I sat across from Blake's smiling brown face, and as much I tried to let him cheer me up, I couldn't keep my mind from drifting back to a week's worth of practices. We were in a booth at Pop's Diner, a small restaurant owned by Pop Burleson, a legendary figure in our town. He had served as mayor for like twenty years before he retired from politics and put all his time into the diner, which had a mean, greasy cheeseburger that always made my mouth water. I knew about Pop's political career because he loved to stand around and tell everyone about it. I knew about the burgers from experience. But not even the expectation of melted cheese and bacon on a juicy patty could keep me from reliving the nightmare of bad passes I'd thrown all week.

I had thrown a few good ones, but the ones I missed stung.

With my mom working late at the hospital, I found myself bored, so I had called Blake and talked him into meeting me at the diner, a place frequented by everyone from our high school, especially on the weekends. It had a classic feel with red booths, white walls, and a chrome trimmed bar with stools. Since it was a school night, my pickup truck and Blake's Nissan Maxima were the only vehicles in the parking lot besides Layla's and Pop's. It was less than an hour till closing time, but I knew Pop wouldn't mind us showing up since we were regulars.

With a careful eye, I combed over the menu, but I already knew what I wanted. Knew it before I walked in the door, before I smelled those greasy cheeseburgers floating in the air from the people who had eaten before me. Of course, this week's practices had helped me decide about something else. The decision felt like a lead weight on my shoulders, so much so, at times I found it difficult to breathe. I had to relieve the pressure and only knew one way to do it. I had already texted the coach and now could only wait for his reply.

"What are you having?" a familiar female voice asked, staring down at me from behind her order pad. Before I looked up, I sensed a little angst, but could tell it was playful banter.

I forced a smile, although it didn't feel genuine considering the burden I had been carrying around. "Pop's bacon-cheese smash burger special and a strawberry shake."

Layla winced. "Good way to clog your arteries."

"The best way."

She turned to Blake. "How about you?"

He studied the menu, his brows narrowed in deep concentration, like this was the most important decision of the day. After a long moment of gnawing on his bottom lip, he shrugged with a grin. "Same. With extra bacon and a chocolate shake."

"Coming right up." Layla scribbled on her order pad and then tucked it into the front of her apron. She started to leave but stopped, her lips drawing tight, the corners flaring up a bit. "Have y'all thought anything about what you're gonna do for homecoming?" The question was for both of us, but she had her eyes glued on me.

I glanced at Blake, wondering what Layla had in mind. When I looked back at her, her top-teeth had bitten down on her bottom lip and dragged it to the side. She stayed like that, her head tilted, eyes soft. I had the distinct feeling she didn't care about Blake's plans for homecoming. It seemed she was only interested in what I had to say.

"Yeah," Blake cleared his throat, "what are our plans?"

"Hmmm. There's the homecoming game against Springville."

Layla frowned.

Before she could reply, the door chimed, and a man walked into the diner. Layla's cheeks reddened as she turned toward the newcomer. His skin was dark brown, and he had a neatly trimmed beard. I found it odd that his mustache didn't connect with the rest of his facial hair, but that's where the peculiarities ended, as he wore a navy-blue suit, tie, and shiny black shoes with a newspaper tucked under his arm. I had failed to see his headlights pull up outside. Guess Layla's question had distracted me.

"You can sit anywhere you want," she said. "I'll be right with you."

The man chose a booth on the other side of the diner and sat facing me. Blake had his back turned to the guy, so he couldn't see him. As Layla disappeared through the swinging door into the kitchen, the man ruffled his paper and looked over the top of it, staring at me. The eye contact seemed normal at first, but as it continued a few seconds longer, an eerie feeling crept over me. I turned my attention back to our table and the salt and pepper shakers and the chrome napkin dispenser, the ketchup. Then I flicked my gaze out the window, noticing the man's black SUV parked on the other side of my truck. The vehicle wasn't there earlier, and from what I could see, it looked like a Tahoe or Suburban.

