Tami and her father sat at a high table some distance from the bar at a good angle to see the television. There was no one seated at the surrounding tables. Everyone was at the bar, which leant them some privacy.

This was the first time Tami had set foot in Taylor's, and she was impressed by how clean and well-lit it was. She thought of small town bars as dingy places, and The Drunken Kickoff, which had previously inhabited these walls, had certainly held that reputation. But Taylor's had more of a family restaurant feel to it. There were board games stacked in a book shelf against one far wall, two ping pong tables, four pool tables, several dart boards, corn hole, shuffle board, a juke box, and two pinball machines. Yet the bar itself was well stocked, with bottles lined from end to end and stacked up on three glass shelves. She'd had no idea there were so many different varieties of whiskey and vodka.

There were slick menus printed up, listing appetizers and sandwiches. The town of Rankin didn't have much in the way of restaurants. Everything was fast food or cafeteria style. In fact, outside of the diner, there was nowhere you could go to be waited on, and most people drove twenty miles to Dillon for the new Applebee's if they wanted sit-down dinning. But Tami supposed many of them were coming to Taylor's now. Mr. Taylor had found a need and plugged it, and she supposed this place would be packed if everyone wasn't out of town for the Championship.

Scanning the mostly empty place, she was glad to see no familiar faces from church or any parents of friends. The cherry-brown bar was lined almost entirely with men, all in work boots and jeans and T-shirts. They'd probably just gotten off from the oil fields and shed their outer work suits. One hadn't washed up too well. Tami could see a streak of black on the back of his neck.

"Hey, Reverend Hayes," the waiter said as he approached the table, "you're usually here on Saturday."

"Well, we're here to see the game. What's the score?" It was already halftime, and, at the moment, the marching band was on the field, filling up the TV screen with splashes of color.

"Ah…It's not good. The Tigers are putting up a really good defense, but that's no good if we can't get on the scoreboard. We're losing 7 to 0. What can I get you to drink?"

"I'll get a pint of Shiner Bock to start and a Shirley Temple for the lady."

The waiter nodded and disappeared. The Reverend watched the band and said, "I wonder if Shelley will try out for the marching band next year."

"She wants to be a cheerleader instead," Tami told him. "She's planning to try out in the spring."

"But she played that clarinet so well in 8th grade." He shook his head. "I wish she'd stick with something." Shelley was in drama this year as a freshman, and she took dance classes. Last year she'd played clarinet and been on the junior high girls' softball team. The year before that, she'd been on the jump rope team and student council. "She could really excel if she ever spent more than six months doing any one thing."

Tami shrugged. He was right, but no one was ever going to get Shelley to settle on anything.

The waiter returned with their drinks and promptly vanished. Tami stirred hers and took a small sip. It tasted cloyingly sweet, but she supposed that was her bitter mood, and not the preparation itself. "Did Eric tell you the things I said to him yesterday?" she asked.

"He told me you stumbled upon Mo in the stairwell in flagrante delicto," her father answered, "with a cheerleader of ill repute."

"I assume you're paraphrasing."

"A tad," her father conceded.

"But did he tell you that I said some not nice things to him?"

"He said you were not yourself."

"I hope he forgives me." She also hoped he didn't think less of her now that he knew about Boone.

"I'm sure he will. He knows how angry and irrational he was when his girlfriend broke up with him."

"Did he tell you that in one of your counseling sessions?"

The Reverend smiled slightly. "We just play darts, Tami."

"I am angry with him, though," she said. She didn't want to lose Eric's friendship, but she was also questioning its value. "I think he knew for a long time that Mo was cheating on me. If he'd been a real friend, like I thought he was, he would have told me. But I guess he's Mo's friend, not mine."

"I don't get the impression that Eric is particularly fond of Mo."

"It doesn't matter if he's fond of him. The team comes before everything."

"Tami…" Her father swirled his pint of beer on the table. "That's a world you don't understand. But I think Eric is a kid with a conscience. He's a kid who tries to do the right thing, but he has to do it within the confines of his world."

"I don't even know what that means."

"If he went about telling his teammate's girlfriends that he suspected his teammates were cheating on them, how do you think that would affect his acceptance by the team?"

"Right. Exactly. That's why it was stupid for me to think I could be friends with anyone on the team. And even stupider to date a football player."

"It's not stupid to be friends with Eric, Tami. But if you're going to be a friend yourself, then you're going to have to put yourself in his shoes and try to see things from his perspective."

Tami twirled her straw in her drink, creating a choppy sea of pinkish-red. "I guess you're right," she said. "You usually are."

Her father nodded to the T.V., because the game was about to restart after the half.

A man at the bar shouted, "Come on, Taylor! Get your head in the damn game!"

The first announcer's voice boomed from the television: The Tigers have the ball. And there's the snap. Taylor's looking for an opening.

And he's got one, too, the second announcer said, in Joaquin "Jack" Hernandez.

Clear as daylight, Jimmy. I don't know what he's looking for.

A chorus of groans went up from the bar. Eric had just been sacked.

I don't know what is going on with Eric Taylor this afternoon, the announcer said, but he has been distracted almost this entire game.

And he delivered a solid performance all season, too, didn't he, Donnie?

That's right, Jimmy. He almost immediately replaced starting quarter back Morris McArnold when he came on the Tigers. And he took his last team, the Sam Houston Haws, all the way to a State Championship victory.

But look at him out there on that field this evening, Donnie. He's a mess.

He's really let his team down today.

I'll say. And Tigers' head Coach Colton Tanner is not happy about that.

You said it, Jimmy. He's hopping mad over there on the sidelines.

Tami's eyes were fixed to the screen as Coach Tanner put his hands in a T gesture and the players trotted over to the sidelines. Coach put a hand on the top of Eric's helmet, pushed down, yelled something in his face, and made a come here gesture towards the bench.

Tami looked away from the television and caught her father's eye. "This is my fault," she said. "I said such awful things to him."

"This is not your fault," her father insisted.

Looks like he's going to take out Eric Taylor and put in Morris McArnold, and I can't blame him for the decision. McArnold doesn't have nearly the record Taylor does, but given the first string's second-rate performance this evening, what else is there to do?

Mo trotted up to the coach with a grin on his face. Coach Tanner spoke to him, and Mo nodded and situated his helmet on his head. The camera had momentarily panned away to the opposing team when the announcer shouted, Whoa, they're butting helmets!

The camera panned backed to the Tigers' sideline just as Eric and Mo were being pulled apart by two assistant coaches. Eric violently unlatched his helmet and yanked it from his head, while Coach Tanner was yelling at them both. Eric shouted something at Mo and then stomped off to the bench. Coach Tanner slapped Mo against the shoulder, and the second-string quarterback jogged onto the field.

What do you suppose that was about?

I don't know, Jimmy. There's a lot of testosterone out there on that field today. McArnold may have been feeling displaced much of this season, and I wouldn't be surprised if he just said something negative about Taylor's poor performance out there.

Perhaps, Donnie. Then again, that tussle could have been over a girl for all we know.

It was the Reverend who caught Tami's eye this time. Her stomach rolled like it did when she'd eaten too many eggs. "I don't want to stay here," she said.

Her father took a long drought of his beer and set it down on the table, the suds rimming the bottom of the glass. He pulled out his wallet and threw some money down.

"Leaving already?" the bartender asked them when they were halfway to the door.

"Forgot about a church thing I have to attend to," the Reverend replied, and he quickly got Tami in the car.