Their size alone should have made them easy to spot, but then many of them allegedly went around campus in electric carts, so their height was hidden. Did they eat in dining halls with mere mortals? “Why do you ask?” The young man’s shaved head gave him an infantile look, as if he were still awaiting his first growth. “I’m a reporter.” The bald one backed away. “We’re not supposed to talk with reporters.” “You’re on the team?” Bartholomew’s incredulous tone didn’t help. “I’m the kicker.” “Of course. I didn’t recognize you out of uniform.” Bartholomew had fallen into conversation with John Wesley just outside the South Dining Hall. Now he led him to a bench, where Wesley reluctantly sat down. Bartholomew got out a notebook. “Nothing about football.” “Absolutely not.” Bartholomew realized that he was being less than truthful. In fact, he was lying. He had got hold of a team roster and then checked out the names in the campus phone book. Few players seemed to live on campus.
