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was disappoint the man who was not only his coach but someone who—if he did well enough—might keep him around. He made another tackle, better than the first, but nothing that got any response from Coach. The next time he tackled, though, Harrison reminded himself of Coach’s burning words, and it was like lighting a blowtorch in his brain.
    Adam Varnett—another ninth grader and the team’s starting halfback—took the ball and bolted forward at the whistle. Harrison ran straight for him, lowering his head, determined to get under the runner’s pads. Varnett was built like a bowling bowl, short and thick, so his pads were low to start out with, and he dipped even lower at the last instant. Harrison went lower, diving and exploding up through the runner.
    Varnett’s knee struck the top of Harrison’s helmet.
    Harrison felt a stab of pain, then his neck went numb.

Chapter Twenty-Two
    HARRISON STARED UP AT the sky, so pure and blue that the jet streams crisscrossed it like slash marks he’d seen kids make with chalk on the school sidewalks, marking off grids for tic-tac-toe. He heard a voice and blinked. It was Coach, but it sounded like he was at the other end of a long tunnel.
    â€œHarrison? Are you okay?”
    Harrison flexed his fingers and toes. “Did I make the tackle?”
    Coach’s short laugh echoed down the tunnel. “Stopped him cold. You okay?”
    Harrison tried to sit up.
    â€œYou can’t hit with the top of your head like that.” Coach unsnapped Harrison’s helmet and slipped it off his head. “Here, look at me. I need to see your eyes and make sure you didn’t get a concussion.”
    â€œIt looks easy on TV—you just run around and knock people over.” Harrison rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m okay.”
    Coach turned and tooted his whistle. “Coach Lee, get them going on inside run. I got him.”
    Harrison saw Varnett limping away toward the next drill with the rest of the kids.
    â€œIs Varnett okay?”
    â€œHe’ll be fine. That’s what knee pads are for. It was a great hit, but just don’t drop your head. You gotta keep your head up when you tackle. You can break your neck, especially on special teams, like a kickoff, when you’ve got a running start and you slam into someone.”
    â€œI think my neck’s okay.”
    â€œYour eyes are fine. You’re okay, but let’s get you a haircut after practice.”
    Harrison ran his hand through the mess of sweaty hair on top of his head. “My hair?”
    â€œI think your helmet will fit better if we cut it short.”
    â€œLike yours?”
    â€œIf you want.”
    â€œMrs. Constable used to cut our hair. She said if we kept it long we didn’t need a hat in the winter.”
    â€œWell, Jennifer and I have plenty of extra hats.”
    Harrison smiled.
    â€œAll set?” Coach asked.
    â€œI’m fine,” Harrison said.
    â€œPut your helmet back on then, and let’s go.”
    Harrison jogged beside Coach, strapping on his helmet. Coach ignored him when they got to the next drill, treating him like all the other kids, but Harrison felt warm on the inside when he recalled the image of Coach stepping outside himself to be nice when he thought Harrison had been hurt. Mrs. Godfrey was right.
    Harrison watched Varnett and the other running back, Alan Simpson, take turns playing the position during the inside run drill. They’d huddle up with the quarterback and the offensive line, listen to the play, then line up, burst forward at the snap, take the handoff, and run. On another part of the field, wide receivers and defensive backs worked on the passing game. There were no passes in the drill they called “inside run.” Players on both sides knew the focus was run blocking, run defense, tackling, and tough running by the backs. After watching for a handful of plays, Harrison asked Coach