Free Knights of the Hill Country by Tim Tharp

showed up in her eyes. “I was wondering,” she said. “My parents told me there's going to be a real good bluegrass band playing over at the Wild West Days festival this weekend. Have you heard about that?”
    “No,” I said, not picking up on a single clue of what she was hinting at. “I don't know much about bluegrass music.”
    “So, I guess you hadn't thought about going over there, then?”
    “I hadn't thought about it, no.” Then it dawned on me. What an idiot I was. She wanted to go see that band. Butbefore I could say I thought it sounded like fun, Blaine cut right in on me.
    “Sure, you thought about it,” he said, looking back at me. “Remember, Rachel and me and you and Misty are going over there together. It's all set.”
    All I could get out then was, “Uh, well…”
    Sara ducked her head and her hair blew across her face. “Okay, maybe I'll see you there, then.” Next thing you know the door was shut and she was halfway up the sidewalk.
    Blaine laughed and shoved the shifter into gear. “Yeah, I could just see you taking Bush Girl to Wild West Days.”
    “Don't call her that,” I said, but that only got him laughing louder.

CHAPTER TEN
    Next football practice was pretty intense. Friday's game was only against the little old Pawtuska Pirates, but Coach let us know loud and clear we didn't have no room for letup unless we wanted to fumble away our one and only chance at a fifth straight undefeated season. I didn't think he should've used the word
fumble
like that, sort of hinting back to how Blaine fumbled against Wynette. That was uncalled-for. But if he was trying to get Blaine motivated, it sure worked.
    That whole practice long, any time Blaine got the ball, he just wouldn't go down. Running up the middle, he never broke loose for much yardage, but even when the whole defensive line stood him up straight and plowed him backwards into the backfield, he'd just keep swinging his elbows and kicking his legs up till the whistle blew.
    Every snap, he went looking for someone to hit whuther he had the ball or not. One time he clocked little Tommy Nguyen so hard, Tommy flew backwards about five yards and come down headfirst into the ground about like a tent spike. He smashed up into that oversize helmet of his so far, I thought they was going to have to find a crowbar to pry him out of there. But that was Blaine. He wanted them five undefeated seasons worse than anyone else.
    I know his knee had to be killing him too. Instead of letting one of the assistant coaches wrap it before practice, he done it hisself so nobody could see how much it'd swole up again after that last big hit he took against Wynette. But when he got on the field, he gave it everything he had. I just admired the soup out of him for the way he went at it that day—sweat and blood and fists all flying.
    It wasn't till after practice that I found out how he lied to me.
    We got our showers in, then me and him loaded up in Citronella and headed over to Rachel's house to talk over the details of our double date on Saturday night. Rachel lived up on Ninth Street Hill in this big old white-brick two-story house with a wide front porch and a giant flower bed that they hired someone else to take care of. I waited in the car while Blaine went up to the door. Standing there on that porch in his backwards ball cap and wore-out Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt, he looked about like he could've been the hired help his own self.
    Blaine wasn't poor, not by a long shot. His dad was a shift supervisor over at the glass plant, and their house was sure a lot nicer than the little rent house me and my mom smooshed ourselves into. It might not have been anywheres near big as Rachel's, but Mr. Keller kept the white board walls with thegreen trim, the lawn, and all the shrubs about as neat as a marine sergeant's bunk bed on inspection day. He was a pure nut for lawn equipment—the louder the better.
    On the other hand, Rachel's dad owned hisself the big