"You alright, man?" Blake asked. "Layla Robinson got you spooked, talking about homecoming and all? You know she's talking about the dance after the game, right?"

"Uh?"

"Or are you still daydreaming about Lexa Thorn, the goddess of love?" Blake batted his eyelashes.

"Are you serious?"

"Dude, she's out of your league."

I crooked my neck forward. "What are you talking about?" But I knew, just didn't want to say.

"I'm just saying you've been acting weird all week, especially today." Blake glanced behind him, as if to make sure no one was around to overhear his next words. He took notice of the man sitting on the other side of the diner and lowered his voice as he spoke. "I know what it is."

I huffed, enough for my head to wobble. I didn't want to talk about it.

"The coach offered you the pills and you're thinking about it, aren't you?"

"What do you know about the... the pills?"

"Just that it's not smart to take performance enhancing supplements." Blake did quotation marks in the air with his fingers.

"That's easy for you to say."

"Look, man, I turned him down because something was fishy about it. Do you want that dope to hype you up like it does Elijah and those other dudes?"

Layla exited the kitchen and set our shakes down in front of us, which made Blake grow quiet. "I'll be back with your food in a minute," she said, appearing withdrawn, as if something was troubling her. She flicked her eyes at me and then walked over to the man's table to take his order.

"I don't want to talk about it," I said to Blake.

"Suit yourself."

As promised, Layla brought out our burgers and fries and we dug in. Keeping our mouths full helped us avoid more conversation about things I didn't want to talk about. As we ate, Layla poured the man a cup of coffee and he sipped on it, reading his paper, occasionally glancing our way. Finally, when I shoved my empty plate away, Pop Burleson came lumbering out of the kitchen, surprising me and Blake. As he propped his hand on the back of the booth, the man on the other side of the diner placed a tip on the table, got up, and left, the door chiming on his way out.

"You boys got that big game coming up against Central, don't you?" Pop said, a sly smile on his face.

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"I used to play a little football back in my day."

"My dad told me about you," Blake said. "1979 state champions."

He nodded, his facial expression seeming modest at the mention of the subject. I hadn't ever heard Pop talk about his school days, especially when he played football.

"What position did you play?" I asked.

"Same as you, quarterback."

"I heard you were all-state," Blake added.

"I was the only quarterback to make all-state at that position at Pineville until the last two seasons." Pop's gaze wandered toward the ceiling. "What was his name? That Rhodes kid?"

"Xavier Rhodes," I said.

Pop pointed at me. "That's the one. Until he showed up and won back-back, the '79 championship was the only title in Pineville history." He blew out a sigh. "Listen, Evan. I heard about what happened to Austin Campbell, and I know you have the tough task of stepping into his shoes. I know the big game is tomorrow, and it's probably got you turned upside down and inside out. It's normal to feel jitters and to be nervous. Anxious. But I'd like to give you some advice."

I waited for it, peering up at the older man.

"Block out all the noise." His voice tightened with intensity. "Be yourself. Focus on what you know to do and go out there and do it. Leave it all on the field, and no matter what happens, when the game is over, you'll be a winner." He sighed. "I know what it's like to be in your shoes. I wasn't the starting quarterback at the beginning of the '79 season. But I was after the first stringer tore his knee up in practice." Pop's forehead wrinkled. "You can do it."

All I could say was, "Yes, sir."

"Good pep talk, Pop," Blake said.

"You betcha," he replied, and then glanced back at the kitchen. "I'm gonna clean up and close and let Layla go on home since she's got school tomorrow. You boys go on too. Get out of here. You need sleep for the big game."

"Yes, sir," I replied.

With that, we slid out of the booth, paid for our meals, and then went out to our vehicles. But before Blake left, he told me I needed to listen to what Pop Burleson had said and take it to heart. I agreed with him that it was good advice. The best, mostly. Only thing was, I believed I needed to be more than just... me. I needed to be a better version of myself, and there was only one way to do that.

I just couldn't see any other way around it, no matter how hard I tried.

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Chapter 5: 1,738 Words
Story: 9,304 Words