“Do you know what it’s like to have everyone expect you to be the best at something?” he said. I shook my head. “That’s not a problem for me,” I told him. “I’m not good at anything. Nothing important, anyway.” “I am,” Rankin said. “I’m good at throwing a ball and catching a ball and knocking people out of the way when they get between me and the ball. That’s what I’m good at.” “So what’s the problem with that? Everybody loves jocks, right?” I admit I said it kind of sarcastically, because he sounded like such a bonehead and I was still mad at him about what he’d done before. “Yeah,” Rankin
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