Tate descended the steps and touched his arm. Speaking quietly, she asked, "Troy, are you okay?"

"I-I don't know," he said, taking a deep breath and letting it go. Troy felt suddenly tired and sore. The finger he'd dislocated during the championship game throbbed, and the thrill of winning sputtered under the storm of feelings about his father.

His mom reappeared on the front steps with her purse. Seth followed, and she kissed him good-bye, all business.

"Okay, Troy," she said, coming down the steps and past him on the walkway toward where her pale green VW bug waited in the driveway.

Troy wanted to go back to the party and reclaim the joy of the victory celebration. He opened his mouth to protest going home. His mom stopped where the stone walk met the driveway and turned as if she sensed his resistance. The look she gave him changed his mind. He said good night and thanked Seth for coaching the team to victory.

"Don't worry," Tate said, "we're going home now, too."

Troy hustled after his mom, his face hot with shame from some unknown source.

They rode in silence, exiting the Cotton Wood Country Club through massive gates and essentially circling a huge block of county highways to their own home down a winding dirt road. Their house, a single-story saltbox not much bigger than a cabin, sat amid a cluster of pines just the other side of the train tracks and a ten-foot concrete wall surrounding the exclusive development where Seth lived. When they pulled up into the red dirt patch just off their front porch, Troy's mom hopped out and went directly inside.

Troy didn't move.

It had been a wild week for them all. Seth had been suspected of illegal steroid use. Troy had been accused of being a pawn in the Falcons' scheme to steal the signals from opposing NFL teams. And both of them had to be cleared so that they could help the Falcons continue their march to the playoffs. At first the media frenzy worked against them, but ultimately Troy used an interview with Larry King to set things right.