Her voice cut off any further discussions on that issue. I tried to settle back and watch the game. My pulse still raced. A few minutes later, Ali asked, "Why do you keep staring at the other coach?"

"Which coach?"

"The one with the bad cable-show dye job and Robin Hood facial hair."

"Looking for grooming tips," I said.

She almost smiled.

"Did Jack play a lot in the first half?"

"Usual amount," I said.

The game ended, Kasselton winning by three. The crowd erupted. Jack's coach, a good guy by all counts, had chosen not to play him at all in the second half. Ali was a tad perturbed by this-the coach was usually good about giving kids equal time-but she decided to let it go.

The teams disappeared into corners for the postgame spiel. Ali and I waited outside the gym door, in the school corridor. It didn't take long. Coach Bobby started toward me, the same swagger, though now his hands had tightened into fists. He had three other guys with him, including Assistant Coach Pat, all big and overweight and not nearly as tough as they thought they were. Coach Bobby stopped about a yard short of yours truly. His three compadres spread out and folded their arms and stared at me.

For a moment no one spoke. They just gave me the hard eyes.

"Is this the part where I pee in my pants?" I asked.

Coach Bobby started with the finger again. "Do you know the Landmark Bar in Livingston?"

"Sure," I said.

"Tonight at ten. Back parking lot."

"That's past my curfew," I said. "And I'm not that kind of date. Dinner first. Maybe bring flowers."

"If you don't show"-he moved in closer with the finger-"I will find some other way to get satisfaction. You get me?"

I didn't but before I could ask for clarification he stomped off. His buddies followed suit. They looked back at me. I gave them all a five-finger toodle-loo wave. When one of them let his stare linger past the comfort zone, I blew him a kiss. He turned away as if he'd been slapped.