"Do you ever get angry?" O. Douglas says.

"All the time," I say.  I adjust my helmet strap so it won’t cut into my double chin.

"Not just angry. Seriously pissed off.  Like you want to hurt someone."

"I guess."

I want to ask him more, but he peels away to set up for the next drill.

No more football sleds.  Coach has us form two lines and face each other man-to-man.

"Look at the man across from you," Coach says. 

I'm standing opposite Cheesy. He's got those sweatbands on his arms. He pulls them up across thick muscles.

"This man is not your friend," Coach says. "He is an interloper, an invader of your private territory. He is the son of a bitch who eats the last ice cream sandwich from the freezer without replacing the box. "

"Get some!" Rodriguez scream.

"You will push this man back," Coach says.  "You will protect the ice cream sandwich."

The guys grunt loudly.

Cheesy leans towards me. "Jurassic Pork," he says. "You ain't so tough when you get around the real dinosaurs." 

"Set!" Coach says.

O. said I had to go to that place.  What is that place? 

I think about someone eating my ice cream sandwich. That's irritating.

Then I think of a tray of Mom's mini-muffins, wanting them, but Mom saying I can't have them. That kind of makes me mad.

I think about Dad all alone in an apartment in downtown Boston.

I think about Justin with his arm around April's shoulders the other day.

My jaw clenches and I bite down hard.

I think about walking through the cafeteria, how my fat makes me feel like some giant Jell-O mold that everyone laughs at when it shakes.

"Go!" Coach says.

I explode off the line, crashing head-on into Cheesy. I hit and bounce, and then I slap and hit again like I see the guys doing. Coach blows the whistle to stop. I look at the line and realize I'm exactly where I started. I haven't pushed forward, but I haven't been pushed back.

"Alright!" Cheesy says. "A little challenge. Me likey."

It's the exact opposite of what I expected. I thought Cheesy would be angry with me for banging into him. I assumed fighting back would get you killed like it does in the hall with Ugo, but the rules are different out here.

"Reset!" Coach says.

I glance over to the girls, and I catch a blur of hair and moving limbs. More things I can't have.

"Go!" Coach says. "Go, go, go, go—"

I roar and leap at Cheesy, only he's not Cheesy anymore. He's Mom/Dad/Jessica/Justin all rolled into one.  I attack, pushing, grunting, and swinging my arms.  I can't see the field or any of the players.  I can't even see Cheesy in front of me. 

Before I know what's happening, O. and a bunch of guys are pulling me back by the waist.  Cheesy has his arms up like he's trying to surrender, and I'm hitting him.  There's a piece of torn fabric in my hand. One of Cheesy's arm bands.

"You stop when I blow the damn whistle!" Coach says.

"I didn't hear it," I say.

"Dude," Cheesy says. "It's just practice. Take it easy on my bands." He rubs his arm where I ribbed the sweat band off him.

Bison steps up like he's going to beat the crap out of me.  "You want me to school the boy?" he says.

O. jumps into the middle of things.   He pats Bison on the shoulder and motions for him to back away.

"Let's grab a Gator," he says.

He walks me towards a red tank.

"Everything copasetic?" he says.

"I did what you said. I went to that place."

"No kidding," O. says. 

He takes a shot of red liquid, offers one to me.

"Now we have to teach you how to get back," he says.

  — from Food, Girls, and Other Things I Can’t Have by Allen Zadoff