Varsity Blues [antikvár]

1 I sat on my bed, my hair still wet from the shower, staring at the decade old snapshot I'd nabbed from my trophy shelf. There I was, Jonathan Moxon—^Mox to most folks—^aged seven or eight, grinning in an oversized blue-on-blue football jersey. My hair, which is now light brown and wavy, was still blond. My strong-jawed, square face was softer in childhood. My buds grinned out at me from the photo, too. Lance Harbor, Tweeder, Billy Bob—already busting the seams of his peewee league uniform. Our faces were streaked with dirt. We squinted into the camera in the bright Texas sun. We looked like we were having fun. Off camera, on the sidelines, our fathers } i i.