. You're tougher than that," he says. "A lot can happen in a season."