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our lives.”
    â€œHe knows a lot about everything. He’s an amazing coach.”
    â€œFunny, he reminded me more of a used car salesman.” She paused. “Or maybe he should be writing greeting cards or bumper stickers or those little messages you get in fortune cookies.”
    â€œI don’t follow,” I said.
    â€œHe just seems to talk in tiny bursts of words, all those little sayings of his.”
    â€œHe just likes to say things that are inspirational,” I said, defending him.
    â€œIt was like he was trying to sell me something.”
    â€œHe is selling something,” I said. “He’s selling confidence, a winning attitude, a positive way of —”
    â€œExcuse me.”
    I turned around. It was a woman standing beside her grocery cart.
    â€œCan you tell me the price of bananas?” she asked.
    Right above my head, in numbers as big as my head, was the price.
    I pointed at the sign. “Sixty-nine cents a pound, ma’am.”
    â€œOh, I didn’t notice.” She grabbed a big bunch, put them in her cart and walked away.
    My mother was covering her mouth to keep from laughing.
    â€œYou see,” I said. “I get the stupidest questions.”
    â€œThere are no stupid questions,” my mother said.
    â€œOkay, that was a smart question asked by a stupid person.”
    â€œYou handled it well. Very diplomatic, very polite. I guess that’s why you’re the employee of the month again. I saw your smiling face at the front.”
    A big picture of the employee of the month was posted by the front door.
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
    â€œIt’s no big deal. I think they gave it to me because I recovered that fumble.”
    â€œI think they gave it to you because you’re a good, hardworking, polite employee. Now, can you tell me where the green peppers are?”
    â€œMom,” I said, shaking my head.
    â€œNo, seriously, I don’t know.”
    â€œOh. Far wall. In the corner. You can get the good ones by digging into the back. And if you want to know the price, it’ll be on a big sign right above them.”
    She smiled. I loved making her smile. “I’ll see you right after work. Maybe we’ll stop on the way home and pick up supper—your choice.”
    â€œYou’re the best,” I said.
    She flashed that smile again and I watched her walk away. She really was the best.

Chapter Eight
    I strained under the weight, the bar balancing on my shoulders, behind my neck. In the last two weeks I’d increased my squats by twenty-five pounds. Part of the reason for the gain was that I’d learned how to balance the bar better. The other part was that I was stronger. I could feel it in my legs and see it in the mirror. Maybe I hated squats, but I’d keep on doing them. And I was sure that in eight weeks I’d hate them more often and with more weight.
    I finished the last squat and carefully lowered the bar into the cradle with a metallic thud.
    All around me, working the different machines, were the members of the team— our returning players from last year and a half-dozen others, students who Coach Barnes thought had potential and could make the team.
    On the far wall were painted the words “Wall of Fame.” All the guys called it the Wall of Pain. There, for everybody to see, were our individual plans and results. In neat rows and columns were our weekly goals, each week listed separately until the first week of September.
    Success or failure was there for everybody to see. So far, all we’d had were successes. Each guy, each week, had met or beat his goals. With Tony’s help and Coach’s encouragement, we seemed unstoppable.
    There were also words of wisdom painted on the other walls:
No Pain, No Gain; Reach for the Stars; You miss every shot you don’t take
. When I read those words I could hearCoach’s voice. Maybe he did talk like