Me and Tony race to the front and get way ahead of everybody—they’re all either tired from scrimmaging or slow. But we cut the pace after one lap, running comfortably enough to talk but also fast enough so the coaches won’t yell at us. “You been working on your moves?” Tony asks. “What moves?” I haven’t touched the ball since that fumble. “For Thursday night.” “Oh.” I make a hard turn and cut through the end zone. “I know how to dance; I don’t have to practice.” That isn’t true at all, but I don’t plan to do any dancing anyway. “Not dance moves,” he says. “You know, after, when we’re walking them home.” I hadn’t thought about that. Nobody said anything about walking them home. We don’t even know if they’ll show up. Or if any of us will get into the dance. We finish the second lap. A few of the linemen are just a short distance ahead of us, finishing their first. “You might as well try,” Tony says. “See if you can get anywhere with her.
What do You think about War And Watermelon (2011)?
