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Early in the morning, Peter Rice drove his Acura NSX into the parking lot and whistled at a girl near the curb.
His mood had been excellent lately.
Adam Newman was gone with an ankle injury. At last, no one stood between Rice and the starting quarterback job. As for Nolan Callahan, what was he supposed to be? A big body and some lucky plays did not make a quarterback.
In Rice’s mind, Nolan had never been a real rival.
The feeling lasted until he walked into school.
People were whispering.
Not one or two. Everywhere.
"What are you looking at?"
Rice grabbed a smaller underclassman by the collar and pinned him against the wall.
"N-nothing."
"Close your eyes."
The boy obeyed.
Rice nodded, satisfied. He enjoyed fear. It made the world feel properly arranged.
He reached his locker, pulled off his headphones, and checked on a few private things he kept hidden there: photographs, a couple of 8mm tapes, and other items he absolutely did not want in anyone else’s hands.
"Rice, you’d better see this."
A friend rushed up and shoved a newspaper at him.
Rice’s stomach dropped when he saw the name of the Orange County paper.
He had recently been tangled in a dispute, and one relative of the other family worked for that paper.
He opened it fast and found the high-school sports column.
The article was not praising his passing.
It was about him.
The ugly parts.
His hands began to shake. He dug the Motorola 3200 out of his bag and called his father.
"We need a lawyer. End the settlement talks with that family unless they print an apology. This is slander!"
"Idiot," his father roared through the phone. "Do you think this is just about a high school student’s private life? You just ruined something important for me."
...
At the same time, Nolan had the same newspaper spread across his desk.
He folded it shut and rubbed his forehead.
First, Rice’s dirt was out. In a major local Orange County paper, no less. Rice would have to disappear for a while.
What Nolan did not understand was how the story had moved from a school newspaper tip to a regional outlet so quickly.
He would have to ask Rachel later.
That afternoon, after classes, an assistant coach brought Nolan to Coach Thomas’s office.
"Rice has taken leave for personal reasons," Thomas said, shaking his head. "From now on, you’re the Normans’ starting quarterback. The last regular-season game will be your trial run. After that, the playoffs are on your shoulders. Work like it."
The Normans had already had a miserable run of luck. Five starters hurt, Adam injured, Rice gone. Somehow, Thomas still had one option left.
"I’ll remember your help, Coach," Nolan said. "I’ll pay it back."
Thomas grinned despite himself.
"Take us a few rounds deep and that’ll be payment enough."
Then the grin faded.
"My contract has performance bonuses. Team results unlock them. Those bonuses are nearly half my pay."
He removed his cap, revealing the thinning hair beneath.
"I’ve got four kids, a mortgage, car payments, credit-card bills, medical bills for my parents, and a few investments that went straight to hell. Life is a wonderful thing."
The first time Nolan had met Thomas, he had seen the coach’s swagger: the football resume, the temper, the man who could bully a room into order.
Now he saw the other side.
A middle-aged man being crushed by bills, waking up every morning to numbers he could not quite beat. His life looked a lot like the hair on his head: still technically there, but losing ground.
"This roster isn’t whole," Thomas said. "We’ve got five starters hurt and two quarterbacks gone. God knows what I did to deserve this season."
He leaned back.
"For my family, I sometimes make a phone call to Nevada. Strictly on games I understand. I treat it like a bonus. You might think about it too."
Nevada’s laws made Las Vegas useful for more than vacations.
Nolan understood.
"Katherine is polite," Thomas continued. "She always says hello. She told me what happened to your family, and she signed you up herself. So why not make some money if you can?"
Thomas held up a hand before Nolan could answer.
"But do not cross the line. Treat it as a bonus, nothing more. If you let it own you, it will destroy your career. You understand?"
Nolan did.
His family disaster was the cleanest warning possible.
Thomas had been around football long enough to know where the traps were. If Nolan used the coach’s judgment, added his own ability, and stayed disciplined, he could make useful money.
Not empire money. High school football did not draw that kind of pool.
But enough to matter.
Thomas wrote a number on a piece of paper.
"This is my guy in Las Vegas. Fair fees, fast settlement. I’ve worked with him for years."
"I’ll contact him privately."
Nolan took the paper.
The path existed now. What he still needed was capital.
He had around thirty-two hundred dollars in cash. Katherine would never hand him money for this. That left one likely source.
Lisa.
"Remember what I said," Thomas added. "Only touch the games you’re certain about. The next one? I give us maybe seventy percent. We’re favored, not guaranteed. It depends on how fast you fit into the offense."
Nolan decided to get the money first and make the final call at the last possible moment.
When he left the football office, he passed the cheer area. It was packed with girls waiting for tryouts. Another class of cheerleaders was about to graduate, and new ones had to take their place.
An eternal squad, fed by a river of polished, well-connected students.
Nolan spotted Naomi and Amy in the crowd. They waved.
"It’s Nolan Callahan!" someone shouted.
Dozens of heads turned.
"Hi, ladies," Nolan said with a laugh.
He was getting used to campus celebrity.
"You! Stop right there!"
The cheer coach’s voice cracked through the hallway.
Was she still trying to recruit him?
Nolan pretended not to hear. He skipped the elevator and took the stairs.
"You can’t run forever!"
Her voice followed him from above.
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