We had known each other since preschool. I’m not sure when exactly she declared her intention to get into every top-ten university, but she must’ve known it pretty early on, because even back then she always took great care to color inside the lines.
She called her college plan “the Straight Sweep.” It wasn’t enough for her just to want to go to Princeton, to be accepted into Princeton, and to attend Princeton. Rachel wanted to be accepted into all of them—Harvard, Yale, Stanford, all the top schools. I guess so she could have the luxury of turning down the places that kids across the country worked tirelessly just to be rejected from.
It was strange. Rachel was absolutely brilliant. She was involved in just about every extracurricular activity you could think of. She had a load of friends and was the best at practically everything. It didn’t seem to make sense that somebody so smart could seem anything close to pathetic, but still, inexplicably, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Rachel sometimes.
“Are you available after school?” she asked as she typed furiously on her laptop. She barely glanced up at my entrance.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Okay. You can have boys soccer or girls track. Which one do you want?”
“Huh?”
“We need pictures from sporting events. We’ll put ’em in the sports section, but they’ll also be good for yearbook.” Did I mention Rachel contributed to the yearbook?
“Okay, well…”
I had never seen anyone type so fast before. I had no idea what she was working on, but it had nothing to do with me. Rachel’s ability to multitask was nearly frightening.
“Soccer or track?”
“Uh … can I have football?”
Her fingers stopped short.
“You want football? Everyone wants football.”
“I mean, I guess I could do something else, but…”
“What is it about football?” Rachel regarded me through narrowed eyes. “I mean, what is it that’s so great about it anyway?”
“It’s … tradition?”
Rachel looked put off. “It’s a popularity contest disguised as violence disguised as recreational sport.” She began to type again. “You know, someone needs to do a story about high school football—not the team or the scores or anything, but the facts. It’s gotten so political.”
“Political?”
“The sport itself—tradition—is hardly the issue anymore. Kids play football in high school to get money to go to college. It’s just a numbers game.”
I thought of Cas. “People play because they love it. Because their dads played, and their dads before them … stuff like that.”
Rachel glanced up for a split second, and when she spoke next, I couldn’t tell if it was in condescension or if her sincerity was just as clipped as her personality. “That’s a nice sentiment, Devon.”
“But…” I knew she was just dying to go on.
“But I mean, come on. Look at Ezra Lynley.”
“What about him?”
“You don’t think there’s anything suspicious about a two-year varsity starter for Shaunessy High School—three-time state champions in the last five years—up and switching to dinky little Temple Sterling High School in his junior year, only the most important year in a high school football career?”
“Well … I mean, I guess it’s kind of weird, but—”
“You know how you get named an All-American?” I didn’t, but Rachel didn’t give me a chance to answer. “Your stats. Ezra racked up some incredible plays with Shaunessy, there’s no doubt about that, but the stats he earned last year at TS blew all of that out of the water. Forty-five touchdowns in one season. Zero fumbles. Zero.”
“He’s a good player.” Even I had to admit that.
“Yeah, but Temple Sterling’s a Class Three team. We’ve got nothing on those Class Six schools—their teams are huge. Ezra’s in every play here. He’s responsible for every move, whereas at Shaunessy, he’d have to share the limelight.”
“So you think Ezra only came here—”
“To improve his stats. To get recognition. To become an All-American, play in the Bowl, and secure his future.”