I was deep for the kickoff, but the ball went to the right to Jamie Dern. He caught it, ran five yards, and was totally creamed. Their guys piled on. Jay Landry pointed at me. "You're next," he said. Squirrel nut donkey adrenaline.

We huddled up. Cody ran from the sideline with the play. "Toss left, Reinstein."

We jogged into formation. Cody began calling the signal. From across the line, Jay Landry pointed at me. "Watch toss to 34," he shouted. "Watch toss to 34."

Cody took the snap. I stepped left. Cody swiveled and tossed me the ball underhanded. I caught it and tucked it under my left arm. I took small steps, under control. The defensive end reached for me, but I bent around him. Karpinski fought the cornerback. I slid by. I looked for my tackle. I looked for Reese. I found Reese. He cracked the linebacker. The sea of green opened. I exploded with all my donkey speed. Jay Landry accelerated toward me. One stride. Two strides. Jay Landry dove at air. I was gone.

I'd like to say I thought of Jerri on a mountain or Andrew in the stands with Grandma or Aleah pounding on piano keys or my force of nature dad pounding a tennis ball, but there was no thought, just this field in slow motion, teammates and fans like the blurry grass waving in the main road ditch as I ride my Schwinn Varsity faster and faster in silence except for the wind whistling, down the hill so fast, down the field so fast, that I'm surprised to find the end so soon.

I slow, stop, all is silence. I look into the stands, and it all explodes like Chinese New Year.

Listen. I'm stupid fast. Seriously.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

As always, I am in debt to a big wad of people and places. First, thanks to Jim McCarthy, my agent, for caring about good books. Thanks to Dan Ehrenhaft for caring about this book. Thanks to the effervescent Leah Hultenschmidt for her excellent shepherding. That goes for the whole Sourcebooks crew too. (Thank you!) My mom, Donna, actually copyedited the manuscript before I turned it in (apparently copyeditors don't like ellipses as much as I doastill, thanks, Moma"I love you). A big thanks to Platteville High School in the great state of Wisconsin. I can't believe the opportunities this school afforded me: sports, music, theater, serious academics. Thanks to my whole hometown, Platteville, come to think of it. Thanks to the fantastic English Department at Minnesota State, Mankato. Thanks to the Class of 2k11. Thanks to Dustin Luke Nelson for encouragement and support. Thanks to my pal Sam Osterhout for writing so funny he makes me want to write. To Stephanie Wilbur Ash, whoa, so, so, so much for a thousand things. Finally, to my dad, Max Herbach, for warmth, for enthusiasm, for curiosity, for action, and for the fantastic sense of the absurd that ripples through my sense of humor. Thank you. I love you.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

Geoff Herbach writes novels, hosts funny and sad radio shows, collaborates on indie rock musicals that may or may not be produced, and teaches in the creative writing program at Minnesota State University, Mankato. He is the father of two great kids, Leo and Mira. He is partnered to a very tall girl from Iowa named Steph. He loves big cities but feels most comfortable on dark quiet streets in the rural Midwest. He grew up in Platteville, Wisconsin, where he was both a dork and a jock.

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