Instinctively, Rogers tested the brakes. They were big racing discs with eight piston calipers and just testing them cut his speed significantly. He downshifted and the gear drive whined in protest and the tach jumped in response. He piloted the Mustang across a paved apron and through the entrance of a low earth-sheltered garage, constructed of concrete and neatly integrated into a small rise in the surrounding landscape. Contrary to habit, he parked the car nose first in the stall, and his fingers flashed to the switch and killed the engine. He hit the release on the safety harness and the wide belts fell away and he clambered from the cockpit. A confident, effortless stride carried him through a stone-walled breezeway toward the house.

He was almost to the entrance when his link alerted him to an incoming call. He didn’t have far to go and he left the slim device in his pocket and crossed the remaining distance in an easy bound. He shoved through the doorway, synced, and answered the call from the house.

“Yeah?”

“Ah, jeez,” a voice said, issuing from speakers embedded throughout the home. “Just what the world needs ... another coastal elite with an attitude.”

The connection was audio only, but Rogers knew immediately who it was.

“Oh, hey, Scotty. What’s up?”

“Nuthin’ bro. Why you think I’m calling you?” the voice asked. It was high pitched and small but Rogers knew its tone belied the owner’s considerable size. “But what’s up your ass? You sound like your dog just shit on the carpet, and, hell, man, you ain’t even got one.”

Scott Ewell wasn’t a superstar, but he liked to act like one. He was six foot eight, and by far the best player the Trojans currently had on their roster. With Rogers there, Scott had won two state championships, one as a freshman, another as a sophomore. Now that Rogers was playing at the University of Montana, Scotty was team captain, and even though Western B was weak last year, they had struggled to make state. Rogers doubted they would do that well this season.

“Oh, nothing. Just had to run to catch your call is all.”

“What? You had to run?” Scotty taunted. “You’re a guard, for Christ’s sake. Jesus bro. Those college girls are making you soft. Getting you hard and leaving you soft. Unbelievable. Gone one year and already he’s gone fuckin’ soft. Holy shit!”

Even though his friend couldn’t see it, Rogers had to shake his head. When he didn’t speak, Scotty’s tirade continued.

“Fuckin’ Big Sky. I told you you shoulda gone to SC, like your old man. Playing in the Big Sky is like playing junior high ball. You should transfer, come play for the Zags with me. Fuckin’ Missoula? That whole town is just one giant pussy.”

“You hear back from that JC that was scouting you?” Rogers asked.

“JC, ha! Shit, NC maybe,” his friend scoffed. “But, fuckin’, ‘nougha that bullshit, man. Talk to me. Word on the street is there’s gonna be some drunk girls passin’ out at your place tonight. That true? I’m in desperate need of some ass.”

“Thought you were off all that,” Rogers said, wistfully. At this rate, the Trojans would be lucky to win divisionals, let alone state. “Don’t you have some deal with Coach? Something about priorities and a greater level of commitment?”

“Yeah, something like that. But don’t you worry about me, bro. I got my priorities straight but I ain’t signed no letter of intent yet.”

“You keep saying that and it is going to come true.”

If Scott was anything, he was irreproachable.

“That, champ, cannot happen. I’m, like, the top prospect in the west. And besides that, God fuckin’ loves me.”

Despite his typically staid demeanor, Rogers was unable to suppress his laugher. It was questionable whether Scott Ewell was the top prospect in Montana, let alone the entire west, and he had surely never read a page of the Bible. At the thought of him doing so, Rogers lost all composure.

“Now that’s the old Well Dunn I know and love. ‘Bout time. What’s the reset, hero?”

“Zero zero, as far as I can tell,” Rogers answered. “Went into town for a bit, just got back. Saw Guts but that was about it.”

“Yeah, Shady Bar Slut stopped by here on his way in. Said he was gonna, like, go up to the reservoir, get his dick stuck in the mud, some gay ass shit like that.”

There was noise on the other end of the line.

“Hold on, man. There’s another fag here ‘bout to jizz his pants he wants to mouth you so bad.”

There was a pause as Scotty swapped places with someone. The Ewell’s only had one terminal.

“Dude, man!”

