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chance to tell you where to go.”
    â€œYeah, thanks for that,” Marcus muttered.
    Alyssa shook her head. “Don’t blame me. Football’s a zero-sum game. More wannabes than positions. Your success always costs some other guy his job.”
    â€œYeah, well, Troy is job security personified,” Marcus complained. “The players take their orders from Troy, not from the coach. And even he wishes I’d play JV and make everybody’s life easier.”
    â€œYou don’t know what it was like last season.”
    He was disgusted. “Sacrilegious as it may seem, the Raiders aren’t the only high school squad that ever won a championship.”
    She was patient. “When you love a team—I mean really love it—your whole life is about two words: if only . If only Kevin could get bigger; if only Luke could get faster; if only Ron could stop fumbling. Some of it’s coaching, but mostly it’s an act of God. Last year, the Raiders hit the if only jackpot. All our potential cashed in at the same time—especially Troy. He rewrote the record book. Even better, most of our if only s were juniors, so ninety percent of them are back. Now enter this kid on a goofy scooter, saying he’s better than the team that went eleven and oh—”
    â€œI never said that!” Marcus interrupted hotly.
    â€œIn their minds you did. These guys have put so much pressure on themselves that everything is about them and their season.”
    Marcus was already sick of hearing about the Raiders’ chance at history. Wasting precious Alyssa time on the subject was a crime against humanity. “So where is Troy? You’re with me, so I assume he’s watching from a distance. Or is it enough if he hears about it from a third party?”
    She bristled. “Is that what you think this is?” She pulled him into room B-611, stood up on her toes, and kissed him.
    â€œThere,” she breathed. “No P.R. value at all.”
    The lights came on suddenly, and someone entered the room, catching them with their arms wrapped around each other.
    The girl glared at them in disapproval. “You have got to be kidding me!”
    â€œThis is none of your business, Chelsea,” Alyssa said defensively. “You know Troy and I broke up.”
    â€œFor which minute?” Chelsea sneered. “Oh, sorry—it only takes you that long to find somebody new.” She looked scornfully at Marcus. “Do you know who you’re dealing with? Or can’t you get past the pom-poms and the short skirt?”
    â€œ You’re someone to lecture me on the rules of dating,” Alyssa accused, “considering you’ve never gone out with anybody in your life.”
    â€œYeah, and if being like you and Troy is what I have to look forward to,” Chelsea shot back, “then I never want to.” She wished Marcus a sarcastic “Good luck—you’ll need it!” and stormed out.
    â€œWho’s that?” he asked.
    â€œChelsea Popovich.”
    â€œTroy’s sister?”
    She nodded grimly. “Not one of my fans.”
    Chelsea was obviously just showing loyalty to her jilted brother. Marcus thought back to what Ron had said that day at practice: You could set your watch by their breakups .
    â€œAre you and Troy really broken up, or is this—you know—part of the dance?”
    She reddened. “It did happen that way a couple of times. But a few months ago, Troy changed . It wasn’t only with me. He got just as weird with his friends. Troy’s house used to be the hangout spot. Now he’s always on his own. Maybe it’s the stress of trying to repeat this season....” She made a face. “You know, Marcus, you’re a dope. Do you really think talking about this is going to get you any action?”
    The second bell rang. They were both officially late.
    He had to ask. “Action…?”
    She pointed