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would be a small academic scholarship. His dad’s salar y wasn’t that muc h—a small-town sheriff wasn’t exactl y the best career choice if yo u were hoping to make a ton of mone y.
    So even though his dad didn’t tell him in so man y words, Daniel knew the onl y wa y he was going to make it through college without working or taking out some major loans was with a football or ma yb e a basketball scholarship.
    So, ye s, a lot was riding on this ye ar.
    On this game.
    Especiall y if scouts from two Big Ten schools were going to be there.
    “The y want to meet yo u after the game,” Coach Warner said. “No guarantees, but just the fact that the y’ re coming is a good sign.” He rapped a finger against the side of his own head. “Don’t let this mess with yo u. Just go out there and pla y. Hit yo ur receivers. Do what yo u do best. Got it?”
    “I will.”
    “And sta y clear of Bell.”
    “I will, Coach. Thanks.”
    As Daniel was grabbing his things, Randall Cox, one of their wide receivers, caught up with him in the hallwa y. “What’s up, Dan?”
    “He y. ”
    “Listen, did yo u hear about this thing Coulee has going on? The pizza thing?”
    “No. What’s that?”
    “Their defensive unit has this deal that the y’ ll bu y a pizza for an yo ne who makes a hit that ends up with one of our gu ys being carried off on a stretcher.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “M y cousin goes to school over there. That’s what she said.”
    “Fabulous.”
    It didn’t take a lot of insight to translate that “one of our gu ys ” meant the quarterback and wide receivers would be some of the primar y targets.
    Randall glanced at the wall clock. “Well, see yo u tomorrow.”
    “You too.”
    At home, after making fajitas for himself and his dad, Daniel ate supper, then waited in the living room for K yl e to come over and for his father to get off work. While he did, he spent some time surfing on his laptop, pulling up whatever articles he could about Emil y Jackson.
    He found her Facebook page and was surprised to see that the privac y settings were turned off, so that even though the y’ d never friended each other, he could see all her posts and pics.
    Ma yb e she’d done it herself before she died, or ma yb e her parents had changed the settings so people could find out more about her life now that she was gone.
    A couple of bo ys and a bunch of girls had left comments since her death telling her how much the y’ d miss her, how nice she was, how sad the y were about what’d happened, and it was a little creep y to see the posts like that on a dead girl’s page, but it struck Daniel that it was sort of like the twent y- first-centur y version of leaving flowers on someone’s grave.
    Still, he didn’t like reading the comments. It made him think of the funeral again and how all those kids who’d ignored Emil y had shown up after it was too late for her to ever feel wanted or a part of their group.
    She had Ronnie listed as her brother.
    Daniel studied who her friends were and read her status updates, which didn’t take long, because there weren’t too man y of either of them.
    And she didn’t have that man y comments or likes on the posts that she had put up there.
    She tended to post photos, which actuall y helped Daniel get a feel for her life.
    One of the pictures of her and her bush y golden retriever caught his attention.
    She’d taken it herself, hugging her dog close and holding her camera out to snap the photo. Behind her, a lake stretched back until it met a forest folding into the horizon. The caption read, “Me and Trevor at Wind y Point!”
    Daniel stared at the words, a knot forming in his stomach.
    Trevor.
    That was the name of her dog.
    At the funeral, she’d told hi m—o r at least he’d imagined she’d told hi m—t hat Trevor was in the car: “Trevor shouldn’t have been in the car.”
    Daniel couldn’t think of an y wa y he might have known before now that her dog was named