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start wishing death on people,” I said. “We have to be bigger than that. Even if we don’t want to be.”
    “ Start wishing death? Tank plays for the Patrick Henry Dragons, dude. I’ve been wishing he was dead for months.”
    Cory grunted, “What’s Tank gonna say, anyway? In the press conference.”
    “Someone once told me,” I remembered, “that Tank is haunted with being the best. That’s why he hates the Outlaw, because suddenly his sack total was no longer big news. The hero in the pajamas was getting the front page. Tank wasn’t the best anymore, in the eyes of the public. And in March he got beat up on national television by the Chemist, so…maybe he’s just trying to reassert his dominance. It’s a vanity thing.”
    “Yeah,” Cory nodded. “He a pretty boy. Prima donna.”
    “Dude. That ugly monster is no media darling,” Lee scoffed. “Not to me.”
    Samantha came down and smeared us in Call-of-Duty, even when we played three versus one. The game seemed to provide some relief from the perpetual siren call of her disease, so we played for two more hours until the interview started.
    Tank had lost weight during his three-month long coma, but none of it was muscle weight, apparently. His skin looked shrink-wrapped over his bulk. Katie, resplendent and beautiful, was sitting beside him with his parents. Katie and Tank both had Latin American ancestry, and I had to admit they made an attractive couple. Several local television crews set up microphones.
    “I’d like to begin,” he said, his voice a deep earthquake, “by thanking everyone for their concern. I appreciate all the cards and prayers. I’m going home tomorrow and I will be fully recovered soon. I know this has been a scary time for Los Angeles, but I’m okay now.”
    “Nobody cares!” Lee shouted at the television.
    “I also want to thank my girlfriend, Katie,” he continued, “for standing by my side through this. I just hope she stops getting kidnapped.” Everyone laughed at the bad joke. “Saving her is hard work.”
    “Like you would know,” I muttered. Samantha shot me a look.
    “Thank you to the doctors and to my parents. And to my fans, I want you to know that I’ll be ready for football season. And I’m going to lead our team to another championship. And I’m going to break every quarterback stupid enough to get on the field with me. Every. Quarterback.”
    Samantha chuckled, “Charming guy. I like his rage. Good looking, too.”
    “And lastly, to the stupid old man with the staff,” he said, and Samantha and I leaned forward. He was referencing the big fight in Compton. Tank had been there, and the Chemist had badly beaten him. “The Chemist. If I ever see you again, I’m going to impale you with that staff.” His parents fidgeted uncomfortably on their chairs. Katie managed to keep a straight face.
    One of the reporters raised a hand and said, “Tank, glad to see you up and around. What were you doing in Compton that evening?”
    “That’s personal,” he said.
    “No one seems to know how you got from that intersection to the hospital. Do you know?”
    “I don’t care,” he said.
    “On the videos, it appears you spoke to the Outlaw. Do you remember what you said?”
    “No. But if I see him again, I’mma beat his ass too.”
    Confusion among the reporters. “The Outlaw? Why? Weren’t you two working together?”
    “Just a joke,” he grinned.
    “The Outlaw died in the Compton explosion, unfortunately,” one of the reporters told him.
    Tank laughed darkly and quietly. “Oh no. The punk in pajamas fooled you suckers. He’s still around.”
    Samantha sucked air in between her teeth. “That moron .”
    A pause in the interview and then several reporters started talking at once. Katie’s eyes were wide with surprise.
    “How do you know the Outlaw’s not dead? Do you know the Outlaw’s identity? Who is he? What about the explosion?”
    “He’s not dead,” Tank repeated. “But he’s a