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but Jonesy’s paying attention now.
    â€œThey should try Stillwell,” Jonesy says.
    I look over at Zach, who nods.
    Jonesy clicks off the TV. “The defense has to dominate. You’ve got to be monsters. The offense will be okay, but the defense can win games.” He’s still thinking about the team. It’s part of what makes him such a good quarterback.
    â€œTyson feels bad,” Zach says.
    â€œHe should have eased up.” I open a Twinkie and hand it to Jonesy.
    â€œThat’s Tyson,” Jonesy says. “He was rushing. Coach was yelling. Maybe he didn’t know it was me.” He takes a bite of the Twinkie.
    â€œHe’s played with you for two years,” I say. “He should know.”
    â€œDon’t blame Tyson,” Zach says. “We’ve got to stick together.”
    Sometimes I wish Zach didn’t sound so much like acoach. I wish he’d think for himself more. I hand Jonesy another Twinkie. “You’ve still got senior year. You’re still the Superstar.”
    â€œThat’s right. It’s not like I’m dead.” Jonesy shoves the Twinkie into his mouth.
    At home, I stare out my bedroom window. I don’t like seeing Jonesy in that sling.
    â€œMiles.” Mom knocks.
    â€œYeah.”
    She hurries in and shuts the door. “I found these in your pocket when I was doing laundry.” She holds the gold capsules. “What are they?”
    â€œNothing.” I cross my arms.
    â€œWhat?” She looks worried.
    â€œSomething one of the guys gave me. It’s nothing.” How stupid to leave them in my pocket.
    â€œWhat are they?” She shuts off my CD player.
    â€œI didn’t take them.”
    â€œWhy are they here?” Mom paces back and forth.
    â€œBecause I didn’t take them. That’s why they’re in my pocket.”
    Mom’s eyes narrow with the look she gets when she’s angry. “I’m asking you once more what these are,” she says. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll call your father.”
    That’s one thing I don’t need. “They’re called Rip Blast.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œJust caffeine. Something guys take to get psyched up.”
    â€œWho gave them to you?”
    â€œZach.”
    â€œIs he taking them?” She looks closely at the pills, as if she’s expecting them to talk.
    â€œYeah. It’s nothing.”
    â€œDon’t mess with these, Miles.” She runs her hand through her hair. “I read an article in
People
about a high school football player who committed suicide after taking steroids. It devastated his family.”
    â€œThese aren’t steroids, Mom.” Sometimes she’s so extreme.
    â€œI don’t want you taking anything. Don’t risk your future for a football game.”
    â€œOkay, Mom.”
    â€œStay away from them. Do you understand?”
    â€œYes, Mom.”
    â€œDo you promise?”
    â€œYes, Mom.”
    She stands at the door as if she wants to say more.
    â€œYou’re not telling Dad, are you?”
    â€œI don’t know. Do you think I need to?” She rubs her lower lip.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI’ll see.” Mom closes the door.
    I hear the toilet flush and imagine the capsules swirling down.
    I’m not sure how Dad would react. He wants me to be a better football player, but he doesn’t like drugs. This isn’t really a drug, though. It’s a stimulant, a performance enhancer. But Dad doesn’t like shortcuts either.

chapter nine
    â€œJonesy has a separated shoulder and is out for the season.” I get right to the news at dinner.
    â€œWhat?” Dad asks. “How’d Sepolski get his quarterback hurt in practice?”
    â€œHe didn’t know it was Jonesy.”
    â€œHow could he not know?”
    â€œHe thought it was Fox.”
    â€œHe can’t keep his quarterbacks straight. Maybe