The hallways felt like a tomb, with whites and blacks glaring at each other as they walked past. I met Christine in the parking lot before practice and together we made our way to the football field.

"So, you know any of the players?" I asked.

"Well, ah, Petey Jones is my perpetual pain in the rear, and Julius Cambell is one of my neighbors; Most of the black boys probably go to my church but I don't know 'um. You?"

"My neighbor's Louie Lastick, like I said, and everyone at Hammond knows Gerry Bertier."

Christine nodded and the rest of the way to the field was in small talk.

"Hello, coach Boone? I'm Liz Walsh, and your linebacker promised me a ride home. Would you mind if we sat in on practice? We won't bother anyone, I swear."

Coach Boone glanced between Christine and I with a pleased twinkle in his eyes. "Go on ahead girls, you can sit in the stands."

"Thanks coach." We murmured, and found our seats.

"So, recognize anyone?"

"Let's see, there's Ronnie Bass, I met him this mornin'; and I think I recognize that boy from seventh period history; that boy on the end there looks like one of daddy's files I was snooping through last week."

Christine looked pleasantly scandalized. "You look at people's files? Is that legal?"

I shrugged and grinned. "Maybe not, but it's not like there's anythin' worth talkin' about in there. Nothin' but allergies, heights, weights. Stuff like that. Nothin' good."

"I dunno," Christine tore her eyes from the practice to fix me with a thoughtful look. "Some girls might consider that height and weight thing somethin' good."

I laughed and shook my head. "Not like I'll remember that sorta thing."

We talked a little more about each other; our families, our likes and dislikes. We had more in common than most people would have expected- we both had older brothers, one of our parents was not in the picture, and we knew absolutely nothing about football.

"Oh! Looks like practice is over!" I exclaimed, interrupting myself. "Hey Louie!"

"Lastick, that your girlfriend? She's way too pretty for you."

"Fellas, this is Elizabeth Walsh. She's my next door neighbor, I'm giving her a ride home."

"Nice to meet you." A boy I recognized from daddy's files shook my hand. It was a little dirty, and sweaty, but I didn't mind. Much.

"Julius Cambell, right?" he nodded. "Had chicken Pox when you were eight, allergic to peanuts."

Christine grinned. "Guess you do remember some of your daddy's files." She said.