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than at twilight here, you still needed to run near the front of the pack to feel it on your face. He led them to the front, where Ramp and the linemen were setting a slow pace.
    â€œToo slow.” Chris moved alongside Matt with a nice, easy stride for a heavyweight. Matt wondered if he had tapped on his door last night.
    â€œHe…your…bitch?” gasped Ramp.
    â€œWhat’s your problem?” said Chris. “Besides breathing.”
    Matt swallowed his laugh. Ramp was a captain, after all. But the meatbag couldn’t jog and talk. Ramp cursed and dropped back a few steps.
    Matt yelled, “Raider kick,” and picked up the pace, leading the Back Pack past the linemen. Chris stayed with them. Tyrell glided alongside Matt. “Fre-quent Fly-er, let’s show these white boys how to do it.”
    Side by side, they pulled away from the rest of the team, bringing their knees high, stretching out their stride, feeling their muscles cooking. They didn’t need to talk. They finished the laps around the field so far ahead of the team, they had the bathroom to themselves and were first on the chow line.
    â€œWe in a hurry for this?” asked Tyrell as the managers dumped dry balls of scrambled eggs, blackened bacon, and burned toast on their trays. There was water, juice, milk, peanut butter and jelly, yogurt, protein powders, and vitamins on the tables.
    Brody plopped down beside them. “You run like that again, only the Mafia kid touches the ball this season.”
    â€œMafia kid?” said Matt.
    â€œRamp says Chris’s old man’s in the slammer for a contract hit,” said Brody.
    â€œTyrell likes that,” said Tyrell. “A gangster blocking for you is double pro-tection.”
    Pete and Patel sat down at the table, then Heller and Conklin, the other senior wide receiver and running back.They all complained about the pace he’d set. It was only the first day. Out of the corner of his eye, Matt spotted Chris with his tray in the middle of the mess hall, looking for an empty seat. Matt was relieved when he sat down with some freshmen.
    Coach Mac came by and dropped a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “Way to go, Matt. Don’t let ’em cruise. Offense meets right after breakfast. Got some new plays you’ll like.”
    â€œMore quarterback keeps this year, Coach?” said Brody.
    â€œDream on, Heinzie,” said Coach Mac.
    The meeting was in a corner of the field. Matt noticed that Chris sat apart from the junior varsity freshmen and sophomores, closer to the varsity. Coach Kornbauer, the offensive coordinator, had set up a large white plastic board on an easel. Ramp and the center, Villanueva, were holding it steady against a hot wind while Corndog marked Xs and Os. He was some kind of technical guru. Nobody on the team had ever come close to beating him in Madden football.
    â€œStay in the now,” said Coach Mac. “We’re gonna walk through these plays today so we can run them in pads tomorrow. I want to emphasize that we’re all on the same page here, winning games. As a team. Coach K?”
    Corndog called the play the Triplex Option Series. He tried to make it sound complicated, but it seemed to comedown to the receivers, the tight end, and the running backs all faking until the quarterback released the ball. The fullback would block. The only real difference, Matt thought, was using the tight end as a primary ball carrier. Ramp had usually been used as a blocker. He wanted to run with the ball and catch passes, but he had hard, stiff hands.
    â€œOkay, let’s try option one,” said Corndog. “Heinz, Rydek, Williams, Torelli. Chris Marin at tight end, Rampolski at fullback.”
    There was a gasp at that. Brody widened his eyes at Matt. Putting the kid ahead of Ramp was pretty radical.
    On the snap, Matt went deep, Tyrell clutched an invisible ball to his chest, and Marin ran up the middle with the