Okay, so it's not really mine. I just like to think that it is.

Dad laughs and asks why I am home so early. “Fight with Brian?”

“No, Dad. It's Friday night. Friend night, remember?”

“Oh, I do!” says Phillip's mom, Julie. “I used to love girlfriend night. We would always go out and look for cute boys.”

I shake my head and figure I better say something quick, or we'll all be launched on a full-scale trip down memory lane. So I change the subject by saying, “I hope someone is going to tell me that you're all suffering from glaucoma.”

The parents chuckle at this and apparently are not the least bit embarrassed about being caught by me with a joint.

I can tell you that if the tables were turned, I'd be in big trouble.

And excuse me, but isn't this illegal?

“The boys and I came home early, so we could sit in the hot tub.” I turn to look at Danny's parents and say, “You know, your son took quite a beating out there tonight and is really sore.” I'm trying to make them feel guilty. “But I guess since it's obviously occupied, we'll just hang over at Danny's.”

“What are you guys gonna do?” Dad asks me, more politely than normal.

I pause and think, what the hell, and then grab three Coronas and a lime from the cooler. Bold, I know, but what are they gonna do, stop me?

“Well Dad, we'll probably start with these beers, have a few shots, do a little x, have some wild sex. You know, the usual.” I give him my eat shit grin.

“Fine,” Dad says, rolling his eyes at me.

Everyone laughs. Um, well actually, everyone giggles.

What? You think I'm joking?

Sadly, I am. I am also a little irritated by this whole scene. I mean don't you ever grow up? Shouldn't I be the one out getting stoned and drunk with my friends?

Sadly, my parent's social party life far surpasses mine.

That thought is very pathetic and totally tragic.

I start to head to Danny's, but turn back around and say, “And tomorrow, when you're all sober,” I wave one of my fingers back and forth at them, while trying not to drop the beers, “I think we need to revisit the whole Just Say No concept.”

I run over to Danny's house and bang on the back door with my elbow.

Phillip lets me in. Phillip and Danny are both standing there in just their swim trunks.

Damn.

It's like walking into an Abercrombie ad. Did I mention I love my life right now?

“We're just grabbing some towels,” Phillip tells me.

I set the Coronas and lime on the kitchen island.

“Sweet,” says Phillip, “my parents left me a note that said they were over at your house. What's going on over there?”

“Oh nothing much, they're all in the hot tub. Naked, drunk and baked,” I reply flatly.

“No way!” says Phillip, his eyes big.

“Okay, so they're not naked, but at first I thought they were,” I smile, but the boys don't seem as appalled by our parents' behavior as I am, so I open the beers and grab a knife out of the drawer. I slice lime wedges, put one in each beer and hand them to the boys.

“So no hot tub?” Danny asks crabbily, as he takes a swig of beer. “Figures.”

“Let's watch a movie then,” Phillip suggests, as he pulls a sweatshirt over his head. He turns to me with a sweet grin. “And you can make us some popcorn and nachos.”

Like I can't turn him down when he grins at me.

Well actually, I can't.

“Let me guess, American Pie for the hundred-millionth time?” I ask, knowing full well what the answer will be.

I make snacks, and we head toward the family room. I notice that Danny is moving very slowly. He's obviously sore, and he seems to be irritable. Unusual for him after a big game, especially a game he won practically single handily with his sheer will. I'd expect him to be flying high.

“What's wrong with you?” I ask him. “You had such an incredible game. Why are you being such a crab?”

“It was a rough game,” he snarls at me, and then softer, “I'm just kind of sore, I guess.”

I plop down on the couch between the boys.

“Do you want me to rub your back?” I ask Danny nicely. Lots of times after a game, we'll watch movies and I'll rub Danny or Phillip's shoulders. I doubt Phillip is at all sore. He's Danny's number one receiver, but he got double-teamed all night and only got open in the flats. (Close in to the line of scrimmage, not way down field like usual.) That's why it was such a tough game. Most teams can't shut down the Danny and Phillip combination, but tonight they did. Because they have played together so much, it's like Danny always knows where Phillip is going to be, even before he gets there. They make some amazing plays together and have a lot of confidence in each other. It's really pretty cool to watch.

About midway through the movie, I say something to Danny and he snaps at me. “What?”

“Jeez, Danny, I just asked if you took some Advil.”

“No,” he says a little nicer.

“I'll grab you some,” I say, and pat his forearm reassuringly.

He practically jumps off the couch when I touch his arm.

“What is wrong with you?” I yell.

“I'm just a little sore there!”

I squint my eyes at that boy. What's going on?

“Danny, let me see your arm.”

He sighs madly, but gingerly holds it up for me.

I examine his forearm. No wonder he's such a crab. His arm is quite swollen. So I touch it very gently, and crap, it feels hot to the touch.

This is not good.

And the skin is all shiny looking.

Just a little sore, my ass.

This arm is broken.

“Danny!!! No wonder you're being such a butt. Your arm is broken.”

My screeching gets Phillip's attention away from the TV, where a hot girl is taking off her shirt.

“Did it happen on that last play? When you stiff-armed that guy? His helmet hit your arm, didn't it?” Phillip asks in rapid-fire succession.

“Um, yeah. I think so,” Danny mutters, then he turns to me and says, “It can't be broken, Jay. Coach thought it was just bruised.”

“Yeah, well, I hate to tell you this, Danny, but he's wrong.”

Next thing I know, I'm sprinting back over to my house. I bang through the gate and stand in front of the hot tub again.

Everyone stares at me like I'm spoiling their fun, and they wish I would leave.

I ignore that possibility and announce, “Hey guys, um, I think Danny broke his arm.”

I know that will at least get their attention.

“What?” they all say in alarmed unison.

Oh sure, now we're all concerned.

“Not his throwing arm?” Danny's dad asks.

God forbid!

And then Mr. Mac asks, “How?” before I can get a word in edgewise.

I answer them both, “No. It's his left forearm, and it happened when he stiff armed that guy in the fourth quarter right before he scored.”

Dad asks me, “Did they look at it in the locker room? Did Coach think it was broken?”

Coach is a great guy. He's coached winning teams at Westown for years, and everyone respects him, but EXCUSE ME, is the man a doctor?

I think not.

“No. He thought it was just a deep bruise, but I don't agree,” I say, shaking my head like I'm an expert.

I practically am, really.

“It's hot to the touch, and the skin is all swollen and shiny. So either you're gonna have to share some of your stash with him to get him through the night, or he needs to go and get an x-ray. And definitely some pain pills. The boy is very crabby.”

“Shit,” says Danny's dad. “JJ, can you hand me the phone?” Then he announces, “I'm going to call Dr. Rohm and tell him to meet us at the hospital.”

“I don't think that's a good idea, Chuck,” Mrs. Diamond says to her husband. Then she turns to me and says, “JJ, do you think you could take him? We weren't planning on going anywhere tonight, and none of us,” she looks pointedly at Mr. D, “should be driving.”