Joe's spine straightened just slightly. Her voice when it came was even. That's right. That's rough, Grant said. And there was nothing rough in his tone at all.
There was something closer to amusement. Must be hard. Growing up broke, moving around. Dad gets shipped off doesn't come back. Real sad story.
Wade laughed. Cole smiled at the ground. Something in Joe's chest tightened, but her face did not change. She had learned long ago from a man who had taught soldiers twice her size how to control their breathing under fire that the first battle is always the one inside your own ribs. "Is there something you need?"
Joe asked. "Or are you just talking?" For a moment, something flickered across Grant's face. "Surprise, maybe." He was not used to being asked a direct question by someone he had decided in his own mind was beneath him.
He recovered quickly. He always did. I need you to understand something," he said, stepping close enough now that Joe could smell the mint on his breath. "This isn't Ohio. This is my school, my team.
My squad if I want it to be. It's not your squad." Coach Marsh's voice cut across the field, sharp and sudden. She had been walking toward them, though not fast enough, not soon enough. Sterling, get back to your side of the field.
Grant raised both hands, a picture of innocence. "Just talking, coach." But as he turned to walk away, his eyes dropped to Joe's collar where a thin silver chain disappeared beneath her practice shirt. He reached out fast, faster than anyone expected, and hooked two fingers under the chain, he pulled. The clasp snapped.
The chain came free in his hand, two small metal tags swinging from it, catching the afternoon sun. "What is this?" Grant said, turning the tags over in his palm, reading the stamped letters aloud mockingly. "Callaway D army. Give it back," Joe said.