Gunnar Vind studied biochemical engineering at Montana Tech, formerly known as the State School of Mines. He had spent the summer interning in Alaska, getting indoctrinated in the realities of industry before returning to school for his final year. He had been a senior when Rogers was a freshman. His ancestors were Vikings, his hair red, already balding. In high school, he played middle linebacker for the Trojans. The football coaches called him Bonecrusher.

“Hey, Dude-Man, what’s up?” Rogers’ responded with excitement to the sound of Gunnar’s voice.

“Nada. You? How was the summer?”

Gunnar Vind’s timbre vibrated with an electric edge. He boiled constantly with a boundless energy, continuously bleeding off the excess through a dancing comic routine.

“You know, the usual. Tried to keep my head in the game. Thousand jump shots a day. Ran some camps. That sort of thing. It was good. How about you? What did you think of Alaska?”

Just naming the place shot a vicious pang through Rogers’ entire body.

“Ah, you know. Alaska’s fat, dude, man, but the days are for-fucking-ever. Them fuckers work the meat right off the bone up there, you know, the days are so frickin’ long. It definitely popped my cherry though. The things I could tell you, dude, I mean, damn. We were way out in the freakin’ bush, you know, and I’m on site to basically, like, just say we weren’t hurting nuthin’ and shit, and the whole time we were, like, straight wreaking the place, and I’m all, like, sending in these reports, you know, to say everything’s legit and shit.”

Gunnar rattled off like a machine gun, stopped abruptly, surveyed Rogers, then started again.

“It’s all bullshit, you know, but the coin was outta this world. Made everything I need for my ride and then some. Gotta do what you gotta do to get through, right man? Things are tough all over.”

His friend’s infectious enthusiasm helped push the haunting memories from his mind. Rogers took a deep cleansing breath and let it go.

“What are you getting into now?” he asked.

“Not a damn thing, dude,” Gunner answered. “But we better figure something out quick though, ‘cause I can’t take much more of this shit. Fuckin’ bad as the bush. Bean Sprout won’t shut up about some sophomore chick that supposedly pulled his taffy last weekend. I’m all, like, sure dude. It was probably one of them toothless drunk bitches down on Bar Street who’ll gum their brother for a tall can. Why? What you got goin’ on?”

“Nothing, really. Laura and some of the girls said they were coming out later. You and Scotty should ride out, if you got the juice.”

“If I got the juice?” Gunner responded with an air, as though he’d been insulted. “Dude, I been working the Arctic Sea, cheechako. We got all the juice. But, yeah man, shit, that sounds good to me. Fuckin’ Stretch here is about as much fun as a nun in a whorehouse. Hey! What the fuck, Beanstalk? Get off me!”

There was a commotion on the other end of the connection. It sounded like a scuffle, but Rogers knew better. Gunnar and Scott were friends of consequence, but they shared a similar need for attention. They made a ritual of teasing and horseplay. Rogers waited for the performance to end, but he already knew the outcome. They would be showing up later. Scott refused to be left out of any social event, especially one involving the kind of girls who were easily influenced by his stature and other people’s beer, and Gunnar would happily enjoy a little time in the limelight before heading back to the relative anonymity of graduate level courses and a senior thesis.

Finally, the ruckus ended and Gunnar’s voice came back online. “Yeah, dude, we’ll be out in a bit. Want us to get some beer or somethin’?”

“Better, if you want there to be any.”

Although Rogers himself rarely drank, he was exaggerating, and they both knew it. Despite a pervasive poverty and the fact that none of them save Gunnar was of legal age, somehow alcohol was ever present.

“No worries, dude, man. We’ll get some. You talked to Lee or anyone? Who else is gonna be there?”

“I told Yargus, so the whole town knows, I would guess.”

“Fuck Yarguts. That dude mounts animals. I’m talking about women.”

“I don’t know. Laura, Madison, Hailee. You know, the usual.”

“Tonya?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Fuck yeah. That’s what I’m talking about, dude. Man, this town is like a runway show compared to the site. Fuck, dude, at one point, I seriously didn’t see a girl for a month. For real. Thought I’d died and gone to hell.”

Rogers laughed.

“You are killing me, Dude-Man. You have been in the bush too long, I think your mind is slipping. You had better get yourself out here.”

“We’re on it, All-State. Save some for me.”