My mouth may have dropped open, I'm not sure. I looked toward Win to make sure I heard right. Win no longer looked so crestfallen. He rubbed his hands together.

I turned back to Coach Bobby. "Are you serious?"

"Like a heart attack."

I replayed my promise to Ali, looking for a loophole. After my career-ending basketball injury I needed to prove to the world that I was just fine, thank you very much. So I attended law school-at Harvard. Myron Bolitar, the complete package-scholar-athlete, overeducated-though-debonair attorney. I had a law degree. And that meant I could find loopholes.

What had I actually promised to do here? I thought about Ali's exact words: "Don't go to the bar tonight. Promise me."

Well, this wasn't a bar, was it? It was a wooded area behind a high school. Sure, I might be defying the intent of the law, but not the letter. And the letter was key here.

"Let's do this," I said.

The six of us started toward the woods. Win practically skipped. About twenty yards into the trees, there was an opening. The ground was littered with cigarette butts and beer cans. High school. It never changes.

Coach Bobby took his place in the center of the opening. He lifted his right arm and beckoned for me to join him. I did.

"Gentlemen," Win said, "a moment of your time before they commence."

All eyes turned to him. Win stood with Assistant Coach Pat and the two bruisers near a large maple tree.

"I would feel remiss," Win continued, "if I failed to offer up this important advisory."

"What the hell are you babbling about?" Coach Bobby said.

"I'm not speaking to you. This advisory is for your three chums." Win's gaze traveled over their faces. "You may be tempted to step in and help Coach Bobby at some point. That will be a huge mistake. The first one of you who takes even one step in their direction will be hospitalized. Note I did not say stopped, hurt, or even harmed. Hospitalized."